"Wait. It's that perfume again. You should've thrown it away."

Rafayel had been complaining about not being able to smell due to his cold. The dramatic painter was refusing to work on his paintings, claiming that "an artist needs all senses to find inspiration." He knew you were just trying to help him by using that lemon to stimulate his senses, but he didn't expect you to actually blindfold him with a sleeping mask, thinking that the sense of smell becomes sharper in the dark.

The moment that specific scent wafted in the air—the same perfume that had him clinging to you like a cat high in catnip—Rafayel's senses went into overdrive. He started sniffing you as if his life depended on that intoxicating scent on your skin. It seemed like he had ulterior motives, just like you.

"It smells like an invitation."