She thought both the guys had gone upstairs, but she’d swear one of them was behind her. She stilled, listening. She picked up on the slight hint of breathing, and the heady smell of musk invaded her nose. It was one of them. But which one? She slowly dropped her hand and inhaled. Dmitry. She’d bet on it. She closed her eyes and sighed. The last thing she needed was to be face-to-face with Dmitry after drinking that wine. Dastan she felt she could handle. Dastan didn’t antagonize her or push her buttons. Not like Dmitry did. Dmitry would love nothing more than to zone in on her weakness where the shifters were concerned and have her spread-eagle on the table and loving it before she could even voice a rejection. Why did I drink that wine? Maybe if she didn’t say anything, he would go away. Seconds passed, and she could still smell his scent, still hear his breathing. She knew then he wasn’t leaving.
