Summer Ford was at a loss for words at his remark.
Was he asking her to take responsibility for what she just said?
Ethan Laurent looked at her leisurely, his fingertips tugging at the scarf wrapped between them as he toyed with it.
Pulling it slightly, his fingertips suddenly entangled in her soft, long hair.
"I'm still waiting for your answer." He lifted a strand to his nose to smell, savoring the faint fragrance that flowed into his nostrils, softening his expression.
Summer Ford carried a very unique scent; like him, she never liked using artificial fragrances. Her scent was natural, very subtle—the scent of orange blossoms—particularly pleasant, much like a gentle rain-mixed wind in autumn, fresh and clean.
