Alex's gaze bore her through like an icicle. He was tempted to shove her back into the ornate carriage and tell the driver to head straight for London. Or a far hotter place.

“I'm not the marrying kind -"St. Vincent snorted. "No man is. Marriage is a fema…”

“I didn't mean to send love letters, but that is what they became. On their way …”

“—Colibrí —susurró él—. Será mejor que se vaya. Si no lo hace, terminaré comprom…”

“I’m not short. I’m…vertically disadvantaged.”