Any person with half a brain and functioning eyesight could tell exactly what had transpired in that hotel suite. The evidence was written all over me in shades of violet and crimson. My heart hammered against my ribs as a wave of acute embarrassment washed over me. I instinctively reached for my collar, yanking the fabric upward in a desperate, futile attempt to hide the marks while my mind raced to construct a plausible lie.
"The mosquitoes... they've been absolutely vicious lately," I stammered, my voice lacking any real conviction. "I must have scratched myself in my sleep. You know how it is in those old buildings—the pests are relentless."
Kristina Johnson didn't blink. She remained perfectly still, her cool, analytical gaze fixed on me with the practiced detachment of a high-stake
