Crooked nose. Pale brown eyes. Chestnut hair.
“Paul!” I exclaim. Only it comes out as ‘PUUUHH!’because his palm is still pressed tight over my mouth.
“Quiet,” he pleads, staring into my eyes. “Do you hear me? You have to be quiet.”
I sit up sharply, grabbing his hand and ripping it from my lips. The covers go flying, but I barely notice. I’m too busy glaring at my husband.
If looks could kill, he’d be so dead right now…
“What the fuck are you doing here, Paul?”
“Shhh! Keep it down! That cop is still downstairs.”
Conor!
“Are you freaking kidding me?!” I whisper-yell, not entirely sure why I’m complying with his demands.“Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t start screaming my head off.”
“Because if you do, I’m a dead man.” There’s a desperate sort of conviction in his voice that tells me he’s not lying.
“Paul…” I shake my head. “The police can help you—”
“No!” Rocketing away from the bed, he crosses to the front-facing window and peers out at the street with a paranoid look. “If I’m in custody, I’ll be a sitting duck. You don’t understand. There are some people after me and if I don’t give them what they want… things could get bad. Really bad.”
“No shit, Sherlock,” I hiss. “Who do you think they came after when they couldn’t find you?”
He glances back at me and winces. “I worried that might happen.”
“Thanks for the warning, jackass!”
“Shh! Not so loud.” His eyes are more remorseful than I’ve ever seen them. “The last thing I wanted was to drag you into this, Shelbs. You have to believe me.”
“Sorry, Paul, but your credibility is shot after the shit you’ve pulled.” I scoff in disbelief. “You have some nerve showing up here after everything you’ve done. Especially given what happened the last time we saw each other. Or did you think a few gifts, some flowers and chocolates, would make me forget about Christmas?” I touch my cheekbone absently, tracing an invisible wound.
“God, Shelbs.” His face has gone stark white. “I’m sorry, okay? About Christmas. About all of it.”
“No! It’snotokay! None of this is okay!” I throw my legs over the side of the mattress and clamor to my feet, planting my hands on my hips to scowl at him properly. “Petrov’s men kidnapped me yesterday! They duct taped me to one of our dining room chairs and held me hostage in an attempt to get your attention!”
He pales further. “I’m sorry. God, I’m so sorry…”
“A little late for that, Paul.”
“I’m going to fix it, okay? I have a plan.” He takes a few strides toward me, but I instantly backpedal away, maintaining a safe distance between us.
He may’ve forgotten what he did the last time we were in the same room, but I certainly haven’t.
Paul pulls up short, his handsome face contorting with hurt. Once, seeing that sad, puppy-dog look would’ve sent a dagger through my heart. Now, all I feel is cold indifference as I stare at the man I married.
“Shelbs…” His voice breaks. “I know we’re going through a rough patch right now… but don’t you trust me anymore?”
“A rough patch?!” I explode, louder than I intended. “I filed for divorce, threw you out, and am now being targeted by the fucking Bratva thanks to your bad decisions… And you honestly think this is just arough patch?”
“Shhh! That cop is still downstairs.” Paul’s expression contorts from hurt to anger so fast, I have trouble keeping track. “What the fuck is he doing in my house, anyway?”
I stiffen. “It’s not your house anymore. It’s mine.”
He takes a step toward me. “Why did you have to bring the cops into this, Shelby? I told you, I have a plan!”
“Maybe if you’d bothered to share that plan with me, I wouldn’t have been blindsided, kidnapped, and hauled in for questioning about your various criminal activities!” I hiss. “You have no right to question anything I do. Not anymore. And definitely not when it comes to this mess you’ve made.”