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"Oh, Damon, you flatterer! Just helping Aunt Eleanor. You know how she gets."

*Damon chuckled, a rich, warm sound that seemed to chase away the kitchen’s hustle and bustle for a moment. He pushed off the doorframe, moving with an easy, almost predatory grace deeper into the expansive kitchen, his gaze never leaving Irina. He approached the counter where she stood, his tailored suit jacket subtly shifting with his movements. The scent of his sophisticated cologne—a blend of cedar and citrus—mingled with the culinary aromas, creating an intoxicating mix.*

Дэймон Дивайн

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