Wilde at Heart (Wilde Security, #3)(51)

But when he parked in his building’s garage and they got out of the car, the silence became grating. Strained. He was hurting and she was a bitch for not breaking the silence sooner.

She waited until their apartment door closed behind them. “Are you all right?”

“No.”

Stupid question. Of course he wasn’t okay. He’d just lost something invaluable and there was no way to ever get it back. “I’m sorry.”

“You keep saying that like it’s your fault.” He turned, met her gaze. “Is it?”

“I don’t know,” she admitted. “It could be. Indirectly.”

“How?”

She wanted to tell him. God, did she want to tell him, but Jason’s warning still rang in her ears.

You know what will happen if you do…

She shook her head.

Reece studied her for several long seconds, then pushed out a sigh. “I wish you’d tell me, but I know you won’t. For whatever reason.”

“I’m sorry.”

“Stop.” He held up a hand. “Shelby, just…stop apologizing. You’re pissing me off.”

“It’s not because I don’t trust you—”

“Doesn’t matter,” he muttered and strode into the kitchen. He snagged a bottle of Scotch on his way and splashed some into a tumbler without ice. “This is a business arrangement, nothing more.”

Head thrown back, he downed it in one gulp and smacked the glass down on the counter, the sound like a gunshot. She flinched. He had every right to his anger. The night had gone straight to hell without the hand basket, and here she was being all evasive and shit. In his shoes, she’d be pissed off at her too.

Across the room on the coffee table, Reece’s laptop signaled a new email. He snarled at it. Honest to God snarled like he wanted to rip its motherboard out with his teeth. Bottle still in hand, he stalked over.

Ignore it, she wanted to say. Whatever it was, it could wait. He’d already dealt with enough tonight. But she wasn’t really his wife and it wasn’t her place to tell him what to do, so she slid off her shoes, gathered them up in one hand, and started toward her bedroom with the intention of taking a long, hot shower. She needed to wash off the makeup covering her tattoos. Wash off the grime and lingering stink of the fire. The heat would go a long way toward relaxing the knots of tension in her neck and along her spine. Maybe she’d even stay in until the water ran cold—

Glass shattered behind her, and she yelped in surprise. She whirled, heart hammering in her throat, and spotted the scotch splattered across the living room wall, the bottle in pieces on the hardwood under it. She stared at the mess for a long time, uncomprehending.

He’d thrown the bottle.

Mr. Always-in-Control Reece Wilde had thrown. The. Bottle.

She turned her gaze to Reece as he sank to the floor beside the couch as if his legs no longer had the ability to hold him. He propped his elbows on his drawn-up knees, shoved his hands into his hair. He looked like a man who had reached his limit and then been forcibly shoved over.

She couldn’t leave him sitting there, hurting and alone. She set her shoes down by her bedroom door, then tiptoed toward him, careful of the broken glass. “Reece.” She knelt down, laid a hand on his forearm and squeezed until he lowered his hands and looked up. She expected to see anguish, but he’d pulled on an expressionless mask, devoid of all emotion.

“The blackmailer emailed me again. He knows about your past.”

Her breath snagged in her throat and her chest constricted around her heart. “What?”

He flopped a hand in the general direction of his laptop, still on the coffee table. Oh, no. She didn’t want to see whatever was in that email and stared hard at the glowing Apple logo on the back of the machine, willing the thing to blow up.

No such luck.

Swallowing down the sour taste of dread, she made herself reach for it and turn the screen around. Pictures of her in her wilder days, none of them painting a very flattering portrait of her character. But there was nothing about Steven or her association with The Headhunters or Jason Mallory. She released the breath she’d been holding. The blackmailer didn’t know her entire past. Bits and pieces, maybe, but nothing that was going to get her killed.

The text accompanying the pictures was short and to the point.

Pay up or these photos would be emailed to Irving James.

Shit. Marrying Reece was supposed to protect him from the blackmailer, not make the situation worse. But of course the blackmailer had the ability to find dirt on her. Not like there was a shortage of it out there to find.

And the rest would come out. If he or she had found this much, the rest would follow.

She glanced up at Reece and opened her mouth to—what? Apologize? That would only piss him off more. “Um, are you going to pay?”

He stared back with exhausted eyes. “What choice do I have?”

“Reece—” The words snagged in her throat. “Let’s get the annulment. First thing tomorrow. Then you can just stop paying the blackmailer and if the photos leak…well, make the end of our marriage my fault. Tell James I tricked you. I’m a gold digger and—”

“And you think that will give him the confidence to enter into a business deal with me?” he interrupted with a snort. “In James’s mind, if I’m stupid enough to let a woman get the better of me, I’m not fit to do business with. Whatever I do, I’m f*cked. I’m—” He shook his head and lumbered to his feet, moving like a sleepwalker. “I can’t handle this. Not tonight. I’m going to bed.”