Chapter 28
Rowan's POV
I stared at the minibar, then at the half-empty glass in my hand.
The whiskey burned going down. Didn't help.
The words Lena said to Nora echoed in my head. 'It was just about fairness.' She spent two nights researching for my company. Seven years ago. And I'd only just found out. The realization was a shot of whiskey all on its own, burning a path through my system.
Over the past two years, I have never really paid attention to her. This was like a joke. A ridiculous one.
I poured another glass.
My phone buzzed. Colin's face filled the screen—video call, bar noise in the background.
I answered.
"Well, well." He grinned. "The elusive Rowan Reynolds finally picks up. I thought you'd be—" He stopped, eyes narrowing at my glass. "Wait. You're drinking? Alone?"
"Your point?"
"My point is that you—Silverton's ice king—are holed up in a hotel room getting drunk by yourself." He leaned closer to the camera. "Let me guess. Missing your soon-to-be ex-wife already?"
My fingers tightened around the glass. "We're not divorced yet."
"Technicality." Colin waved a hand. "What's it been, two weeks left on the contract? Three? Basically over." He paused, then added with exaggerated sympathy, "Must be rough. No more Lena to come home to every night."
I said nothing.
"Although honestly," Colin continued, warming to his theme, "I never got the appeal. Lena's gorgeous, sure, but she's so... cold. Ice queen incarnate. Now Nora—there's a woman who knows how to have fun. Soft, playful, knows how to make a man feel good." He smirked. "Want me to set you up with someone? I know a few who'd love to warm your bed. Way more entertaining than—"
A smile tugged at my lips before I could stop it.
Lena. Cold in public, yes. Reserved. Controlled.
But in bed...
The way she fought to stay composed even as she came apart beneath me. The contrast between her icy exterior and the heat of her skin, the breathless sounds she tried to suppress, the way her fingers dug into my shoulders when she finally lost control—
"Holy shit." Colin's voice cut through. "Are you smiling? What the hell are you thinking about right now?"
The smile vanished. "Nothing."
"Bullshit. You had this look—like you were remembering something very specific." He leaned in, eyes gleaming with mischief. "Oh my God. Were you thinking about Lena? In bed?"
"Colin."
"You were! You totally were!" He crowed with laughter. "Man, you are so screwed. And I mean that literally and figuratively."
"Don't you have better things to do?"
"Nope. This is way more interesting." His grin faded slightly. "Seriously though—you snapped at me for calling her your 'soon-to-be ex.' Rowan, you're not fooling anyone."
"I'm hanging up."
"Wait." Colin's expression turned uncharacteristically serious. "Look, I'll stop messing with you. But one thing—you're obviously into her. More than you want to admit. So maybe... don't let her walk away?"
I stared at him.
"Or do." He shrugged. "Your funeral. Just saying—when she's gone, you'll know exactly what you lost."
The call ended.
I set the phone down. Picked up my glass. Drained it. The alcohol did nothing to numb the sudden unease coiling in my gut.
When she's gone...
I stood. The room tilted slightly, but I made it to the door anyway.
---
The hallway was quiet. My footsteps echoed as I walked to her room.
What are you doing?
No idea.
I knocked.
Footsteps. Then the door opened.
Lena stood there in a hotel robe, hair damp from the shower. Her eyes widened slightly. "Is something wrong?"
I couldn't answer. Couldn't think past the whiskey haze and the sudden, overwhelming need to—
"Rowan?" She frowned. "You've been drinking."
"Yeah."
"Then you should go back to your room." She started to close the door.
I caught it. Stepped inside.
"What are you—"
I kissed her.
Not gentle. Not asking. Just need and frustration and two years of things I'd never said, all compressed into the pressure of my mouth on hers.
She made a shocked sound, hands pushing against my chest. But I was bigger, stronger, and I didn't let go. Just held her there, tasting whiskey and the faint mint of her toothpaste and something that was purely her—
She bit my lip.
I pulled back, breathing hard. We stared at each other, her face flushed, eyes blazing.
"Are you out of your mind?" Her voice shook with fury.
"Maybe."
"So what is this?" She shoved at my chest again. "Drunk and bored? Decided to exercise your conjugal rights one last time?"
"Lena—"
"Or wait—let me guess. You struck out with Nora tonight, so you came here instead. Easier than calling an escort, right? I'm still technically your wife."
Each word landed like a punch.
"That's not—"
"Not what?" Her laugh was bitter. "Not true? Then what the hell was that, Rowan? Because from where I'm standing, it looks like you got drunk and decided to use me."
I opened my mouth. Nothing came out.
Because she was right.
At least, that's what it looked like. And I had no defense. No explanation that wouldn't sound like another lie.
I stepped back. "I'm sorry."
She stared at me, chest rising and falling rapidly. "Get out."
I turned toward the door.
---
Back in my room, I leaned against the door, ran my tongue over my lower lip. Tasted copper. She'd actually drawn blood when she bit me.
A smile tugged at my mouth despite everything.
At least she felt something.
Anger was better than that glacial indifference she'd perfected over the past weeks. Better than the polite distance she maintained in meetings, the way she looked through me like I was furniture.
This—her fury, the way her eyes had blazed, the sharp bite that left my lip stinging—this was real. Raw. Honest.
I'd take her rage over her ice any day.
Christ. What's wrong with you?
I collapsed onto the bed, still dressed, staring at the ceiling as dawn crept gray and cold through the window.
Sleep didn't come until the sun was fully up.