Page 72 of Perfume Girl
My gaze broke away from his and I stuttered out some answer about how I remembered it all fondly. Why did he have to use the word “love” as though there’d been that sort of endearing emotion between us?
I inhaled sharply. “I need you to know those hours at the hotel…”
“Say it.”
“It was good for me.”
He hesitated as though mulling over his answer. “I haven’t given it any thought.”
Grabbing my napkin, I laid it over my lap and took a few seconds to smooth it out, preferring to sweep my gaze over the other guests who were chatting away and seemingly enjoying their meals.
I forced a smile. “I’ve been thinking about our special project.”
He lifted his glass of water and took a sip, and it was easy to be mesmerized by the way he wiped the condensation off the base. Those same fingers had swept over my body, giving me so much pleasure…
“I’m listening,” he said, his tone seductive.
“We can use olibanum—”
“Frankincense.”
“Yes, and add black suede.”
“You don’t think I’ve done that before?”
“I haven’t finished, Mr. Beauregard. If you add Rose Synactif it will provide those luxurious qualities you’re looking for.”
“I’ve used that combination—”
“But have you added liquid gold?”
He leaned forward. “Oud’s doable.”
“And musk.”
“I hope you’re referring to the synthetic version?”
“Yes, because that species of deer is endangered and you don’t strike me as a man willing to go to those lengths to leap ahead of the competition.”
“Never. Though I’m perfectly willing to destroy the competition if need be.” He held my gaze.
“Surely you’re not threatened by my little store?”
“The one that’s closed?”
I sat back. “Working on anything new?”
“I’m actually working on something very special.” He studied my face.
I refused to take the bait and smiled sweetly.“Do tell.”
“What are your thoughts on Orris?”
And why would he say that unless he knew my Orris oil had been stolen. I could be sitting with the man who had ordered the strike on Perfume Girl. Maybe he was letting me know he was on to me, too.
I was spiraling toward danger.
“Something wrong, Raquel?”
