When they broke apart, Hunter said, “You didn’t answer. What do I smell like?” “Like home,” Richard said, his voice hushed, a caress against Hunter’s skin. “Like the softness of cashmere hiding wrought iron beneath.” Hunter’s throat tightened as his hand fell to the cashmere blankets they lay on. His gaze was drawn to the wrought iron grate, cradling the smoldering embers of the fire. Stars gleamed outside the window. The crew had done this for them. Set up ‘them’ in the scene with their magical special effects.
