Arobynn hit her-her ribs, her jaw, her gut. And her face. Again and again and again. Careful blows, meant to inflict as much pain as possible without doing permanent damage. And Sam kept roaring, shouting words that she couldn't quite hear over the agony. The last thing she remembered was a pang of guilt at the sight of her blood staining Arobynn's exquisite red carpet. And then darkness, blissful darkness, full of relief that she hadn't seen them hurt Sam.

Well, he was certainly desirable-as desirable as Sam, maybe. Sam-when had she ever thought of him as desirable? He'd laugh until he died if ever knew she thought of him like that.

With nothing else to distract her, Celeana eventually returned to thinking about Sam. Even weeks later, she had no idea how she'd somehow gotten attached to him, what he'd been shouting when Arobynn beat her, and why Arobynn had thought he'd need three seasoned assassins to restrain him that day.

Sam stared at her long enough for heat to flood her cheek, as if he could see right inside of her-see everything. The fact that he didn't turn away from whatever he saw made her blood thrum through her veins.

Maybe I'm just unable to resist how handsome he is," she said. Sam went rigid."He's twelve years older than you.""So?" He didn't think he was serious, did he?