“Rose petals.” The words are a whisper against my skin. “And parchment. The sweet smell of summer rain. And something else, too.” “Something else?” The tip of one sharp fang grazes lightly along my earlobe. “Yes, Allie, something else. I smell your desire.” Oh, fuck. So I’m apparently as transparent as an open book to my new husband. “I can’t help it.” “I don’t want you to help it,” he growls. “I want you to revel in it.”
