Sienna didn’t sleep that night.
She’d checked into the little inn at the edge of Greyford, a timbered building that creaked with the wind, and lay in the narrow bed staring at the ceiling. The silver-eyed stranger kept replaying in her mind — the way he’d said her name, the strange warning in his voice, the fact that she’d never told him who she was. That was another thing that made her feel uneasy. Hiw had he known her name? And his warning was about what exactly? Was there something he knew but was not telling?
It should have been unsettling enough to make her want to leave first thing in the morning. But it wasn’t just fear that kept her awake. It was something deeper — the memory of the heat in his gaze, the way her body had responded before her brain had caught up.
She hated that.
