A piercing crash sounded from the kitchen.

Alex was out of his chair before the noise died down, but Des was faster.

Don’t worry about it, he said to Alex. I’ll go. He owed Meg an apology. What better way than to clean up her mess while apologizing for his own?

Alex hesitated. His gaze darted to the kitchen.

Possessive much?

You sure ’bout that? Alex asked.

Absolutely. Meg may be Alex’s girlfriend, but she was Des’s best friend. Of that he was damn sure. Don’t wait for me. Go ahead and play the next few hands. Des walked into the kitchen.

Meg was crouched on the floor of the modern, white kitchen, holding her left hand in her right and sucking her index finger. Hundreds of tiny pieces of glass littered the ground.

Des dropped down beside her. You okay, Meggy?

She eyed him irritably before pulling the finger out of her mouth. Fine. I dropped a glass is all. Cut my finger in the process.

A drop of red dotted the tip of her finger. Des grabbed a piece of paper towel, tore a strip off, wet it and wrapped it around the cut. He cradled her hand in his, refusing to let go when she tried to pull her arm away. The silk of her flesh burned through his skin, and he gritted his teeth against the exquisite agony.

You’re an asshole. Meg didn’t pull any punches. She never had.

I know.

How dare you brush me off like that?

He didn’t answer, didn’t know how. Instead he removed the tissue and inspected her finger. Still bleeding. Is it sore?

She glared at him. Yes.

He wrapped the wound again, holding the tissue around her finger. I’m sorry.

Her mouth tightened. It’s not your fault t...