Page 133

I frown. “So this was a test?”

“No.” His gaze holds mine. “It was me proving I’m not going anywhere.” The softest smile flits across his lips. “I’m warming up to fight for you.”

A sigh escapes my mouth. “Will you at least come inside and take a shower?” I ask him. “And maybe eat something?”

His eyes lock on mine. “And if I refuse?”

“Then I’ll be uncomfortable for the rest of the day, and it’s Christmas and I’d really like to be comfortable.”

He nods. “I think we both still have work to do.”

“You could say that,” I mutter.

“I’d love to take a shower. Thank you.” He stands, rolling his neck and shoulders. His coat is crushed, his hair is a mess. He looks exactly like he should, having spent the night sleeping on a New York bench.

And yet somehow he still manages to look unbearably handsome as we walk into my apartment building and up the stairs.

THEO

I step out of Georgia’s small bathroom, drying my hair with the bright pink towel she gave me, the fabric soft and faintly scented with whatever detergent she uses. I feel clean and warm – almost human again – once I put on fresh clothes from my carry-on.

Even better, for the first time in twenty-four hours my shoulders feel loose.

Her apartment is small but looks perfectly lived-in. Books are stacked on the shelves, bright prints on every wall. There’s the faint smell of coffee lingering in the air.

I find her in the kitchen, leaning against the counter and staring down at her phone.

“Your shower pressure is incredible,” I say. “I may never leave.”

She doesn’t answer, not right away. Instead her shoulders stiffen, reminding me how much more I still have to fight. And I want to, I’m ready to.

By the time I’m finished with this fight, she won’t be in any damn doubt of how much she means to me. Even if she still doesn’t want this, at least she’ll know.

She slowly turns to look at me, her face so pale it almost looks like ice.

“Have you checked the news this morning?” she asks me.

I shake my head. “What’s happened?”

She walks over and passes her phone to me. My eyes skim over the headline. Baron Behind Bars.

For a second the words don’t register. Then they do. I nod and hand the phone back to her.

“Don’t you want to read the full article?” she asks.

“Have you?”

“Yes.”

“And is there any mention of me?” I ask. If they have an arrest warrant out for me too, I may need to go home. Anything else and I don’t give a damn.

“No.”

I let out a slow breath. “Then no,” I say. “I don’t want to read it. It’s Christmas. And I’d rather talk to you about that.”

Her brows rise together. “About what?”

“You have no decorations,” I point out. “And judging by the fact you only got back yesterday, I’m guessing you don’t have the ingredients for a Christmas meal either.”