Too Late For Regret, Mr. Mckinney

of gray and pale pink. In her apartment, Everleigh was already dressed for war. A sharp, tailored pan

oment. His small chest rose and fell in a steady, peaceful rhyth

ced with such clarity, still lingered. It hadn't ended whe

ack Con

nd of the front door opening finally w

was

walked towards the bar to pour himself a drink, he passed the sofa. A faint, cloying scent of

e Everleigh's

her eyes. "You're back." Her voice was flat,

at her, his attention focused on the amb

detached calm settling over

s. He turned slowly, his blue eyes narr

s ever

gestured toward the orange Hermès box he'd picked up from the foyer console on his wa

nded like an item being

e looked straight at hi

iliar gesture of impatien

the distance between them, to stand before him and demand

icker in his eyes. Something complex and unreadable. But it was gone a

hair behind her ear. The gesture was almost gent

low and even. "The lady of the Mckin

earlobe, a touch that sent a shive

. That is your position. Kno

our po

d in her head, her heart, her soul. They were a death

rson to him. She was a title. An asset.

h escaped her lips. I

reaking the contact, se

and," she

e untouched gift on the table, and went upstairs

She poured herself into her charity work, making connections, learning, planning. She became the perfect, de

Flash

lled her from th

ing room, rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

ce was warm, the chill of the memory van

le arms wrapping tightl

forting weight against hers. He smelled of baby soap and sleep.

her. Protector. Founder. A wom

ot even Brice Mckinney, tell

ed him over to Mrs. Petrova,

sweetie. Mommy has to go t

eps firm, her resolve absolute.