Margot lay in bed past her usual rising time of six-thirty, staring up at the ceiling, wondering if and when she finally got herself dressed and went out, whether the members of her clan would see the stain of Lucas Wilcox’s kiss on her mouth like some latter-day scarlet letter. Surely it had to be visible; she swore she could still feel the pressure of his lips on hers, even twelve hours later.
No, that was silly. She knew what she had done, but since the McAllister clan didn’t currently number any mind readers within its ranks, her secret should be safe enough. Apart from Connor, no one from either family had even been at the gallery walk the night before, so she hadn’t been seen with Lucas. It was going to be fine.
But was it, really?
She showered and dressed, applied her makeup with
