Phoebe's POV
I sat by the window, fully dressed but refusing to budge no matter what anyone said to me.
It wasn't about anything specific—just pure mortification mixed with irritation. The only time I'd ever had an accidental discharge with a weapon was during my earliest training days. Never did I think I'd face a completely different kind of unexpected release today.
Harold had disappeared into the guest room for a frigid long shower. When he came back, he found me still planted by the window and actually had the nerve to laugh. 'Shouldn't I be the embarrassed one here?' I could practically hear him thinking.
The way he'd been caught off guard, nearly losing all restraint—his emotions had been riding a wild storm.
Thank God his iron willpower kicked in, letting him suppress those urges and walk away when he did.
He moved closer and brushed my hair back gently. "Phoebe, still mad at me?"
