Too Late: The Secret Heiress Strikes Back

ena

essa

mples as bright Boston morning light blinded me. Beside me on the tangled sheets lay the wide, muscular back of my

d over my waist, pinning me down. That single name hanging in the

like trying to push a concrete wall. I bit down hard on my back teeth, forced my weight against his grip, and wre

eyes, squinting against the harsh glare from the floor-to-ceilin

between us. Within half a second, the groggy haze vanished from

ugged m

space with suffocating pressure. His voice dripped with re

s at the gala last night. My throat felt rubbed raw with sandpaper. The sound that came out

grabbed the pillow beside him

o keep the Mrs. Kensington title. I di

to Boston's star NHL captain defend the woman who claimed she saved his life thirtee

hit the freezing hardwood floor. With numb, stiff fingers, I bent down and gather

and wrapping it around his waist. He looked down at me fr

changes anything. Our three-year PR c

rds and strode to

head. The zipper snagged at my lower back, and I yank

hud echoed through the empty suite like a f

sk. Pulling open the top drawer, I took out a stack of hotel stat

ivorce Agreement in bold strokes. The

ington family assets and his nine-figure hockey fortune.

bought without even checking my size three years ago-off m

my heels. The sharp clicks echoed against the f

le. I glanced back one last time at the s

ye, Ha

, pushed down the handle,

g swallowed my footsteps as I kept my sp

Watching the red floor nu

noisy chatter of morning guests washed over

floor, ignoring the concierge staff

lass doors, the damp, freezing air of

he hotel, wrapping my arms around my ribs as I

ed silently down the street and pulled up to the curb,

own, revealing the stern, wrinkled face of a

htly, his deep voice c

e-year trial is over. I