The car finally pulled up at the sleek entrance of Presbyterian Hospital, New York, the glass walls gleaming under the sharp morning light. The valet immediately stepped forward, bowing slightly when he recognized the man behind the wheel. Dante Alexander Montgomery cut an imposing figure even in something as mundane as driving a car. His dark sunglasses reflected the rising sun, his jaw tight and expression unreadable.
Anastasia sat quietly in the passenger seat, dressed in a long beige trench coat over a simple silk blouse and pleated skirt, her legs tucked close. She tried not to think about how sore they still felt or how Dante had practically threatened to carry her into the hospital if she so much as winced again.
He stepped out of the car with that same dangerous grace that seemed to command the air around him. Long legs in tailored slacks, his dark coat billowing slightly behind him as he moved. And then he came to her side, opening the door with a sharp, fluid motion.
