The Rolls-Royce eased to a stop in front of the beach house. Kira blinked awake and glanced sideways at Derek. His head rested against the leather headrest, eyes closed, the sharp lines of his face relaxed in what might have passed for sleep if not for the tight set of his jaw. The thin cut still marred his forehead, the edges stubbornly refusing to knit together; fresh blood continued to well up along the shallow groove left by the metal clasp of that handbag.
"Stop staring. It's uncouth." His voice rolled out low and tired, little more than a rumble in the quiet cabin. He did not open his eyes, but the muscle in his jaw flexed once.
Kira did not look away. Instead, she leaned in a fraction closer, her gaze fixed on the angry red line. "I'm not staring. I'm...assessing the damage." A mischievous spark lit her eyes. "For a king, you really don't have a very good defensive strategy against handbags."
