Chapter 558

“Yeah, I got it.”

If she’d known the world was this small—that the guy who’d accidentally hurt her was actually Celeste’s younger brother—she would’ve skipped the hospital altogether and just called her husband.

“Get some sleep,” Jamison said. “Don’t go to school for a couple of days. Stay home and rest in bed as much as you can.”

“Okay…” Ivy murmured, and then, remembering his job, looked up at him from where she lay in his arms. “Aren’t you on the night shift? Won’t you get in trouble for leaving?”

“It’s fine. I got someone else to cover for me.”

She closed her eyes again, burrowing closer to his chest. “I’m always causing you trouble… I feel so bad about it…”

He brushed her hair back and smiled. “You’re my wife. If you don’t trouble me, who else are you going to trouble?”

She couldn’t help but smile, though she didn’t say anything.

Jamison reached over to switch off the lamp, then gently patted her shoulder, coaxing her to sleep.

But Ivy’s mind was still buzzing. Her ears rang, and the side of her head that took the blow throbbed with a pins-and-needles ache that kept her awake.

After a long silence, her sleepy voice floated through the darkness.

“Hey, babe…”

Jamison was still awake. He immediately looked down at her. “Yeah?”

“Kiss me…”

He froze, wondering if he’d heard her right. “What?”

Her head shifted against his chest, and her breath tickled his neck. In the dark, her voice sounded even softer, almost sultry. “Kiss me…”

Now he was sure he hadn’t imagined it. Jamison’s heart pounded, blood surging hot through his veins.

But he also understood. “You can’t sleep, huh?”

“Mm…”

Ever since she’d been taken, sleep had never come easy. Even after being home for months, some nights were still a struggle.

But she’d noticed something: lately, after making out with him, she could drift off without a problem.

So maybe… it was worth a try.

Jamison swallowed hard, his voice low and rough. “Ivy, you’re teasing me…”

She hesitated, embarrassed she’d even asked, and started to turn away. “Never mind…”

But before she could roll over, his arm pulled her back, and his mouth found hers, warm and urgent.

Ivy lay still, eyes closed, soaking in his kiss, letting his passion wash over her.

His hands wandered too, tracing her waist, memories of bathing her flickering through his mind. A shiver ran through him, desire threatening to take over.

But he stopped himself.

The kiss lingered, deep and slow, before he finally pulled away, tugging her pajama shirt back into place. He pressed her gently down, his breathing rough and uneven, voice husky with restraint.

“That’s enough for tonight. You need to sleep. Your brain can’t take any more shaking around, or you’ll turn it to mush.”

Shaking around?

Ivy didn’t get it at first. Then, a beat later, it clicked—and her face flushed hot, dizziness swirling in her head.

Of course, “shaking around” during that would be… intense.

Honestly, this man. He always looked so proper and stern, like he’d never crack a smile, but sometimes the things he said were downright scandalous.

The next morning, Jamison was up early for work. Ivy slept in.

Around noon, Boyd Ludwig stopped by to drop off lunch.

Jamison called again, checking in—asking how her head felt, if she was still dizzy, if it still hurt.

As she ate, Ivy teased him, “So you sent Boyd all the way over here to deliver food. Are you spying on me? Afraid I’ll sneak out?”

Jamison laughed. “No way, you’ve got me all wrong.”

“Yeah, sure,” Ivy smirked. “Like I don’t know how your mind works.”

He kept laughing, then admitted, “Well, it’s your fault for being such a handful. You never tell me what you’re up to.”

“I’m not a mouse, you know. I don’t need to squeak.”

Their banter made Boyd wide-eyed. If he hadn’t seen it for himself, he never would’ve believed that the usually cold, sharp-tongued uncle—who hardly ever spoke unless it was to deliver a cutting remark—could act this soft.

Not wanting to intrude on their little world, Boyd just waved at Ivy and quietly slipped out.

Jamison was busy, so after a few more minutes, they said their goodbyes and hung up. Ivy finished her lunch and set about tidying up.

Her phone buzzed again. She glanced down: unknown number. Her first thought was that Emma Windsor was at it again, probably gearing up for another round of screaming.

Her head was still woozy; she had no energy for a fight. She silenced the call and pretended she hadn’t seen it.

But after she’d taken out the trash, her phone rang once more.

Really? Maybe Micah Shepherd had dumped Emma again, and she was about to call and take it out on her?

Honestly, that sounded entertaining.

She answered the phone, sarcasm ready. “Emma, if you’re losing it, maybe try a psych ward. There’s plenty of folks there who’d love to go crazy with you. Calling me won’t help.”

There was a pause, then a clear male voice, light and a little bemused: “Hi, did you just say something about going crazy?”

Uh…

Her brow furrowed. Not Emma.

“Who is this?”

“Oh, it’s Lamont. Uh, from yesterday—I’m the one who…” he started, but Ivy recognized his voice and cut him off, her tone sharp and impatient, “How did you get my number?”