“Thank you, Miss . . .” He trailed off, and it occurred to Haven that Mayweather was not so bad after all—if he discovered the girl’s name, that was. A grin spread wide and welcome across her face, and Malcolm felt the heat of it like the sun. “What a shock. It seems that you don’t know who I am, either.” He blinked. “Should we?” “No,” she retorted, “I’m not heaven, after all . . .” Except she damn well seemed like heaven. But she was turning the door handle. She was leaving him.
