Page 68 of Ruthless Wars

Chapter Thirty-Seven

Margot

A few days later

“Europe’s always a good idea,” I say as I nibble on another pretzel bite. It’s my second cup of them, but I can’t help myself. And only in the company of a very special trusted person can I stress-eat to my heart’s content, and for once, not worry about being judged.

“Sometimes it is,” my sexy Latin heartthrob says before he pops a pretzel bite into his mouth. His hand caresses mine before giving it a tender squeeze.

I push my sunglasses higher up my nose, trying to hide the uncontrollable tears that threaten. He scoots his café chair close enough to mine that it’s incredibly easy to rest my head on his shoulder.

“Is this an escape?” he asks, and I shrug. “Because running away from your own heart usually doesn’t work.”

“It's worth a shot,” I murmur stubbornly.

His chuckle is warm and light, and his arm locks around me just enough that I feel a little better.

“Besides, nobody can explain why Coop and the press think I’m still married. Or why Wyatt’s coming. He shot me a cryptic note and has been annoyingly radio silent since. And Jean gave me a heads-up that I’m about to make the news—again—over this newest scandal. The last thing anyone needs is publicity. I just—” I take a moment to wipe away a few rogue tears. “I just need to check with the Austrian magistrate myself.” I take a minute before admitting the truth. "I need to get out of here."

“Well,” my companion says with a smile, “I know why Wyatt’s coming. And it has nothing to do with that.”

I don’t have to look at him to know he's wearing a shit-eating grin that will only serve to irritate the hell out of me. “And how do you know that?” I ask, enjoying the feel of a sweet kiss on my head.

“Because I know everything,” he says with soft assurance. “Except why you feel like you have to leave.”

“Because I need to get as far away from the press and Liam Cooper Byrne as I can.”

“You know,” my sexy friend says, “there’s a much easier way to handle this. Faster too.”

I break away to look him in the eye. Or, at least, lift a questioning brow at his Ray-Bans. “I’m afraid to ask.”

“You should be, because it’ll probably start off a little unpleasant. And it’s starting now.”

Before I can ask what he means by that, an achingly familiar voice booms from behind me.

“What the hell is this?”

I jump to my feet and whirl around, my mouth agape, able to squeak out only one word. “Coop.”

“Hi,” my companion says, a little too excited as he extends his hand in greeting. “I’m—”

“I know who you are,” Coop says. “And frankly, Mr. Rodriguez, I’m not going to lie. Seeing that your first order of business in the US is to make Margot cry is already rubbing me the wrong way.”

“Noted,” my friend says with a mischievous grin. “When rubbing mystery mogul Mr. Byrne, only rub him the right way.”

Coop gives him a murderous glare, and I hide my amusement. I’m not sure I’ve ever seen Coop this enraged—or jealous. Is it wrong that in the midst of my sadness and his anger, I’m completely turned on?

It doesn’t help that Coop is wearing a jet-black T-shirt that molds itself to his sculpted biceps and chest. His sweatpants might be loose enough for prime time but can’t conceal the life-size cannon pitching a tent from nothing more than the size of him.

And, heaven help me, my eyes are magnetically trained on it.

“Margot.” He huffs out my name, breaking the spell with a scolding tone.

“What?” I ask innocently, tearing my gaze away to return to his face.

In a single long stride, Coop insinuates himself as a wall between me and my companion. The look in his eyes is as angry and wild as it is hot and filled with desire. Or maybe I’m just seeing what I want to see.

Still, he doesn’t touch me, and maybe the lust radiating from him is just a mirage.

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