Rowan wasn't surprised when Finn followed her into the elevator, but she hadn't counted on his rising anger or the delicious sensation of having his large form towering over her in the small space.

"I can explain."

"I sure as hell hope so."

"Rowan. Listen--"

"No." She waved a hand, unwilling to listen to some smooth explanation or some sort of misguided apology. "Whatever words you think you can cajole me with you might as well save them." The elevator doors slid open on her floor and she stomped off.

She was angry.

And irrationally hurt, which was the only possible reason tears pricked the back of her eyes as she struggled with her electronic key.

"Here. Let me." Finn reached over her shoulder and took the slim card from her shaking fingers. The lock switched to green and snicked open.

She crossed into the elegant suite and dropped her purse on the small couch that sat on the far wall, dashing at the moisture in her eyes before he could see the tears.

"Rowan. We need to talk."

"You think?"

"Come on. Please."

She did turn at his words. "What can you possibly say that will make any of this okay?"

"I couldn't tell you."

"You chose not to tell me. There's a difference."

He was alive.

The young man who she'd thought died saving her was alive and well and living a life of prosperity and success in London.

"Do you know how I've wondered about you? For twelve long years I've wondered if you died that night. I've lived with the pain of knowing I put you in danger and got you killed."

"I'm fine. I'm here."

"And you never even thought to tell me. To contact me or give me some hint that you were okay. That you'd lived."

"It's not that easy."

"Well it sure as hell isn't hard."