The air in the office suite didn't just feel warm, it felt thick, almost syrupy, like the atmosphere right before a summer thunderstorm breaks. It was heavy with the ghost of sandalwood, that sharp, masculine scent that was uniquely Darien, and the sweet, dying embers of chamomile. But beneath those, there was a new scent. Something primal. Something that felt like ozone and scorched earth.
Amara practically stumbled into the en-suite bathroom, her legs feeling like they were made of poorly set gelatin. She didn't just close the door; she leaned her entire weight against it, the cool wood grain pressing into her back as she tried to remember how to breathe in a way that didn't involve gasping.
What on earth was that?
