The Ghost Heiress And Her Dying Husband

nd his assistant, Arthur, immediately stepped back, his

ll locked on Ivy. He coughed, a dry, rattling

tly in front of his wheelchair. She deliberately invaded his space, her presence a challenge. The sea bre

ace flushed, and his breathing became ragged. Ivy watched him with the detached cur

ingertips. The slight blue tinge to his lips. This was

oved. She pulled a slim leather case from an inner pocket of he

're doing?" Arthur exc

a needle and, with unerring precision, slid it into a specific

subsided into shallow breaths. The tremors in his h

nt of warmth was spreading from the points of contact, a sensation

aced them. "Someone who can save your life," she

didn't move. Ivy pushed the chair forward, right to the crumbling e

ps close to his ear. "T

nishing, completely at odds with his frail appearance. "I didn't kill her," he ground out, his voice raw. "But if you

rage ignited in Ivy's eyes. "Then

e, she tipped the

d by the roar of the waves below. The fall was not clean-his shoulder struck an outcropping of

long-abandoned warning line-and secured one end around a solid rock anchor. She didn't hesitate. She went over the e

ve. She hauled him onto a narrow ledge of rock, saltwater streaming from his clothes, a gash bleeding freely on his te

e the first into the base of his skull, the second into the side of his throat, and the third directly over his heart. She p

t of seawater. He gasped, a raw, ragged sound, his eyes flying ope

the needles was flooding his system now, battling the poison, stitching life

r, Mr. Davenport. But that can wait." She hauled him up, slinging his arm

t alive. Arthur stood frozen, his face ashen, having witnessed the impossible. Ivy lowered Je

tling the poison. This woman was an enigma, a paradox of healing and destruction. She had tried to kil

began typing a discreet message, ordering the most comprehensive background check pos

look so worried, Mr. Davenport. We have plenty of time to get to know

. The file on Ivy Barr described a lost, broken girl. This woman was a queen on a battlefield-one w

look before turning and walking ba

ible warmth still singing in his veins. He turned to Arthur, his voice low but

d ever seen. And the woman who had just tried to kill him-and then brought him b