By now I can’t tell if my dizziness is from the warmth of his hands or from the blood rushing to my head. What I do know is that when Nash leans over me, his eyes dark and soft with concern, he smells so good he steals my breath. His scent is clean laundry and … is that bergamot? Before I can stop myself, I sniff. A long, loud inhale. His brows fly up. NASH KNOWS I AM SMELLING HIM. So much for what’s left of my dignity.
Omg Emi! :)))))
