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“No,” he said finally.
Her fingers tightened around her glass. “He called me your downfall.”
If she was hoping to get a reaction from him, she would have been disappointed, but she was past expecting anything from him. Irritation tangled with the alcohol running through her veins. She felt as if she was burning up. She parted her coat and barely stopped herself from baring her teeth when his gaze skated down her body.
“It sounds like he heard a convoluted version of what happened,” she said.
“You think so?”
The edges of her vision blurred as her temper kicked up a notch. The hefty tumbler in her hand could knock him unconscious if she got him on the temple… But if she missed, he would retaliate and this would end the way they always ended things. That was the opening he was waiting for. Was he deliberately trying to goad her, so she would do something stupid?
“My father was your downfall, not me.”
“I went to war for you.”
Her mouth dropped. “Forme?”
His expression hardened. “I went to war to keep you.”
Her temper tore at the seams. “You didn’t have to fight for me! You had me. This war was about you and my father—your egos and empires. It was aboutthis.” She swung her arm to encompass the palatial room and didn’t feel an ounce of remorse when she spilled her drink on his expensive rug. “This is what you fought for. And you got it.” Her eyes burned as she toasted him. “Congratulations. Everything you wanted is at your fingertips.”
“Not everything.”
“Right.” She spun on her heel and headed to the wet bar for a refill. “You want payback for everyone who's ever wronged you. You want them at your feet, begging for mercy.”
“I don’t care for begging unless it's coming from you.”
She couldn’t control the way her body jerked in reaction to his words. She silently cursed him in every language she could think of as she shot him a scathing glare.
“I hope you hold your breath waiting for that to happen,” she said sweetly.
“Is that a challenge?”
Touch me and die.The words were on the tip of her tongue, but that would be tantamount to waving a red flag at a bull. She splashed more Scotch into her glass before she took a turn around the room. No one could piss her off like Roth. He didn’t have to do much to make her fly off the handle. How could it be that the first time they were married, the only fight they had was the day of her graduation when he insisted she stay in Philadelphia?
She paused when she heard liquid being poured. Roth was getting a refill. The fact that he moved without her noticing jolted her out of her reverie. She took a deep breath and refocused on her original topic.
“Why didn’t you want me to meet Grayson?”
He turned to face her. They were both in their original positions—her behind the couch (a comforting obstacle), while he posed in front of Knightsbridge, which was an unrecognizable blob in the downpour.
“There was no reason for you to meet.”
“We would have eventually,” she said with studied nonchalance.
“How do you figure that?”
“We have a lot in common.”
His eyes narrowed. “You have nothing in common.”
“We know the Davies,” she said as she trailed her hand along the back of the couch. “That’s how you got into their good graces, right? You needed someone to vouch for you, and there’s no higher recommendation than a royal. Grayson got you in the door. It was only a matter of time before you met Charon, Igor, and the others.”
His silence was damning.
“Grayson’s been a valuable asset. Not many can call on the Prime Minister for a favor.”
The furrow in his brow was the only sign that she’d caught him off guard.
