*Sterling*
When I awake with my shoulder aching and my head pounding, the first thing I see is Jamie Swindler standing at the foot of my bed, his arms crossed over his broad chest, his face not nearly set in the rigid lines of distrust it usually is.
“Frannie. Is she all right?” I croak.
“You could ask her yourself,” a soft voice says.
I jerk my head to the side, and there she sits in a chair near my shoulder, in a place where any man with normal vision would see her. She combs her fingers through my hair, the way I’ve seen her touch so many of the boys she would willingly die to protect. Slipping her hand around mine, she raises my hand to her lips and presses a kiss against my knuckles while her tears splash against my skin.
“Don’t cry,” I rasp.
“You could have been killed. You sil
