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With patient, microscopic movements, she detached her thigh from Monty’s crotch and moved away from his body, guiding his arm up and away from her. She paused often to analyze any change in his breathing, all the while pulling the covers down between them to keep the cold air out.
As she eased herself out of bed, goose bumps rose all over her body. She scrambled to find her clothes, tugging them on as quietly as she could. Each piece felt like armor—from the freezing room, but also from his analyzing eyes, should he wake up and sense her missing.
Once fully dressed, she tiptoed to the bathroom and closed the door, squinting at the click of the hasp. She needed to reconstruct her bitchy shell, but that was the problem. That internal source of anger wasn’t there, at least not the way it used to be.
Have I forgiven him for cheating?she wondered, trying to fire up some outrage. She’d never thought she was the type of person to let sex influence what she thought of a man. But that wasn’t quite it. That wound of infidelity was still there. It had just been sanded down.
She’d looked at his meddling at Cavendish these past months as him asserting himself to annoy her. Which he had. But everything he’d done had also helped in some small way.
He’d worked with Stone to interrogate Lawrence, who’d admitted his part in the sabotage. Then he’d brought in Porter to help Becca try to track Lawrence when he’d fled, not that Hartley had been supportive of that. Monty had had the knife in the kill kit analyzed, although that hadn’t come to anything instructive. He’d even called in a favor to get Spencer to help them with Lawrence’s body when it showed up buried on the property.
She paced from the door to the wall and back, turning everything over in her mind. She was wary of his cheating ass, but her outrage had softened. Still, she needed to get back on her game when he was around. He couldn’t know her feelings had changed. That she was—
“Jesus,” she whimpered, not happy about the emotion that hovered in her chest when she thought of Monty and the L-word in the same sentence. Or that it made her hand tremble as she held it out. “Fuck, fuck, fuck,” she muttered, clenching her shaking hand in a fist. She sank onto the toilet and covered her face. Okay, one moment of self-pity, then she’d snap out of it.
She pressed her bare feet flat against the cool tiles, letting the chill seep up her legs. She stretched to flip on the overhead light, the white walls blaring and making her squint.
Good. The pain was bracing.
Standing, she stared at her reflection in the mirror, looking for the fearless woman she once was, the one who took what she wanted without a second thought. But all she saw was a woman in love, fragile and teetering on the edge of heartbreak.
In love.
The realization hit hard. The initial magnetism she’d felt for Monty was powerful, undeniable. It had pulled her in, making her lose all sense of reason. But now, the very thing that had once ignited their passion scared her the most. The overwhelming need to be with him, to share a life with him, was at odds with the fierce independence she’d always prided herself on.
No, it was at odds with the way she’d been treating him this whole time, pushing him away so she wouldn’t have to admit what her feelings were.
She took a deep breath, trying to calm the storm moving from her gut to her brain. She needed to hide her feelings. While it seemed more and more unlikely, there might be a killer out there they had to find and a business to get back on track. Whatever she felt for Monty shouldn’t be explored right now. Deep down, she knew it wasn’t going anywhere, either.
But what if he feels the same? ventured a small voice.
No, that wasn’t possible. He’d been the one to start the divorce, though she’d propelled it through. No. That was wishful thinking. Painful, dangerous thinking.
“That way lies madness,” she whispered.
She splashed water on her face, the cool droplets grounding her. Maybe if she didn’t make eye contact until she got a few sly comments in. If she could goad him into anger, then he’d say something back, and they’d return to their old, hostile ground.
“Fuck,” she muttered, her heart dropping at the thought of hostile ground.
Love sucked.
CHAPTER21
Achill settled on Montgomery’s arm, stretching across the space Hartley had vacated just minutes before.
He’d woken over an hour ago, his mind turning over a shard of a feeling that had now turned into an impossible nightmare—a nightmare he’d had to pretend he wasn’t having when Hartley woke up and ran away to the bathroom.
Love. For Hartley.
He tensed against the words, his instinct still fighting it. Montgomery Meyer did notfall in love. It wasn’t part of the plan, especially now that his plan was complete. Their divorce was all but finalized, the device testing was underway, and it seemed more and more likely that nobody was hiding out at Cavendish waiting to do more harm.
He pulled his arm under the covers and stared at the ceiling.
When he’d met Hartley, he knew he’d finally met someone who was his mirror. Someone who filled any notion of loneliness with either work or lust-filled hook-ups. She’d scorned any hint of love or deeper feeling. He’d met his perfect partner, and they’d said as much at their quickie marriage just a few months later.
But after last night, things had changed. At least for him.
He heard a sound from the bathroom and craned his neck to the door she’d disappeared behind.Hartley. Even thinking her name sent a ridiculous warmth curling through him.
