Page 18 of Prescription for Sin

What am I to do, Helen? I am a physician, not some swooning maiden in a gothic novel. Yet here I am, writing to you about how a man's eyes can apparently make one's bones turn to water. Utterly mortifying.

The worst part? A small, thoroughly unscientific part of me is desperately curious about these remaining lessons. What could be so fascinating about scent that it merits an entire evening's study?

Your thoroughly compromised friend,

Emma

Emma rose before dawn, her body humming with awareness from the previous evening's lesson. The way he'd looked at her, as though she were some wild creature he longed to tame, had followed her into her dreams, leaving her restless and yearning.

"Focus," she told her reflection as she pinned her hair into its usual severe style, though her fingers trembled slightly at the memory of how his gaze had traced her form. Professional distance seemed a laughable concept after experiencing such heated observation.

She nearly jumped when she heard his voice from the doorway. "Good morning, Miss Brown." His voice still rough with sleep sent heat pooling in her belly.

"Good morning." She turned to find him freshly washed and wearing borrowed clothes that somehow made him look more seductive than his nudity had. Water droplets clung to his throat, and she found herself wondering if they would taste of him.

Stop that this instant, she chided herself.

"Your wound needs examining," she managed curtly despite her lips tingling from his gaze.

He settled into the chair with feline grace, and warmth spread through her chest as he lowered his trousers with maddening deliberation. She forced her eyes away, though not before the morning light caught the sculpted lines of his leg, making her fingers ache to trace each perfectly defined muscle.

"Close your eyes," he murmured once she'd completed her examination. The words carried echoes of their previous lesson.

Her eyes drifted shut of their own accord.

"What do you smell?" His voice came from behind her now. When had he moved?

"Soap," she whispered. "And something else. Bay leaves, perhaps, or bergamot?"

"What else?"

She inhaled deeply, struggling to maintain clinical detachment. "Maleness." Her voice caught. "Danger."

His low chuckle sent a dizzying rush of heat through her. "Very good. Now..." His voice dropped lower. "Tell me what you smell here."

She felt him move closer, though he didn't touch her. The scent grew stronger—clean male skin, a hint of shaving soap, and something darker underneath that made her pulse quicken.

"I..." She wet her lips. "Sandalwood. And...you."

"Interesting that you can distinguish my personal scent already." His voice held amusement. "What does it remind you of?"

"Forests after a storm." The words emerged without her permission. "Dark places where anything might happen."

His breath caught slightly. "Open your eyes."

She obeyed, finding him much closer than expected. Something dangerous flickered in his gaze.

"Now," he murmured, "we explore how scent changes with proximity." He circled her slowly. "Notice how it grows stronger as I move closer?"

Emma's skin prickled with awareness as he drew near, then receded, teaching her body to anticipate his presence by scent alone. Each time he approached, her breath quickened, her pulse leaping in her throat.

"The body learns quickly," he observed, his voice rough. "See how you react before I'm even close? That's scent working on the most primitive part of your senses."

"Is this meant to be clinical or seductive?" She meant to sound detached, but it emerged breathless.

His lips curved. "I daresay you are seduced, Miss Brown, and I find your scientific curiosity enticing." He moved behind her again, close enough that she could feel his body heat. "What do you smell now?"

She inhaled shakily. "Heat. Desire." Her cheeks flamed at the admission.