“Steffan and I jumped apart, and my eyes fell on Rys, who stood next to a brocken pot of lilies. “My hand slipped.” His voice held not an ounce of apology. That was, for lack of a better term, utter crap. Rhys didn’t slip.”
“Steffan and I jumped apart, and my eyes fell on Rys, who stood next to a brocken pot of lilies. “My hand slipped.” His voice held not an ounce of apology. That was, for lack of a better term, utter crap. Rhys didn’t slip.”
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