PREVIEW

... r patented; I-Know-You’re-About-To-Lie-To-Me face.

She took one look at me and sighed like she was preparing to deal with a stubborn toddler. She sat on the edge of my bed, smoothing her robe over her knees.

The mattress dipped under her weight, sending a puff of María José’s scent into the air again.

Torture. Absolute torture.

"So," she said briskly. "What’s wrong?"

"Nothing," I said automatically.

She arched one sculpted eyebrow. "Right," she sai ...

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