Chapter 17

• “Suit yourself.” He gestured to a nearby couch. “Sit down, Freya—and you can put down your bag. You look as if your fingers might break.”
• She looked down stupidly to see white knuckles through the skin of her fingers where they gripped the leather. Forcing herself to take a breath, she moved jerkily over to the couch and perched on the edge, resisting the design of it, which wanted to seduce her into a more relaxed pose.
• Travis came and sat down opposite her, clearly far more relaxed than her as he sank back into the couch, resting one arm across the top. Freya fought the desire to look and see how his shirt must be stretched across his chest.