She somehow glared harder.
His lips tickled, and he bit back a smile. “You’re going to get a migraine if you don’t relax your shoulders.” Did she still get migraines? He hoped not. One time she’d been in so much pain, he’d wanted to knock her out until it passed.
“Fuck you,” she said quietly but with impressive authority.
He let the grin loose. “When did you start swearing?”
She lifted an eyebrow. “Graduate school. I’d ask when you turned into such an asshole, but I already know the answer.”
He lost the smile. Yeah, she knew exactly when he’d turned into a dick. “I’m sorry,” he said.
Her eyes widened. “Huh?”
He’d never apologized, now had he? “I said that I’m sorry. Sorry I left you for war when you were only eighteen and returned so fuckin’ damaged. Sorry I was a jerk to live with.” He leaned back against her closed door, his gaze remaining steady. “More sorry I let you go when I did.” Although she’d done well without him.
She blinked. “You’re forgiven. Now you should leave.”
Quick, wasn’t she? Yet she didn’t hide her emotions any better now than she had in the past. “I’m not forgiven.”
“You are,” she whispered, crossing her arms. “We were young, and it was a long time ago.”
Yeah. Eight years seemed like an eternity. “I have somebody in Seattle packing you several bags of clothes, and I have extraction teams rounding up your team from BioGlax Pharmaceuticals.”
Her shoulders straightened in pure defiance. “I would like clothes, but for now, I need to call my team and provide an explanation. The guys with guns will scare them.” She dropped her chin, and her fingers played with a string from the small white top.
He shoved down a groan, remembering full well how those fingers had felt wrapped around him. “Sorry—no calls about Scorpius. We have the building blanketed and are monitoring every call.”
Anger heightened her high cheekbones. “You can’t do that. The government can’t do that.”
“Yet we have.” He’d been entranced by her naiveté from day one. That and her serious side. The woman couldn’t relax unless seriously wrestled to the ground. One of the highlights of their marriage had been his taking her down and exploring how to play and just have fun. Who lightened her load now? “You seeing anybody?”
Her mouth dropped open and then shut just as quickly. “You’re joking.”
“No.” He wasn’t. Not even close.
Her chin lifted. “None of your business.”
“You’re my wife. It is my business.” The words escaped in a full-on Scottish brogue before he could think twice.
“We’ve been divorced for years.” Bright red spiraled through her high cheekbones, and educated precision clipped her diction. Her brains, her sheer intelligence, had intimidated him once.
Now they impressed the hell out of him. “The second I saw you, I forgot about the divorce.”
Her eyes flashed. “That’s why we haven’t been in the same state for eight years.”
Actually, he’d been across seas, then dealing with the aftermath in his brain. Now, after years of working through the hell, he was calm. Settled. Alone. And alone, without her, was the last thing he wanted to be. “I’ve changed.”
“I haven’t.”
“Good,” he whispered.
She blinked, and a cute frown wrinkled between her brows. “We’re not doing this right now. Leave, Deacan.”
She was the only person in the world who’d ever used his full name, and the second she slipped back into using it, his world righted itself. Until that very moment, he hadn’t realized he’d been off. “You want me to leave?” he asked.
Her stubborn chin lifted again. “Yes.” Then she waited, daring him. Definitely daring him.
This was the most fun he’d had in years. “Fine. I’ll make you a deal.”
