She smelled different. Standing next to her, loading orange crates onto the rickety wagon, Silhara caught Martise’s scent on the dry breeze circling the grove. The tang of citrus oil mixed with soap and the faint musk of warm female teased his nostrils. A slow heat centered in his groin. Months had passed since he’d brought a woman beneath him and taken his pleasure. None he’d ever bedded smelled as tantalizing as the small woman working beside him. The scent of sorcery, sharp and clean, like the air before a thunderstorm clung to her hair and skin.
