Lucy flinched at the scorn contained in the words hissed into her ear as she entered the hotel lounge where her godfather’s funeral tea was drawing to a close. She turned her head to see who could be addressing her with such controlled but undisguised anger. A pair of masculine ice blue eyes stared into hers. “I’m sorry, but I don’t believe we’ve met.” Thankfully the calmness of her voice didn’t betray her alarm at being addressed so aggressively by a complete stranger. Albeit a tall good-looking stranger with a soft American accent. His chiselled face radiated dislike. His lips curved slightly upwards at her response, but not in a welcoming fashion. “My apologies, you are Lucy Morgan, Nick’s god-daughter, aren’t you?” She nodded her head stiffly in reply. Something about him seemed familiar but she couldn’t place where she might have met him before. A fleeting thought surfaced at the back of her mind that if their meeting had been under other circumstances she might even have considered him attractive.
