Page 13 of Bitter Heat

He wasn’t shying away from their past, he was diving right in. Damn him for being so confrontational. This was her worst nightmare. “I didn’t know when I started the series that the couple wouldn’t stay together. Cheating was just a way to break them up.”

“You mean us.”

She ground her teeth. “The characters started out like us, but now they’re their own thing.”

“So you didn’t go on a fuck fest after you left me?”

“What happened after you is none of your business.”

Her muscles locked as he crowded her, blocking out the rest of the room and intimidating her with his size.

“You’ll always be my business,” he growled.

“That’s all I ever was to you.”

“What does that mean?”

She tried to walk around him, but he grabbed her arm. When she struggled, he gave her a shake that rattled her teeth.

“Stop fucking running and talk to me!” he shouted.

She had never heard him yell before. The sound of his enraged boom freaked her out.

“Talk!” he ordered.

She shoved him as hard as she could, gaining her freedom in the process by forcing him to take a step back, which appeased her somewhat before she blasted him back.

“I don’t want to talk. There’s no point in this! It’s over.”

“Yet here we are.” He spread his arms wide. “And there’s no one around to save you.”

“I don’t need anyone to save you from me. I can handle you on my own.”

“Can you?” he asked softly.

“Yes.” She had no choice.

The confines of the bedroom were a little too intimate for her peace of mind, and it was freezing. She raised a hand to her cheek and let out a disgusted sound when she couldn’t feel it. She passed him and headed back to the fire. There would be no sanctuary, not tonight. If he wanted to bring up the past, she couldn’t avoid it. His intimate knowledge of her Thalia Crane series was the cherry on top of this nightmare sundae. He knew everything. He had the power to destroy her professionally and skewer her emotionally, but she was past caring.

She rewrapped herself in the quilt, tucked her feet under her, and leaned into the armrest. As he reclaimed his seat on the opposite end of the couch, she stared into the flames and wished she could be consumed by them. Daylight would come soon. The storm would pass, and this would all be over.

“You had to know this day would come,” he said.

She shook her head. “No.”

“You thought you could avoid me forever?”

“Why would we bump into each other? I’m not part of your world.”

“You still make headlines.”

“Only when my father forced me to attend functions and …”And during his funeral. It had been a media circus.

As if he were following her line of thought, he said, “You were photographed with Lincoln at your father’s funeral.”

She gave him a disgruntled glance before she looked back at the flames.

“Matthew too.”

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