Sunsets at Seaside (Sweet with Heat: Seaside Summers #4)

“Shh. Whatever it is, it’s okay. I’ll take care of it. We’ll get through it together.” He stroked her back, while his own chest tightened with worry. He surveyed the apartment for clues about what was going on. Her cello was propped against the wall in the corner; her laptop and phone were on the table. The small kitchen was tidy, and he had a clear view into the bedroom, and other than the bed being rumpled, everything was in its place. The sounds of her sniffling and the feel of her trembling against him made his gut clench tight.

“Jess, please tell me why you’re upset.”

She pushed away from his chest again.

Jamie wiped her tears with his thumbs.

“It’s okay. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it.”

“I’m…sorry.” A lone tear accompanied her whisper.

“Jessie, don’t be sorry. It’s okay to cry. I just want to help fix whatever’s wrong.”

She nodded and wiped her eyes. “I’m afraid to tell you, but I want to.”

“Tell me what? You can tell me anything.” He searched her eyes and saw so much worry and sadness that he couldn’t imagine what was causing her so much pain.

“I’ll tell you, but you have to promise me to be one hundred percent honest, even if it’ll hurt me.”

He cupped her beautiful cheek, his chest tight and his heart in his throat. He wished he knew what was going on. He had nothing to hide from her, and to think she was this upset over something about him knocked the wind out of him.

“I promise. I’ll always be honest with you. Always.”

She shifted her body so she could sit up straighter and inhaled deeply. She pressed her lips together and nodded, as if she were nodding to herself, telling herself she was okay. Her eyes fell to his chest again.

He was ready to crawl out of his skin with worry.

“Baby, please,” he whispered.

“Tonight, after the concert was over and you were helping Vera…” She drew in another uneven breath. He felt her fingers grip his shirt. “Mark said…”

His body flashed hot. His muscles constricted. Mark? Mark caused this? He clenched his jaw to keep from raising his voice.

“What did Mark say to you?”

She swallowed hard but held his stare. “He said that…” Her breath hitched and she swallowed again, then gripped his shirt—and chest—tighter. Her jaw began to tremble again.

“He said that you’re just playing around with me and that you can have any woman you want. That I’m no different from any other woman you’ve been with and if I don’t want to be responsible for the demise of your career, I should back off.”

She spoke so fast it took him a minute to process what she’d said. Breathing harder as understanding dawned on him, he was powerless against the rage that filled his veins. His hands fisted and his biceps flexed. Without a word, he lifted Jessica off of him and set her on the couch.

“Jamie?” Tears streaked her cheeks as she huddled on the couch, looking small and fragile and so horribly broken it killed him.

Every muscle tensed. Fire seared his veins, but beneath that rage was his love for Jessica, and it battled the anger. He was afraid to touch her, afraid to get too close for fear that his anger toward Mark might move him to act too roughly.

“I’ll be back.” Blinded by anger, he moved for the door. He had to fix this mess, had to get to Mark and beat the life out of him for hurting Jessica—for putting any doubt in her beautiful mind.

“Jamie, wait!” She scrambled off the couch and followed him out to the deck. “Wait. Is it true? Was this all a game to you?”

“A game? Is that what you think? Do I act like it’s a game?” A game? This is anything but a game.

“No, but—”

He stilled, his gut burning. “But?”

“I am a distraction. I know I am, so the most important part is true,” she whispered with a trembling voice. “I could cause you trouble in your business. I could make you fail.”

He closed his eyes to try to gain control of the storm brewing inside him. When he turned to face her, she looked impossibly small and scared, like a wounded bird. And idiot Mark was the one who’d wounded her—and it was Jamie’s fault. He’d left her alone with a shark. What had he been thinking?

“You’re not a distraction.” He hated that his teeth were clenched and his face was probably red, but the words were true, even if the emotions putting them forth were misconstrued. He wanted to hold her until she knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that he loved her—but he was incapable of being gentle at the moment. This was the best he could do. “You’re the woman I love. The only failure was mine, for letting him near you.”





Chapter Seventeen





JAMIE SPED DOWN Route 6 and was at the Sheraton in less than five minutes. He cut the engine and gripped the steering wheel so tight his knuckles turned white, wondering what he’d been thinking to let Mark anywhere near Jessica. He had too much faith in Mark; that much was clear. His muscles corded tight, frustration brought his fist down on the dashboard, once, twice, three times—and after he’d cracked the darn thing—a fourth.

“Jerk,” he seethed.

More than ten years of friendship, and this was how Mark paid him back?

His eyes dropped to the stone on the ring on his right hand. Black. Nothingness. Angst so deep you can’t push your way out of it. He breathed heavily, his chest aching with anger and love and all the out-of-control emotions in between. He stormed from the car and into the hotel, nearly blasting through the glass doors that opened so darn slowly he wanted to shatter them. He blew past the reception desk, oblivious to the greeting of the woman behind it, and stalked down the hall, head bowed, blinded with rage.

Room 189 was in the back of the building, which was good. No one would hear him killing Mark. He pounded on the door, rattling it on the hinges.

“Open the door, Mark. Now.” He didn’t care that it was midnight, or that there might be families sleeping in the nearby rooms. He couldn’t have registered such a coherent thought if his life depended on it. He felt the weight of his anger like a two-hundred-pound gorilla, digging its claws into every muscle, snaking into his body and electrifying his nerves until they burned so hot, he could barely see straight.

He banged on the door again. “You have three seconds before I break it down,” Jamie seethed.

He heard the slide of the lock, the chain rattle, the doorknob slowly twist. He thrust the door open and grabbed Mark by his white T-shirt, lifted him off the floor, and slammed him against the wall, barely registering the door clicking closed behind him or the woman screaming in the center of the bed as she scrambled to pull sheets over her naked body.

“What on earth?” Mark hollered.

“What. Did. You. Do?”

“Nothing. Jamie, what the heck?” Mark’s body shook; his eyes shot to the bed.

Jamie turned and looked at the bed, his knuckles digging into Mark’s chest. “Leave. Now,” he said to the frightened woman, then turned back to Mark, ignoring her as she whimpered and cried, gathered her clothes, and tore out the door.

“Jamie. Put me down. We’ll talk.” Mark’s eyes were wide and fearful.

“Pleading is ugly on you, you jerk, and talking is the last thing on my mind.”

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