Roses and Revenge
I turned, vision hazy, to find him.
Tall. Broad-shouldered. Dark eyes that seemed to strip me bare in a single glance. He leaned against the counter like he owned the place, like nothing in this world could touch him.
“Don’t ask,” I muttered, slamming the empty glass down.
His mouth curved in a knowing half-smile. “Betrayal leaves a scent. I can almost taste it on you.”
My laugh broke on a sob, ignoring his words.
His jaw tightened, but he said nothing, only signaled the bartender for water. When I reached for another glass of whiskey, his hand caught mine. Warm. Steady. Commanding.
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