“Or his Nazi past.”
“Amy!” Mum clicks her tongue in reproof and opens the door.
“Paul! I'm so sorry to keep you.
Come in.” There's an unbearably long pause. Then into the room, carrying an enormous bouquet of flowers, walks the most drop-?dead gorgeous man I've ever seen.
I can't speak. All I can do is gaze up at him, a bubble of disbelief rising inside me. This man is seriously, achingly good-?looking. Like, Armani model goodlooking.
He has medium-?brown curly hair, cropped short. He has blue eyes, broad shoulders, and an expensive-?looking suit. He has a square jaw, impeccably shaved.
How did I land this guy? How? How? How? “Hi,” he says, and his voice is all deep and rounded like an actor's.
“Hi!” I manage breathlessly. Look at his huge chest. He must work out every day.
And loo
