The smell is like a kick to Marco’s stomach.

Not hers.

As anger surges through his body, his fingers tighten at his sides, the nails pressing into his palms. The difficulty is that he doesn’t have that fragrance. The fucking issue is that.

Nana moves on the bed, her skin drenched in perspiration and her breath labored. She appears to be entirely destroyed by the heat. Marco, however, is unconcerned. He is unable to. She smells like another man, so no.

He stands above her, his ...