“You can drive at fifteen!” Hana remarked, sounding like an irritated teenager.
“Older than that,” Logan smirked, his eyes narrowing with mischief and his top teeth grazing his lower lip.
Hana turned to face the window, humiliation making her emerald eyes flash. Strong fingers settled over her right hand and she glanced across to meet Logan’s earnest gaze. “I’m thirty-nine, Hana. I’ve got all my own teeth and am financially solvent. I’m jilted and single, too perfectionist for my own good and not keen on feet. What else do you need to know?”
Hana looked down at his brown fingers entwined around her porcelain skin. White scars criss-crossed them as though he’d put his hand through a broken window more than once. Her thumb smoothed over one of the soft ridges, her mind in turmoil. She exh
