6
WHITE HAIR? That was ridiculous. No one had white hair except elves in fairytales. No one under forty at any rate.
Well, she had to hand it to him—without that dye he looked younger, his face kind of high-class with a long, straight nose, high cheekbones and thin but well-defined lips. His eyes were closed, his eyelashes half-moon crescents of silver hair. His eyebrows, too, had turned white. Albino.
He was handsome. Not drop-dead gorgeous like some sultry-eyed teenage football hero who’d be arrested for drunk behaviour and groping women by the time he was twenty-five, and fat and ugly by the time he was thirty, but the type of handsomeness that didn’t age.
But why the disguise?
Who the bloody hell was he with his dyed hair and his accent and his evasive replies? Why was he on the f
