Chapter 14

“Look,” Matthew said, tone light, gaze firm, as though he were talking to a child, “we are both grown men here and while I admit that I have had moments of carelessness myself—”

“Go. Fucking. Get it.”

Matthew’s lips tightened. Pricks of anger began to draw blood into a flush on his cheeks and chest. He could feel the anger rising, and he hated it. One did nothing good when one was angry or frustrated. It was another reason he didn’t let himself get to the point that he swore. Swearing was just a sign that frustration—that anger—had been allowed to take forefront over sense. It was impossible to think reasonably or responsibly when one’s endorphins reached excessive excitatory mode.

He took a deep breath.