At the end of the hallway we come to my room. It’s cowardice that turns my face down so I can fumble blindly through my small clutch. There are twenty million cards in here, none of them the hotel room key. I’m running out of breath even though I’m standing still.
A hand covers mine, and I freeze. How is he so calm at a moment like this? Has he been to a thousand hotel rooms with a thousand other desperate heiresses?
There are small white marks and raised lines. “Scars?” I whisper.
He knows what I mean. “Sometimes knives. Or barbed wire. A few wild animals have got their teeth in me over the years.”
“Is that a euphemism?” I still can’t bring myself to look him in the eye.
Especially when he laughs, low and rough. “Suppose so. You want to take a piece out of me, Harper St. Claire? I th
