Sunsets at Seaside(63)

“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.”

Mark touched his shoulder and lowered his voice. “Jamie. It’s me, Jamie. We’re friends, remember? Put me down. We’ll talk, and then if you still want to rip me to shreds, you can.” He dropped his eyes to his nakedness.

How had he missed that? Jamie shoved him toward the bed. “Put some pants on.” He paced the hotel room. Mark’s clothes were thrown over a chair, a woman’s high heel was beside the dresser, and a half-empty bottle of wine was beside the bed. Ugh. He spun around as Mark pulled on his khakis, fear in his eyes, but beneath that, Jamie saw the calculating eyes of the manipulator that he’d always known was there but had chosen to ignore. Jamie never imagined Mark would use that sleazy, manipulative side against him.

“What did you say to Jess?” They stood a foot apart, Jamie’s hands fisted, ready.