Saint Croix.’
Alix bit back the urge to curse and said smoothly, ‘Leila, I’ve asked you to call me Alix.’
Her eyes glittered. ‘Well, I don’t think it’s appropriate. You’re a client—’
‘A client who,’ he inserted smoothly, ‘has just paid a significant sum of money for a customised fragrance.’
Her mouth shut and remorse lit her eyes. Alix was fascinated again by the play of unguarded emotions. God knew he certainly hadn’t revealed emotion himself for years. And the women he dealt with probably wouldn’t know a real emotion if it jumped up and bit them on the ass.
She looked at him and he felt short of breath, acutely aware of the thrust of her perfect breasts against the silk of her shirt.
‘Very well. Alix.’
Her mouth and tongue wrapping around his name had an effect similar to that if she’d put her mouth on his body intimately. Blood rushed south and he hardened.
Gritting his jaw against the onset of a fierce arousal that made a mockery of any illusion of control, Alix responded, ‘That wasn’t so hard, was it?’ He groaned inwardly at his unfortunate choice of words and reached for the bag she still held out in a bid to distract her from seeing her seismic effect in his body.
With the bag in his hand he gestured for her to sit down. ‘Please, make yourself comfortable. Would you like a drink?’
Leila’s hands twisted in front of her. ‘No, thank you. I really should be getting back—’
‘Don’t you want to know if I like the scent or not?’
Her mouth stayed open and eventually she said, ‘Of course I do... But you could send word if you don’t like it.’
Alix frowned minutely and moved closer to Leila, cocking his head to one side. ‘Why are you so nervous with me?’
She swallowed. He could see the long slim column of her throat, the pulse beating near the base. Hectic.
‘I’m not nervous.’
He came closer and a warm seeping of colour made her skin flush.
‘Liar. You’re ready to jump out of that window to get away from me right now.’
One graceful brow arched. ‘Not a reaction you’re used to?’
Alix’s mouth quirked. The tension was diffused a little. ‘No, not usually.’
He indicated again for Leila to sit down and after a moment, when he really wasn’t sure if she’d just walk out, she moved over to the couch and sat down. Something relaxed inside him.
He put down the bag containing the scent while he poured himself a drink and glanced at her over his shoulder. ‘Are you sure I can’t get you anything?’
She’d been taking in the room, eyes wide, and suddenly all its opulence felt garish to Alix.
Those eyes clashed with his. ‘Okay,’ she said huskily. ‘I’ll have a little of whatever you’re having.’
It was crazy. Alix wanted to howl in triumph at this concession. At the fact that she was still here, when usually he was batting women away.
‘Bourbon?’
She half nodded and shrugged. ‘I’ve never tried it before.’
There was something incredibly disarming about her easy admission. Like watching the play of emotion on her face and in her eyes. Alix brought the drinks over and was careful to take a seat at right angles to the couch, knowing for certain that she’d bolt if he sat near her.
He handed her the glass and she took it. He held his out. ‘Santé, Leila.’
She tipped her glass towards his and took a careful sip, as he took a sip of his own. He watched her reaction, saw her eyes watering slightly, her cheeks warming again. His own drink slipped down his throat, making his already warm body even hotter.
‘What do you think?’
She considered for a moment and then gave a tiny smile. ‘It’s like fire... I like it.’
‘Yes,’ Alix said faintly, transfixed by Leila’s mouth, ‘It’s like fire.’
A moment stretched between them, and then she dropped her gaze from his and put her glass down on the table to indicate the bag she’d brought. ‘You should see if you like the scent.’
Alix put down his own glass and took the bag, extracting a gold box embossed with a black line around the edges. It had a panel on the front with a label that said simply Alix Saint Croix.
Alix opened the box and took out the heavy and beautifully cut glass bottle, with its black lid and distinctive gold piping. It was masculine—solid.
‘It’s quite strong,’ Leila said, as he took off the lid and looked at her. ‘You only need a small amount. Try it on the back of your hand.’
Alix sprayed and then bent his head. He wasn’t ready for the immediate effect on his senses. It impacted deep down in his gut—so many layers of scent, filtering through his brain and throwing up images like a slideshow going too fast for him to analyse.
He was thrown back in time to his home on the island, with the sharp, tangy smell of the sea in the air, and yet he could smell the earth too, and the scent of the exotic flowers that bloomed on Isle Saint Croix. He could even smell something oriental, spicy, that made him think of his Moorish ancestors who had given the island its distinctive architecture.
He wasn’t prepared for the sharp pang of emotion that gripped him as a memory surged: him and his younger brother, playing, carefree, near the sea.
‘What’s in it?’ he managed to get out.
Leila was looking concerned. ‘You don’t like it?’
‘Like’ was too flimsy a word for what this scent was doing to him. Alix stood up abruptly, feeling acutely exposed. Dieu. Was she a witch? He strode over to the window and kept his back to her, brought his hand up to smell again.
The initial shock of the impact was lessening as the scent opened out and mellowed. It was him. The scent was everything that was deep inside him, where no one could see his true self. Yet this woman had got it—after only a couple of meetings and a few hours.
LEILA STOOD UP, not sure how to respond. She’d never seen someone react so forcefully to a scent before.
‘I researched a little about the island, to find out what its native flowers were, and I approximated them as closely as I could with what I have available in the shop. And I added citrus and calone, which has always reminded me of a sea breeze.’
Alix Saint Croix looked huge, formidable, against the window and the autumnal darkness
