She stares at the food we’ve already collected, her expression stony, and for a moment I wonder if she’s fighting anger … or tears. Judging by the twitching of her lip, she’s biting the inside of her mouth rhythmically.
Slowly, she lifts her glassy gaze to me. Her green eyes pale under the haze of tears, and my shoulders soften as she looks at me with such vulnerability that the sounds and lights of the store fade away.
Plump lips part, and a rosy blush warms her cheeks. “Please, Guy. I just need somewhere to stay for a few days.”
Champagne forgotten, I lower my voice. “Are you in trouble?” She swallows hard and nods curtly, as if admitting it is the hardest thing she’s ever done. It’s clear she’s anxious, and if she’s come to me, then she must be desperate. Fuck me and my conscience. “Okay, you can stay a few nights.”
She cheers—the vulnerability gone, the tears gone, too. “Yay! You’re such a gentleman.”
My mouth drops open. “… Was that an act? Are you fucking serious right now?”
“Don’t be such a grump.” She tiptoes her fingers up my T-shirt, her grin vicious. “You kinda liked it, right? Saving me? Men love saving me.”
I grab her hand. “That is not fucking funny.”
“It’s a little funny.”
Luckily for Monty, I’m distracted by the flash of bright red hair at the end of the aisle, and I groan when I spot the last woman in the world I want to see.
Fuck.
Think, Guy. Fucking think.
You’d imagine being a cop for as long as I have been means I can improvise, but every solution keeps coming back to the ticking time bomb of a blonde in front of me.
Fuck it.
“Monty, you know what you did in front of Tim? Do it again.”
She looks delighted. “Really?”
“Yes, my ex-wife is approaching, and she will not leave me the fuck alone since her latest boyfriend dumped her.” I lock eyes with a contract killer, and hate that I’m asking her for a favor. “Please, for the love of God, do this for me.”
“Then let me stay with you.”
I growl. “Monty?—”
“Bye then!” She goes to saunter off, and I grab her wrist and yank her back.
This is a fucking nightmare. I’m being manipulated by a serial killer while my ex-wife storms over to me, and I don’t know which woman is worse.
“Fine, you can stay.”
Monty’s grin is beautiful—and absolutely fucking terrifying. “So, she’s harassing you?”
“Yes, but?—”
As Vivien gets close, Monty whirls.
And smacks her across the face.
It all happens so fast. The crack of knuckles hitting cheekbone, Vivien hitting the floor and skidding away, Monty stomping her way over with equal amounts of fury and grace. She leans close to my ex-wife but doesn’t lower her voice.
“Listen here, bitch. Guy Gibson is mine. If you call him, talk to him, or even think about him again, I’ll remove your tongue. Do you hear me?”
Vivien’s eyes are saucer wide, and she nods rapidly.
Monty straightens before slinking back over to me. “So, white wine or red?”
