I head out to the balcony, where I discover that it’s late afternoon. The suite is on the seventeenth floor. The hotel exterior is ornate with gargoyle bas-reliefs, horns and talons as big as my forearms sticking out. Four such carvings, then a balcony. I look down. Lots and lots of little balconies underneath…and people and cars as tiny as ants.

My heart races, blood whooshing through me. Holy shit.

I close my eyes to create a strong visual. First up: me as a bloody pancake on the sidewalk. I shudder. No, no. I’m too young to die.

How about… Me as Mrs. Rupert Fage? My stomach roils, and I start to gag as acid sloshes in my belly and begins to climb to my throat.

That does it. Death is preferable to being married to that piece of shit. I didn’t avoid him for over twenty years just to be forced to be his missus now. Parker is welcome to that cootie louse.

Carefully, I reach over and grab the closest horn, then swing my leg up until my bare foot finds solid purchase on the knee of the gargoyle. Gritting my teeth, I pull myself up, then over. The desert wind blows, pulling at my hair and dress, as though telling me to go back to Doris’s luxurious prison of a room.

No thanks.

I slowly and carefully make my way over. My muscles burn as I cling to the horns and fangs with all my might. Holy shit, this sort of stuff looks so easy in the movies. At least the stone used for the carving is rough, so I can get a decent grip. Otherwise, I’d definitely slip and die. I inch my way over…

Careful… Careful…

Don’t be afraid, I tell myself. Seriously, death is shitty, but not as terrible as it appears. Should I fall, Doris, Vernon and Rupert would become destitute fairly quickly. I looked up the charitable organization that would get my entire sixty-billion-dollar fortune. The Pryce Family Foundation is run by a woman named Elizabeth Pryce-King, and she doesn’t look like a pushover. The best part is that she has no connection to anybody in Nesovia, and Doris has no way to influence her.

My pulse pounds in my head, and my mouth is completely dry.

Come on. Just a little bit more…!

I stretch my leg as much as possible, and my toes touch the railing. Air rushes out in a big sigh of relief, but I still maintain a tight grip on the gargoyles. Can’t screw up the last step.

Clenching my teeth, I throw myself at the balcony and safety. At the same time the double doors open, and a dark-haired man in a charcoal-gray suit steps out.

I yelp, and he spins in my direction, his eyes wide in shock and alarm. I crash into him, wrapping my arms around him in a death grip. He staggers back a few steps, until his back hits the doorjamb.

“What the hell?”

“Shiii—!” I put a hand over his mouth, looking back at Doris’s suite. “Not so loud.”

He stares at me with wide, blue-gray eyes. My heart still pounding from the crossing—but I’m safe now—I take a moment to gather my thoughts. A neighbor wasn’t part of the plan. Given how extravagant Doris is with my money, I thought she might have rented every room on the floor, just to show how important she is.

The man’s tall—at least six-five—and my toes barely touch the floor while my arm’s looped around his neck. Smells good, too—something woodsy and spicy with a hint of warm flesh.

The few thoughts I’ve gathered scatter as I look at him. He is simply beautiful, something I never thought I’d ever consider any man to be. A lock of dark hair falls over his high forehead. Thick eyebrows are slanted slightly upward, three deep lines settling between them as he studies me, the intensity in his eyes sending scalding shivers down my back. His cheekbones are just high enough to balance his stunning features, perfect spots for a woman to lay affectionate kisses. His mouth is still pressed against my palm, and my pulse speeds up for reasons that have nothing to do with the exhilaration from my daring escape.

I should say something. I’m the only one with a free mouth. “Look, if you don’t scream or anything, I’ll let you go. Deal?” I whisper.

His gaze glides to the gargoyles…then to the balcony on the other side. He takes my wrist firmly, then lowers my hand. Um. Guess he could’ve always freed himself. “Did you just come from the next suite?”

I nod with a smile full of pride, a sentiment he doesn’t seem to share. The lines between his eyebrows become trenches. “Are you crazy?” he demands.

“Maybe?” I shrug, then look up at him. “Which way should I answer to get you to cooperate?”