Lillian felt so . . . light.
Vacantly, she leaned against Lucius in the elevator, face pressed to his chest, body flush to his, and his hand smoothed over her shirt in soothing motions. “Maybe I shouldn’t have let you drink,” he chuckled.
Breathing him in, her eyes fluttered. “You smell good.”
Another chuckle, making his chest rumble.
She pressed closer, squeezing him. Warm. Firm. Her hand slipped up his spine, feeling the muscles lining his back.
She’d noticed.
His build was formidable.
Powerful.
And his smell—“Ash.”
“Hm?”
“Your smell,” she breathed, snuggling. “It’s the same as him.”
“Who?” he asked, tugging at the ends of her hair.
Lillian liked it. Those tugs. It . . . reminded her of someone. Something. She couldn’t
