Until now.
Now, that kind of intimate knowledge had the knot in her belly twisting into cramps that were equal parts guilt and panic. She didn’t want to fall for him and his silly tics. She had a horrible track record when it came to men and relationships and, although he was different from anyone she’d ever dated, he was also the first man she’d ever blatantly lied to. A relationship with Steven the pyromaniac had had a better shot at working than anything with Reece, and look how that had turned out.
A disaster. As usual.
Eva was right. She was a walking jinx.
“Do you want to end it?” she asked, throat so tight she was barely able to squeak the words out.
“No,” he said without even a hint of hesitancy. “Do you?”
“I…” Her heart fluttered. Stupid thing. “I want to see this through. Help you catch your blackmailer.”
He said nothing for a long moment, then gave a sharp nod as if she’d confirmed something for him, and cranked the ignition. “Yeah. Right. It’s a business arrangement.”
Reece said nothing more for the entire drive home. At first, she’d welcomed the silence because her heart was too heavy with guilt to carry on a normal conversation. Besides, what was there for them to talk about?
But when he parked in his building’s garage and they got out of the car, the silence became grating. Strained. He was hurting and she was a bitch for not breaking the silence sooner.
She waited until their apartment door closed behind them. “Are you all right?”
“No.”
Stupid question. Of course he wasn’t okay. He’d just lost something invaluable and there was no way to ever get it back. “I’m sorry.”
“You keep saying that like it’s your fault.” He turned, met her gaze. “Is it?”
“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It could be. Indirectly.”
“How?”
She wanted to tell him. God, did she want to tell him, but Jason’s warning still rang in her ears.
You know what will happen if you do…
She shook her head.
Reece studied her for several long seconds, then pushed out a sigh. “I wish you’d tell me, but I know you won’t. For whatever reason.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Stop.” He held up a hand. “Shelby, just…stop apologizing. You’re pissing me off.”
“It’s not because I don’t trust you—”
“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered and strode into the kitchen. He snagged a bottle of Scotch on his way and splashed some into a tumbler without ice. “This is a business arrangement, nothing more.”
Head thrown back, he downed it in one gulp and smacked the glass down on the counter, the sound like a gunshot. She flinched. He had every right to his anger. The night had gone straight to hell without the hand basket, and here she was being all evasive and shit. In his shoes, she’d be pissed off at her too.
Across the room on the coffee table, Reece’s laptop signaled a new email. He snarled at it. Honest to God snarled like he wanted to rip its motherboard out with his teeth. Bottle still in hand, he stalked over.
Ignore it, she wanted to say. Whatever it was, it could wait. He’d already dealt with enough tonight. But she wasn’t really his wife and it wasn’t her place to tell him what to do, so she slid off her shoes, gathered them up in one hand, and started toward her bedroom with the intention of taking a long, hot shower. She needed to wash off the makeup covering her tattoos. Wash off the grime and lingering stink of the fire. The heat would go a long way toward relaxing the knots of tension in her neck and along her spine. Maybe she’d even stay in until the water ran cold—
Glass shattered behind her, and she yelped in surprise. She whirled, heart hammering in her throat, and spotted the scotch splattered across the living room wall, the bottle in pieces on the hardwood under it. She stared at the mess for a long time, uncomprehending.
He’d thrown the bottle.
Mr. Always-in-Control Reece Wilde had thrown. The. Bottle.
She turned her gaze to Reece as he sank to the floor beside the couch as if his legs no longer had the ability to hold him. He propped his elbows on his drawn-up knees, shoved his hands into his hair. He looked like a man who had reached his limit and then been forcibly shoved over.
She couldn’t leave him sitting there, hurting and alone. She set her shoes down by her bedroom door, then tiptoed toward him, careful of the broken glass. “Reece.” She knelt down, laid a hand on his forearm and squeezed until he lowered his hands and looked up. She expected to see anguish, but he’d pulled on an expressionless mask, devoid of all emotion.
“The blackmailer emailed me again. He knows about your past.”
Her breath snagged in her throat and her chest constricted around her heart. “What?”