I ignore her, don’t want to deal with her, but when she grabs my biceps, I’m primed for the fight and ready to unload on her. I whirl around and have her back up against the wall within a heartbeat.

“You want the fucking story, you work for it your goddamn self.” My hands are on the sides of her shoulders, and my face is mere inches from hers. “You think you can waltz into my meet and take the fuck over?”

In an attempt to control my fury that’s spiraling out of control, I release my grip and stalk away from her a few feet. I’m loyal to a fault, so to feel betrayed is something I don’t take lightly. When I turn back around, Beaux’s shoulders are pressed against the wall, her eyes are wide, and her mouth is slightly open – shock written all over her face – and the words I’m about to shout die on my lips.

She looks like a frightened child.

It takes me a second to see through the haze of my fury to realize I’m fucking losing it. I’m standing with fists clenched and more angry than I’ve been in some time, wanting to throw a punch like she’s some damn guy. But I know beyond a doubt she’s so far from that, it’s comical.

I roll my shoulders and try to rein my emotions in because the woman makes me a goddamn lunatic. Add to that I don’t know what to say or do besides shake the truth out of her, and that’s not a fucking option.

I’m not sure if it’s the look on her face or the memories dredged up in my mind, but I have a flash of clarity that causes me to take a step back. I’m out of control, my anger over what happened to Stella is being transferred to Beaux, and the certainty I had ten minutes ago that she was trying to steal my story now has more holes in it than a fishing net.

I begin to speak, but instead just shake my head, run my fingers through my hair, and blow out a breath as I turn on my heel and stalk into the hotel. All I can think about as I jog up the stairwell is how my always sure self is nonexistent these days and how fucking hard that is for a man used to being in control of everything – work, relationships, instinct.

When I shove the door of my room open, it slams into the wall behind it. I push it closed with my shoulder, but I’m so distracted that all I can think about is hitting the gym to try and work this all out of my system before taking a scalding hot shower to wash away the day and the doubt that feels like a damn constant since I’ve been back here.

I forgo unbuttoning my shirt, grab hold of the back of my collar, and pull it over my head, tossing it to the bed behind me without glancing back. In a practiced habit, I pull the Glock from my waistband.

“You had a gun?” Beaux’s quiet but surprised voice cuts through the tension pulling me so damn tight, a fucking breeze might cause me to snap.

I grunt in response but look toward her standing in my door anyway. Her head scarf is off, hair pulled back like that first night we met with little curls falling softly on those defined cheekbones of hers, and sincerity is reflected in her eyes that keep darting to my weapon on the tabletop beside me.

“Ever heard of knocking?”

“It was open.” I hear the startled inhale of someone not used to dealing with guns when I release the magazine from the butt and set it on the dresser in front of me.

“Lots of places are open in this city that I wouldn’t go inviting myself into, FYI.” I slide an impatient glance her way as I double-check to make sure that the weapon is empty and safe.

“I – I just didn’t realize that you could carry a weapon here.”

“You can’t. Next topic or get the fuck out because frankly you’ve used up about all of my patience, and it’s probably best if you’re not around me right now.” I swear my anger must roll off me and slam into her, because she just stares with her mouth agape. “That’s what I thought. Thanks for the chat. Now if you’ll see yourself out…,” I say as I turn to the barely there closet where my suitcase is stowed to get some gym shorts, dismissing her and her surprised eyes.

“I’m sorry. I made a mistake.” My step falters at the contrition in her voice, causing me to turn to stare and wait for her to continue. The silence between us stretches, and I can tell that my gun sitting out in the open unnerves her by the way her eyes keep flickering to it. Does she agree with the brass? Think I’m losing it too? “Tanner…”

“You didn’t tell me you were fluent in Dari.” Screw waiting for her and her placating tone. I’m a man of action, and we need to get to the bottom of this right here, right now.

“You’ve been so busy holding a grudge against me, you didn’t care to ask.” She sets her camera down on the nightstand, and with her shield now gone, her posture changes and becomes more defensive.

“Don’t you think that’s something that was important for me to know?” I lean my hip against the edge of the dresser, but my eyes never leave hers. I’m trying to gauge her body language by her responses.

“Why didn’t you —”

“I’m the one asking the questions here. Not you.” I cut her off. I want answers, and I intend to get them. “Who are you working for?”

Her eyes widen slightly, and her brow narrows in confusion. “Worldwide News?” She answers hesitantly, drawing the words out as if asking me if it’s the correct answer.

“No. That’s who you’re pretending to work for. When you steal my story, who are you going to report for and take the glory for yourself?”

Surprise flickers across her face instantaneously at the same time as she starts shaking her head back and forth. “You’re a crazy asshole – you know that?” she says, voice rising as she steps toward me. “A neurotic, controlling one at that!”

“Get used to it, sweetheart!” I step into her space, welcoming the fight I see flashing in her eyes. “No one takes what I’ve busted my ass for, for themselves.”

“Certifiable!” she mutters with a roll of her eyes, and the simple action sets me off. Who the hell is she to question me when she’s the one trying to play me for the fool? “I screw up, and you think I’m trying to steal your story from a source I’ve never even met before?”

“Let’s add it all up, because one and one sure as fuck isn’t equaling two here.” I need to pace, work through the anger eating me from the inside out. The space in my room is small, but I manage to find a path. “You hit on me in the bar, we sleep together, but the next morning you swear that you didn’t know you were going to be assigned to me. Bullshit!” I cough the word out and hold up my hand to cut her off when she tries to argue. “You were freelance for how long before within the blink of an eye, my partner? Let me ask you… As a freelancer, were you a reporter, a photographer, or were you both? Why be just one when you can have it all, right?”

“Fuck you,” she spits out, and it takes everything I have not to be an even greater asshole than I’m already being and tell her, No, thanks. Been there, done that.

Just as she’s about to say something else, I continue. “Then you miraculously know I’m on a possible story… how? By the way I walked out of the lobby? I mean how the fuck did you know to follow me up to my room and ask? And then of course being the good guy that I am… I bring you with me where you proceed to spook the fuck out of my contact when you bust out in Dari, and then…” I turn to face her, and she steps back so that her shoulders are against the wall. I can tell she’s rattled, but I’m glad because I’ve learned that when you’re rattled, your true colors show, and I’m waiting for hers to light up this room like a damn rainbow. “And then you take his fucking picture? A man who is giving me information about high-level meetings of terror officials and you take his picture?” My voice escalates with each word as I take another step forward to where I’m so close I can feel the heat of her body in the space between us even though we’re not touching. “One and one is adding up to a whole bucket full of bullshit that seems a little hinky to me.”

We stare at each other, eyes locked, jaws clenched, anger emanating off us in invisible sparks in the space between us that I can’t see but can sure as hell feel. I’m so fixated on my spite and anger that she catches me off guard when she shoves against my chest to push me away from her. My hands close around her wrists and she tugs, only serving to bring us closer together.

“Let me go!” She struggles, but I hold tight.

“I want answers.” I grunt out in amusement because even though she’s so damn petite, she’s also quite strong, and holding her still takes some concerted effort.

“Like I said, fuck off.”

“It seems to me your mouth needs to be washed out with soap. Not real classy for a lady to keep repeating words like that.”

“Oh, I’m a whole lot of classy. I just reserve all my fucks for assholes like you who deserve them.”

“I deserve them if I’m wrong, and yet you are doing absolutely nothing to prove that point.” She tries again to yank her hands away, and I just grip tighter. We keep brushing into each other, the physicality of it all setting off every one of my body’s damn nerve endings. Still, I just want to tell them to shut up. I don’t want her. No way in hell.

Not now. Not ever again.

But damn it is a hard thing to ignore when heart rates pick up speed, bodies are inching closer, and muscles are tense.

I know a perfect way to get her to stop. “Look, if you’re into the whole rough thing, it’s not really my cup of tea, but I’m sure I could bend my ways for you.”