I leaned against the doorframe of the living room, watching Camille admire her new earrings in a small compact mirror. She tilted her head from side to side, the rose quartz catching the light.
"These will look perfect with my cream dress for the charity gala next month," she gushed.
"They suit you," I said, meaning it. The pale pink complemented her fair complexion beautifully.
My wolf was still unsettled from the encounter with Tristan Valois. His scent – cedar and amber with hints of spice – lingered in my nostrils even now. When he'd opened that door and caught me half-dressed, the shock in his eyes had quickly transformed into something darker, more primal.
I'd felt naked under his gaze in more ways than one.
"My father never forgets special occasions," Camille continued, oblivious to my discomfort. "Even when he's traveling, he always finds a way to send something meaningful."
