In the next second, those eyes, as cold and deep as a glacial pool, were suddenly filled with hostility. His grip on the doorknob was so tight his knuckles stood out sharply.
Morgan Joyce was leaning over the side of the hospital bed, his large palm tightly enveloping Hannah Hale's small hand. They were face-to-face, and the warm, orange glow from the table lamp cast a halo around them, creating an inexplicably warm and tranquil scene, a picture of perfect serenity.
Morgan Joyce wasn't sound asleep. Hearing the door open, he slowly straightened up. He could make out the figure at the door in the dim light, but acted as if he saw nothing, calmly picking up the glasses at his side and putting them on.
"Let go of her hand."
Nathan Redgrave's powerful voice carried a tone that brooked no argument, and raw jealousy flooded his bottomless eyes.
Hannah Hale stirred, her brow knitting tightly.
"Is it hurting again?"
