Page 103 of Splintered Hearts

His eyes land on mine with a playful glint. “I’m going to have to apologize to fuckwad Josh.”

“What! Why?”

Jamie grins, leaning down, looking like a predator as his eyes run over the length of me. Mark was right, he’s dangerous, just in all the right ways. When he kisses my throat I swallow against his lips before he nips my jaw.

“That asshole was right. You do look good with your wristsbound.”

I laugh. Hard. “Play with me Jamie.”

Twenty Five

Noah

I’m ready to just sink into a chair and pray my eyes stay open long enough to read a couple of chapters of my current book. Today was long—we had a call-out and I volunteered to stay. Closing the front door, though, loud voices greet me.

Lia.

She’d left earlier, in a hurry, but I wasn’t sure why. She hadn’t stopped to say a word. Isa said she had an emergency, and I wondered whether it had to do with Jamie. He hadn’t texted me, but if something had happened to him Bri would surely have called me.

“I’m a fucking adult—”

“Don’t you dare speak to me like that!”

“I’m sorry.”

What the hell?

Walking through the living room, I slow my steps as I near the kitchen. “You could have really hurt yourself! You should go to the hospital.” I feel bad for eavesdropping, but I’m worried.

“It’s not a big deal. I’m fine!”

“With your health conditions as they are—”

“I’m fine!”

“You can barely stand! Don’t tell me you’re fine.”

Okay, I need to stop this. Coming into the kitchen, I give them both a wary smile. “Heeey.”

“Oh, Noah. Sweetie, I’m sorry.” Exhaustion laces her facemaking her look older. Lia is fifty-three but she doesn’t look it. Her olive skin is a little pallid, her green eyes dulled a bit.

“Why are you making your mother crazy?” My eyes swing to the pain in the ass sitting in the chair. “What’s going on?”

“I’m fine,” he grits.

“Xavi came over and—”

“Mom—”

“And...” She glares. “Jamie was on the floor in a lot of pain and couldn’t get up. I had to have paramedics here but he refused to go to the hospital. They did what they could and recommended bed rest for a week.”

“What were you doing?” How could he have hurt himself that badly?

“I’m fine now—”

“You’re not,” she argues. “If he doesn’t take it easy he could—”

“I’m fine—”

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