The Last Time I Cried Your Name novel Chapter 367

“Pervert.”

Petty stood in the bathroom doorway, cheeks burning and toes an embarrassed shade of pink. Franco barely glanced at her as he scooped up her fallen nightgown and tossed it into the trash, like it was nothing.

“Don’t throw away things you don’t want,” Franco said in that steady, unaffected tone of his. “Are you hungry?”

Petty didn’t answer. She turned her back to him, walked to the sink, and sniffed her right hand. With her left, she turned on the faucet.

“It’s clean,” Franco’s deep, clear voice sounded behind her.

That only made it worse. Now she couldn’t stop thinking about the scent on her skin. With a flare of irritation, she kicked the bathroom door shut, blocking him out.

She opened the cabinet to her left. Instinctively, her hand reached straight to the second shelf and pulled out a bottle of perfume. She sprayed her right hand over and over, only stopping when the fine mist turned to clinging droplets, soaking her fingers in fragrance.

Then she paused, a weird feeling creeping down her spine.

She looked at her hand, then back at the cabinet, and stared at the bottle. There was no manufacturing date on it. No label, nothing to suggest it was ever meant for sale. It felt custom, maybe even made just for her.

She loved perfumes, had a collection at home. This scent fit her tastes exactly.

But that wasn’t what unsettled her most.

It was how she’d found it so easily. She hadn’t searched. She just knew—her hand had gone straight to the right spot, as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

Her mind flashed back to sitting on the living room sofa yesterday. She’d reached over the armrest, right where the magazine was tucked away. It was automatic, like muscle memory.

Maybe yesterday she could explain it. Her sofa at home had a magazine pocket in the same place. Habit, nothing more.

He held his chopsticks a little tighter, looking up at her. Her eyes were wide open, the hope to leave plain on her face. He answered with a low hum. “You really want to go that badly?”

She sipped her soup in silence. The island seemed even quieter at night, and with the staff dismissed during meals, the dining room was just the two of them and the hush between.

After a while, Petty set down her spoon. “Yesterday you said if I won, I could ask for a reward. Does that still count?”

“It does,” Franco said, his eyes holding hers. “What do you want?”

She didn’t look away from his deep blue gaze. After a beat, she pressed her lips together. “I want to drink with you.”

Franco’s eyes flickered, just for a second.

Before he could say anything, Petty’s expression turned cool and almost challenging. “Not just drinking. I want to play truth or dare with you. Do you have the guts?”