My Scent On You

The glaring afternoon sun felt like a physical assault the moment Maeve pushed through the heavy glass doors of the clinic. She squinted against the harsh light, her legs moving with a heavy, unsteady rhythm. Her left arm wrapped tight across her stomach, fingers pressing deep into the fabric of her coat. A dull, throbbing ache radiated through her midsection, serving as a relentless reminder of the procedure she had just endured. She kept a fiercely protective hand firmly over her stomach, willing the pain to subside.

Nora stayed glued to her side, her hand locked beneath Maeve’s elbow to keep her upright. "I still cannot believe you went through with it," Nora said, her voice tight with lingering concern. "The doctor said you need to rest. You are not supposed to be moving this fast. Slow down."

Maeve kept her gaze fixed on the endless stretch of gray asphalt ahead. "Relax," she muttered, her breath coming a bit too shallow. "I saw a professional."

"I am a dentist," Nora shot back, her grip tightening. "Who just happens to work for her father’s healthcare company."

"You have a medical degree," Maeve replied over her shoulder. "That counts for something."

Nora let out a breath. "Not in a situation like this."

They navigated the uneven pavement of the parking lot. The doctor had strongly suggested Maeve stay in the recovery room, but the sterile walls and the metallic scent of the clinic were making her nauseous. She just wanted the quiet sanctuary of her own bed. She wanted to sleep.

A sharp wave of dizziness washed over her. Maeve faltered, her heel scuffing against the concrete. Before she could regain her footing, a deafening screech of tires shattered the quiet afternoon.

Their exit was abruptly halted. A sleek black car swerved off the main street and tore into the lot, braking so hard the front bumper dipped just inches from their knees. The stench of burnt rubber filled the air.

Maeve flinched hard, stumbling backward. Her already fragile balance abandoned her. Nora hauled her upright by the arm, eyes wide with panic. "Are you okay?"

"I am fine," Maeve gasped, though her heart hammered against her ribs.

The driver’s side door flung open. Maeve’s eyes narrowed into slits as she recognized the figure stepping out. Her stomach churned with something far worse than post-procedure nausea.

"You have got to be kidding me," she whispered.

Nora stepped forward, her protective instincts flaring. "You really have the guts to—"

Preston ignored Nora, rushing straight for Maeve. His face was a mask of frantic worry, though the sight of it just made Maeve’s skin crawl. "What happened?" he demanded. "You look pale. Are you hurt?"

He reached out to grab her arm.

Maeve recoiled as if he were made of fire, pulling back in disgust. She took another staggering step back, her hand still clamped over her stomach. "Do not touch me."

Preston froze, his hand hovering in mid-air. He did not retreat. Oblivious to her deep-seated disdain, he tried to justify his presence. "Maeve, I got scared. I checked your location and thought something terrible happened."

A cold chill ran down her spine. She stared at him. "How did you know I was here?"

He dug his phone out of his pocket and thrust the screen toward her. He had tracked her exact location through her mobile phone. "We are still sharing our locations. When I saw the GPS pin sitting over a medical complex, I panicked. There are a dozen hospitals and clinics in this plaza. I did not know what you were doing. Did something happen?"

"That is none of your business," she snapped. Her fingers twitched toward her own pocket. The second she was inside Nora’s car, she was turning off that feature.

"I just wanted to make sure you were safe."

"I will be fine, Preston!" She put another yard of distance between them. "I said do not touch me."

Preston’s fake mask of concern began to slip. "Are you really still mad about the news?"

Maeve stared at him. The sheer audacity of the question robbed her of her voice. He had announced his engagement to another woman after stringing her along for five years, and he called it the news.

"We have been together for five years," Preston continued, his tone shifting. He desperately attempted to logically justify his profound betrayal, shifting the blame onto her supposed lack of social status. "You should know better than to throw a fit over something like this. You knew your social standing. You knew my parents would never approve of someone from your background. Mae, stop backing away and listen to reason."

Her jaw locked. Her teeth ground together so hard they ached. Status. It always came back to status.

"That does not mean we have to break up," he pressed, taking a step closer. "I love you. I still want you right by my side."

Maeve just looked at him.

Preston coldly and methodically outlined his twisted, long-term plan. "The marriage to Lyra is just a piece of paper. It is a strategic move for corporate investments. My parents demand it. You are still my priority. Once the Vances finalize the merger and the investments are secure, I can do whatever I want. Once she gives birth and gives them the heir they want, I will initiate a divorce. We can still be together. You just have to stay hidden in the shadows as my secret mistress until that exact moment arrives."

Thoroughly disgusted by his staggering audacity and sheer narcissism, Maeve found her body moving before her brain could even register the command.

A sharp crack echoed across the quiet parking lot.

She silenced his rambling with a resounding, brutal slap across his face. The force of the strike sent a stinging pain up Maeve’s wrist. Preston’s head snapped to the side, his sentence dying in his throat.

"How dare you!" Maeve pushed the words out through clenched teeth.

Preston raised a hand to his reddening cheek, shock registering in his eyes. "Mae—"

"You disgust me!" she hissed. Her head spun, the edges of her vision blurring, but the rage anchored her to the ground.

"Mae, please, you need to—"

She slapped him a second time. She struck him with even greater physical force. The second strike cracked louder than the first.

This rejection caused Preston to snap. The patronizing patience vanished, replaced by a dark, ugly fury. "Enough!" he roared. He lunged forward. "Stop throwing a selfish, immature tantrum!"

His hands shot out, savagely grabbing both of her upper arms. His fingers dug brutal half-moons into her flesh through her coat.

"Let go of me!" Maeve cried out, twisting her shoulders to break his hold.

Nora bravely attempted to intervene. "Do not touch her!" Nora yelled, slamming her hands against Preston’s chest to pull him off.

Preston shoved Nora backward without a second thought. Nora flew backward, her feet tangling, and she crashed hard onto the unforgiving pavement with a sickening thud and a sharp cry of pain.

"Nora!" Maeve wrenched her neck to look, but Preston yanked her forward.

Preston’s grip on Maeve tightened painfully. He growled directly into her face, "There can only be me, Maeve. Do you understand?" He ignored her desperate physical struggles to break free.

"Let go!" she screamed, thrashing against his grip. The sudden, jerky movements sent flares of agony through her recovering stomach, but she fought through the pain.

"I am doing this for us," Preston barked, tightening his hold until her bones ached. "Stop being a selfish bitch. You know I despise women who act like this. I am securing our future. You think I wanted to keep you a secret? My family gave me no choice."

"I said, let me go!" Her legs shook beneath her. Her strength was fading fast, adrenaline burning out, leaving nothing but weakness.

Preston opened his mouth to shout another demand.

Before Preston could utter another word, a heavy, devastating fist abruptly slammed directly into his jaw. The knuckles struck bone with a sickening crunch.

The impact lifted Preston off his feet. He was instantly knocked backward, tumbling through the air, and hit the hard pavement, sprawling flat on his back.

The sudden release of tension caused Maeve to stumble forward. Her knees finally gave out. She braced for the concrete, but she fell directly into a pair of warm, incredibly strong arms.

Her trembling body was instantly grounded by the stranger's sharp, distinct, earthy scent of lemon and musk. The panic in her chest receded, replaced by a strange calm. She slowly opened her eyes and looked down. Her fingers were curled tight into a white dress shirt, right next to a massive, dark brown coffee stain.

"Are you alright?" a deep, rumbling voice asked.

Maeve stiffened. She tilted her head back, her eyes widening as she found the exact same man in the coffee-stained shirt she had angrily encountered in the hallway earlier.

"Hey," he murmured. One large hand pressed flat against her spine to support her back, while the other braced her elbow.

Before Maeve could form a coherent word, Preston scrambled back to his feet. He spat blood onto the asphalt, his face twisted in pure fury at the assault. "Do not dare touch her!" Preston screamed. "Let her go! Who the hell do you think you are?"

The stranger leveled a cold stare at the furious man. "You think you are strong?" the stranger mocked, his voice a low, dangerous rumble. "Putting your hands on someone half your size? Try it with me. Let us see how far that strength gets you."

To their left, Nora groaned and pushed herself up from the ground. She rubbed her bruised elbow and rushed over to Maeve, wrapping a protective arm around her waist. "Are you okay?" Nora whispered, her eyes darting between the two men.

Maeve gave a faint nod. Preston was not the type to back down from a challenge; his bruised ego usually demanded retaliation. But the tall stranger deliberately positioned his massive frame directly in front of Maeve. He acted like an unyielding, physical shield between Maeve and her ex-fiancé.

Preston took a hesitant step forward, his fists balled at his sides. He attempted to leverage his elite family name to intimidate the man. "Do you even know who I am? Do you know the family you are messing with?"

The stranger simply tilted his head. A slow, deeply mocking smile spread across his lips, transforming his handsome face into something terrifying. He delivered a chilling, calm threat. "Can you still use that powerful name once you are limping out of this parking lot in pieces?" The stranger took one slow, deliberate step forward. "Or zipped up in a body bag?"

The sheer, predatory coldness of the threat worked. Preston’s face paled. He cautiously retreated to his vehicle, realizing he was outmatched in every possible way.

"This is not over, Maeve," Preston shouted, shouting a final warning from his car door. "Answer my phone calls. We will talk when you stop acting crazy."

He spun around and got inside. The engine roared to life, and the vehicle sped away in defeat.

With the threat gone, the man turned his attention back to Maeve. A familiar smirk returned to his face. The lethal edge melted from his features, replaced once again by that infuriating arrogance.

"You know, for someone so clumsy and loud, you are incredibly lucky I was around a second time," he noted mockingly, his eyes trailing over her disheveled state. He jokingly suggested, "At this rate, you should probably put me on your official payroll."

Maeve let out a dry snort. Unamused and desperate to sever ties, she quickly unclasped her purse. She pulled a couple of crisp hundred-dollar bills from her wallet. She stepped forward and aggressively shoved the cash directly against his firm chest.

"This should be enough for your services."

The man refused to take the cash. He did not even look at the money.

Instead, his large hand moved with startling speed. His fingers closed firmly and immovably around her delicate wrist.

Maeve gasped, trying to yank her hand back, but his grip was like iron. Before she could even attempt to pull away, he physically lifted her wrist directly to his face.

He stopped when her skin was an inch from his nose.

He closed his eyes. Slowly, deliberately, he inhaled deeply against her skin, acting as if he was confirming a deeply held, impossible suspicion.

A shiver wrecked through Maeve’s body. She froze, trapped by the bizarre intimacy of the gesture. She pushed against his chest, but he did not budge.

When his golden eyes finally snapped open again, the teasing amusement was gone. His entire gaze had drastically shifted into something infinitely darker, sharper, and utterly predatory. The air between them crackled with a deeply unsettling tension.

He stared directly into her eyes and demanded to know, "Why do you have my scent on you?"