"When, precisely, were you going to tell me Ruin blocked you off on the streets?" Draven growls, following me into the suite. "And do not think for one second that I don't know you were behind the explosion at East End, Hermione."
There aren't many incidents when Draven's been mad at me. It was a running joke with his entire pack. That I had him so bewitched with me, he couldn't think straight anymore.
I turn. "That happened two weeks ago. And it was nothing—"
"His scent is all over you." His jaw clenches and hurt shines in his eyes. "Anyone within a ten mile radius of you can pick up the reek of sex. That isn't nothing."
I fight the urge to peer down at my skin because I knew I would find nothing. I had returned home that day to scrub every inch of my body after my encounter with him. I didn't stop until my skin had been red and raw. And I'd proceeded to drench myself in as much perfume as I could, hoping it could mask his scent.
