Her eyes spit fire, the pointed ends of her eyeliner looking like weapons. “Whose else would it be, you arrogant dick?”
My gaze flicks to Michael—Micah,whatever—giving her my answer.
She takes the test from my hands, slipping it inside the pocket of her black dress. The low-cut V-neck shows off just a sliver of the tops of her breasts, and even though I’m pissed and confused and still reeling from this pregnancy bombshell, my body reacts to her like it always does.
“Are you suggesting I cheated on you?” Her finger jabs between my ribs, her deathly glare telling me she won’t hesitate to pierce my chest if needed. “That I could be carrying his baby while I’ve been sleeping withyou?” She flicks a thumb behind him. “How fucking dare you.”
Christ, even furious, she’s the hottest, most captivating woman I’ve ever seen.
“You’ve been sleeping with him? Also, don’t sound so disgusted, love,” Micah says in an offended tone. “We did have quite the romp?—”
My hand fists his collar before he’s even finished his sentence, my snarl causing his hands to rise in surrender.
The sudden movement causes Beaver to hiss at the asshole, his body arching, canines exposed and eyes murderous. But then, he goes so still, you’d think he was frozen. And that vision in itself is really fucking creepy.
Micah’s gaze flicks from Beaver to me. “Whoa. Now, hold on a second. Firstly, Nisha, your cat is weird as fuck. Secondly, Patton, mate, I understand you’re famous and all, but I’m an fifthdanblack belt in taekwondo. I don’t want to hurt?—”
In one quick sweep with my feet, I have him sprawled out on his back, my hand around his throat. Micah’s breath whooshes out of him in a strained “Oof” as he stares up in wide-eyed shock.
I lean down to his ear, my voice deadly. “And I’m a sixthdan, Michael. Say one more thing about my wife . . . hell, dare to touch her or eventhinkabout her, and?—”
“It’s Micah. And what do you mean, yourwife?”
Someone places a hand on my shoulder, and I turn to see that it’s one of the guys from my security detail. I’d asked them to wait in the reception area, but they must have heard the commotion. “Sir, we can take it from here.”
I shake my head, and he releases me.
Sarina and Piper stand behind him, both gawking at the scene in front of them. They must have come out of their suites, having heard the commotion, too.
We’ve been talking a bit more lately. Last week, the girls even came to the stadium to watch me film, right along with Troy and Dev. I won’t say we’re as close as we were in high school, but with time, I could see us all getting there again.
“What in theGreat British Bake Offis happening here?” Piper squeaks, taking in the scene.
“Looks like Patton is introducing himself to Micah,” Sarina quips.
“Patton Luca Pierce.” Nisha’s shrill voice pulls me out of my haze. “Let him go. This is my place of business, not a back-alley fight club. Thank God we don’t have other clients here right now.”
“What do you mean, your wife?” Micah blurts again from his position on the floor, sending a stunned look toward Nisha. “You’remarried?”
Nisha releases a frustrated breath. “Oh, for God’s sake! I’m this loon’s ex-wife, and probably soon-to-be ex-girlfriend, too, if he doesn’t get his head out of his ass.”
Girlfriend?
I’m not opposed to the word—as ass-backwards as it is—but beggars can’t be choosers. If she’s finally acknowledging a relationship between us, giving us a label other than exes after seven years, then I’ll fucking take it.
Her glare turns to me. “And yes, Micah and I”—she waves her hand as if that’s enough to explain it—“‘dated’ a couple of years ago, but it never went anywhere. You know why? Because I wasn’t over you, you jealous prick!”
My heart hammers as I rise to my feet, closing the distance between us.
For the sake of my fucking sanity, I shove aside her admission of “dating” the douchebag on the floor. As furious as I am that he ever had his hands on her, I’m not angry with her. We were divorced—as much as I hated that we were, that was the fact—and therefore, she had a right to be with whoever she wanted.
It still doesn’t make me want to murder him any less, though.
“And this baby,” she says, her hand resting on her stomach, “isyours. I want to throat-punch you for eventhinkingit was anyone else’s when I’ve spent the past five weeks with you.”
I place my hand over hers, the other diving into her hair and pulling on it so she’s forced to look up at me. “It’s mine?”
“Yes, you idiot.”
