Perfume Girl

by Vanessa Fewings

  I curled my fingers around my beloved scent. “Actually, it’s not even finished.”

  “That’s what he told me.”

  “What? Who?”

  “This guy I met back in South Beach. He smelled like that.”

  She’s wrong.

  I humored her. “Do you remember his name?”

  She shrugged. “I can find out. We have a reservation system at The Artisan Café. I’m training to be a manager there. The man was sitting in my area.”

  “This was in South Beach?”

  She nodded.

  “You’re a long way from home.”

  “I’m visiting my mom.” She pointed in the direction of Monroe Street. “She works at the House of Beer.”

  Skye fished her phone out of her purse.

  “I can access the reservations on here,” she said. “It was last Monday.”

  “You don’t need to do that.” I raised my hand to stop her.

  “I got it.” Her gaze rose to meet mine. “Penelope Beauregard booked the table.”

  “Beauregard?” I was stunned.

  A perfumer…? It was too much of a coincidence.

  “He had that exact bottle.” Skye looked sincere. “I remember the way it makes the perfume glint like a potion.”

  “This one?” I pointed to mine, which was one of two Lalique bottles I’d purchased from an antique store in Paris.

  The same trip that now had an entirely new meaning. At the last minute, Damien had pulled out so I’d been forced to tour the city alone. I’d mixed business with pleasure and had thoroughly enjoyed my visit to one of the most beautiful cities in the world. Of course, now I knew why Damien had bailed and those otherwise happy memories were now tainted.

  “That scent is unmistakable.” She looked around the store, not catching my incredulous expression.

  I struggled out of my melancholy. “Was it Penelope who recommended Angel’s Quest?” It was one of their scents.

  “No, the guy with her did.”

  I grabbed my phone from behind the countertop and with a swipe and a quick search brought up a photo of Penelope. According to the names listed beneath the photo, that striking man beside her was her brother, Astor. I was surprised by his age; he was around thirty, maybe a bit older. Their last name, Beauregard, sounded haughty and I had imagined a much older man helping his sister run the business.

  I turned my phone towards Skye. “Was this him?”

  “That’s the asshole.” She grinned. “Though he smelled amazing.”

  I flipped the screen back around and stared at his handsome face. Had he really been wearing my scent?

  It was a long shot…and it was impossible to prove. Yet who else would be interested in a startling new scent other than perfumers? Only they would realize what they had.

  I removed the bottle’s cap and had her sniff again. “Are you sure?”

  “I asked him what it was and he got all defensive.”

  “Really?” I mulled that over. “Let me get a bag for your Lilies & Freesia.”

  After Skye left I locked up the store in a daze.

  Within minutes, I had researched where Penelope lived and was heading toward South Beach, the other side of Florida. I had a long drive ahead but I needed answers. I couldn’t rest until I knew the truth. With a heart full of hope and a head full of ideas, I navigated across the state.

  This is madness.

  Then again I had nothing left to lose.

  As I neared Penelope’s property, the same one mentioned in the year old Vanity Fair interview I’d read online during my search, I clutched the steering wheel and replayed the plan.

  Okay, there is no plan.

  There was just me hunting down Penelope and asking her where the hell she’d gotten my new fragrance. Though, in her defense, she probably had no idea it was stolen. Somehow, it had found its way onto the black market and right into the heart of her company.

  This trip into the unknown was me taking back my power.

  See, you can be spontaneous.

  The long driveway reminded me I was heading toward a wealthy estate—the kind that would probably have a security guard somewhere on the property.

  A flash of black suddenly appeared before me and I yanked the wheel sharply to the left to avoid the horse and rider. My car fishtailed and sprayed up dust and gravel, sliding toward a brick wall.

  I slammed on the brakes and was jolted forward and then slung back by my seatbelt, stopping only inches from the wall.

  Jesus, the horse!

  I unbuckled my seatbelt and shoved open the door, heading toward the man who was trying to calm the panicked stallion. The rider raised his hand in the air to warn me to keep my distance.

  “I’m sorry,” I called out.

  The stallion reared up. The rider’s strong arms grappled with the reins, trying to calm the animal and keep the impressive beast from bolting. The horse was obviously a thoroughbred. With its curved spine and arched neck, it had a height of at least fifteen hands.

  When the stallion settled down, the rider directed the animal to walk toward me.

  I took in the man’s leather boots and his tight jodhpurs, outlining his taut thighs, and then my gaze landed on the extraordinary features of Astor Beauregard. The strong line of his jaw was remarkable—and those piercing hazel eyes were fixed on me with a judgmental expression.

  He directed his skittish horse around my car, all the while throwing me condescending glances.

  “That’s a good idea,” I offered. “Let him see the car is harmless now.”

  Astor tugged on the reins and maneuvered the horse toward me, coming so close I could literally reach out and touch his mane.

  I took a step back and my heel caught in the gravel. I fell, landing on my bum.

  “Now we’re even,” Astor said darkly. He leaned down, offering me his hand, and with an impressive athletic ability quickly pulled me to my feet.

  I brushed gravel off my skirt. “I’d like to talk with you about a—”

  “Get back in your car and leave.”

  No way, not after driving all this way.

  Something told me his sister would be more reasonable. “I’m here to see Penelope Beauregard.”

  “She’s not here.”

  I walked over to my car and gently closed the door. “I’ll wait inside the house.”

  “You’d have to be invited in to do that.”

  “Then I’ll wait here.” I folded my arms across my chest and leaned back against the car.

  “You’re trespassing.”

  “I don’t appreciate being threatened with a horse.”

  “I was decent enough to stop.”

  I narrowed my gaze, disapproving of his arrogance.

  He squeezed his heels against the stallion’s ribs and headed off in the opposite direction.

  I called after him, “Mix the scent of your conceit with the aroma of your boots and you’ll have a winner for the fuck-boys.”

  He tugged on the reins and forced his horse to turn sideways. “You know who I am, then?”

  “I do.”

  Even if I hated him, I couldn’t deny how impressive—and hot—he looked while he was getting his frisky steed under control.

  He loosened his chinstrap. “And who do I have the displeasure of meeting—on my land, I might add?”

  “Your property?”

  “Yes.”

  “Isn’t this your sister’s home?”

  “So you got your info from Town and Country?”

  “Vanity Fair.” I swallowed my doubt. “What time will she be back?”

  “She rarely visits.”

  “Where does she live?”

  “Who are you?”

  “I’m a perfumer.” I gave him an accusatory glare. “And a good one at that.”

  “Are you here to be interviewed for a job?” A muscle in his jaw twitched. “We only hire superior chemists.”

  “Obviously not,” I said. “Because I’m standing
here and not in your lab.”

  “You really think you’re that good?”

  “Yes.”

  “Spice or Oud?”

  “Both, if muted with jasmine.”

  His mouth curled into an amused smile. “Lime basil and mandarin…”

  “Goes well with English pear and freesia.”

  His gaze narrowed. “Iris, jasmine and…”

  “Lily.”

  He gave me a smoldering look. “Proves nothing.”

  “I’m open to learning new techniques,” I replied, fluttering my eyelashes.

  Fuck it. I was all in.

  “You want me to teach you?” He stared down at me with burning intensity. “It takes a certain discipline to come under my tutelage.”

  A feeling of rivalry came over me and I drew in a deep breath.

  He nudged his horse and headed back toward me. “I’m in charge of hiring. You go through me for the privilege of working at The House of Beauregard.”

  “Then I was misinformed.” That would rub his ego the wrong way.

  “Come.” He gestured for me to follow and I walked behind his horse, wondering if he was going to berate me some more.

  When we reached the stables he said, “Hold his bit.”

  “Why?”

  “I’m going to dismount, and he still might be a tad skittish.” He caressed the horse’s mane. “I’m just climbing off, boy.”

  Wrapping one hand around the bit, I held the horse still and caressed his muzzle. I felt calmer, too, as I breathed in the earthy scent of stallion and leather and fresh air, and gazed off at a dazzling sunset.

  The stables went on forever and I wondered how many horses he owned, and how much help he’d hired to care for them. To the left was an area covered by a large white dome, which looked like a place where horses were trained.

  Astor’s heels landed on the dirt. He moved over to me and took back the reins, his hand brushing over mine, sending an electric shock through my fingers.

  “You can make it up to him,” he said.

  “What?”

  “Help me groom him. We’ll talk.”

  “About?”

  “Coming to work for me.”

  I didn’t want to work for him. Arrogant bastard.

  “Is that your usual expression?” He flashed an amused glance my way and then led his horse into the stables.

  “I’m just trying to figure you out, Mr. Beauregard.”

  He looked over his shoulder at me and flashed a wry smile. “I run a multi-million dollar business and like horses. There you go…mystery solved.”

  Hooves clipped along stone and I smiled when his horse glanced back as though checking to see if I was following. Astor patted his neck with affection and led him into a large stall.

  I stood near the doorway and watched Astor shove the stirrup aside from the leather flap and unhook the saddle. He eased it off and perched it on a dividing wall, then grabbed a brush.

  The air was filled with the scent of straw and horse. Mingled with his soft cologne, it created an earthy combination.

  “What’s his name?” I moved in closer.

  “Vedado.” He ran the brush slowly over the horse’s rump and down his hind leg.

  “He’s beautiful.”

  “He’s a stallion so let’s not offend his pride.”

  “Like a stud?”

  Astor’s mouth twitched with amusement. “Let’s keep the conversation strictly on the horse.”

  “Funny.”

  “Do you think you could make it? If I hired you?”

  “Make what?”

  He paused and turned to face me. “A scent for fuck-boys?”

  “From leather and arrogance?” I mused at his brashness.

  “Yes.”

  “So you’d be the one wearing it?”

  “I’m serious.”

  “In the right environment I can make anything.”

  “Come here.”

  “Why?”

  “The only reason you’re in here is because of my horse.” He offered me the brush. “Let’s not waste his time.”

  I walked over and took the brush out of his hand. Moving past him, I faced Vedado and began running the brush over his long neck. His flesh shivered as I swept it beneath his mane.

  “Slower.” Astor stepped up behind me.

  That commanding deep tone of his had me wondering what he was like in the bedroom. Masterful? Bossy? Dangerous? My flesh tingled, betraying me with the distraction of these thoughts. Beauregard looked like the kind of man who would throw you onto a bed and then move you around beneath him until you passed out from pleasure. A playboy. The love you and leave you kind.

  There, less than five minutes with him and I knew his type.

  My body stiffened when Astor cupped his left hand over mine to direct the brush over Vedado just so. His touch was firm and demanding, and I allowed him this control, at least, to lead each stroke, each lift of the brush as it began its downward glide over pure muscle.

  He stepped back and watched me intently, his gaze studying my every move, causing the fine hairs on my forearms to prickle. This was obviously the point of his charade, to seduce me or, at the very least, to weaken my resolve.

  He gave a nod of approval. “You never told me your name.”

  I looked back to observe his reaction. “Raquel.”

  “Raquel.” He ran his tongue along his lower lip. “I’m Astor.”

  “I know.”

  He broke into a smile that looked adorable.

  I was here to fight with him and his family, not swoon like a victim of his superior masculinity. An important fact I forced into my frontal lobe.

  “Astor’s an unusual name,” I said.

  “It means Thunder God.”

  “Aren’t we the lucky ones?” I continued to rub the brush over Vedado.

  Astor moved closer and though he wasn’t touching me, I could feel the heat of his body behind mine. It made my toes curl and my core tighten. “Any more questions, Mr. Beauregard?”

  He leaned down and whispered, “Are you sure you want to work for me?”

  A shiver ran through me and I was sure he’d sensed my reaction.

  “Where did you come from, Raquel?”

  “Clearwater.” It was a small fib.

  “Ah, where the ocean is blue and the sand is like silk.” His tone had become hypnotic.

  “It’s true.”

  “What are you wearing?”

  “My perfume?”

  He leaned closer and breathed me in. “Yes.”

  “Nothing.”

  He went silent.

  I spun around and stared up at his ridiculously gorgeous face. I could understand why he was used to eliciting a female’s submission with little to no effort.

  “So, why this profession, Raquel?”

  “It’s my calling.” I refused to look away. “And you?”

  He paused. “Me too.”

  “You’re obviously good at what you do.”

  “Oh, I’m very good.”

  “Scent is important,” I blurted out. “It makes more decisions for us than we dare to admit. It decides who we are intimate with, it helps process memories, stirs our emotions and—”

  “Alerts us to danger.” Speckles of gold glinted in his hazel irises.

  “And…it affects our taste.”

  “In every respect.” He lowered his gaze to my lips. “Taste is everything.”

  My clit panged with pleasure. “Is it true you would go to any lengths to get ahead, Astor?”

  He leaned forward and pressed his body against mine so I was trapped between him and his horse. “My critics regard me as ruthless, yes.”

  “You don’t mind being thought of in that way?” My nipples were taut and my body tense. I didn’t hate the pressure of him against me. In fact, I reveled in the sensations it caused. I would never have imagined I’d be flirting and sparring with the enemy.

  “I want to know all about you.”
<
br />   “In what way?” My voice sounded breathy.

  He oozed danger and passion—a cocktail of combustible substances that shouldn’t interact.

  Astor leaned in to kiss my neck and I closed my eyes, tilting my head to the side.

  He pulled back. “What happened to your ring?”

  Glancing down at my left ring finger, I saw the impression that the gold band I’d once worn had left behind. I could tell him about my divorce, but I didn’t trust myself to believe I had any good instincts left when it came to men.

  When I didn’t reply, he leaned in closer, his lips almost touching mine.

  “I am many things to many people, but to you, Raquel, I will always be the gentleman who walked you to your car.”

  The air stilled. Astor stepped away from me and the spell was broken.

  I let out a shaky breath. For a second I had thought he was going to kiss me—and I would have let him.

  He reached for my hand and led me out of the stables.

  To hide my embarrassment over our near intimacy, I turned my attention to the house. It was a regal-looking property with white walls and tall pillars. I could see it was right on the water.

  “Who lives with you?” I had to ask.

  “I don’t live there.”

  “Who does?”

  “I want to sell it.” He turned to face me. “What’s your last name?”

  “Wren.” I gave him my maiden name.

  “Mrs. Wren, it’s been a pleasure.” He lifted my hand and kissed it. “This is how a playboy says goodbye.”

  Astor dazzled me with a smile that made me blush.

  “Call my office,” he said, opening my car door. “They’ll send you an application.”

  Feeling self-conscious, I tucked an unruly strand of hair behind my ear. “I want you to know that—”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m usually more cautious.”

  He leaned forward and answered huskily, “I know.”

  I drew in a sharp breath at his flirty goodbye. A way to keep me thinking of him long after we’d parted, no doubt.

  I knew this man’s work, or at least his colognes. Each scent lured a woman in with the promise of forbidden love infused with danger.

  That was Astor’s brand.

  This wasn’t the time to ask him about my perfume. Here, he clearly had the upper hand and I wasn’t willing to have him send me away forever.

  I needed more time to strategize. Take what I had learned and methodically weave a plan that would see my formula returned to me. Everything in my being told me he had it.