Page 77 of Guilty as Sin

I fling off the blanket and push myself to my feet.

“What are you doing?” she asks in alarm.

“Going home.” I open the drawer of the bedside table. Right where expected, folded clothes are waiting for me. I untie the knot at the back of my neck, and the hospital gown falls to the floor. I kick it aside.

“You’re in no state to go home.” She moves toward me like she’s ready to push me back into bed. I turn to fully face her.

“Do I look weak to you?”

There’s something powerful about standing there in front of her, buck naked while she’s fully clothed. I am all muscle and cock. I have no need to conceal any part of myself.

And no. I do not look weak.

The way she’s struggling to maintain eye contact, Cora knows I look good. But she’s still shaking her head.

“Just because you’re strong doesn’t make you fireproof.”

“I had it under control,” I say. “Until you came along, everything was going according to plan.”

“And what was that plan, exactly? To be a complete asshole to me, some fucked-up idea of pushing me away, all so you can run off into danger and leave me at home just to worry about you?”

“You weren’t worried,” I scoff. She couldn’t have been worried about me. Not after the way I treated her.

“Excuse me?”

“You have to care about someone to worry about them.”

“How dare you,” she hisses.

“All you care about is the power that comes from being at my side.” It doesn’t matter how selfishly I want to keep her next to me. Next to me isn’t safe. “You don’t care about me.”

“Of course I care about you, Brady. I⁠—”

“Enough. You already told me why you want to be my partner.” I fill the word with as much disgust as I can.

“I want to be your partner.” Her voice hitches, and there’s an unusual shine to her eyes. “I want you, not because of your last name, but because of who you are. We’re so much alike, can’t you see that? I am you.”

“You can’t lie your way out of this. Not with me.”

A fat tear rolls down her cheek. Then she’s sobbing. She’s not making any weeping noise, only gasping shaky breaths. But tears stream down her face as she glares up at me. The sight of her furious control makes it worse.

My heart twists. I made my brilliant, confident, ferocious wife cry. I want so badly to take her in my arms, to hold her and comfort her. But I have to keep her away.

“You’re right,” she chokes out. “I can’t lie to you. You can see me through me in a way that no one else can.” She steps toward me, still crying, but doing her best to hold my gaze. “You can tell when I’m lying, so tell me.”

I narrow my eyes, and she takes a daring step closer.

“I want to be at this hospital,” she says. Beneath the tears dripping from her chin, a small muscle in her neck twitches.

“Lie.”

“I want to be at this hospital right now.” There’s no telltale twitch this time. “Because I want to be wherever you are.”

My body goes cold, the shock of being stabbed with the truth. I say nothing.

“I want you for your money.” It’s her lips that twitch this time, the fraction of a flicker.

“Lie.”