High-Risk Fever

by Lea Bronsen

  While his arm slid farther around her waist, fingers pressing the small of her back—bringing them even closer, if that were possible—she brought her nose to his and sought his lips. It seemed the most natural and obvious thing, something they’d postponed for days.

  He moved back with a faint chuckle. “No, don’t. I’m contagious.”

  Oh, merde. Her cheeks heated. In a moment of extreme fatigue and frustration, she had interpreted his closeness as an invitation. But he was ill, so ill they’d driven for help in the middle of the night, and the doctor deemed it necessary to give him medicine. How had she forgotten?

  She was so tired and confused. Searing humiliation mixed with exhaustion. She bit her lip and closed her eyes while burning tears pressed behind her lids. She removed her hand and let it slide down between their stomachs, resting her palm on the mattress, creating distance.

  His hand left her waist, and in the next moment, moved up to her face. Gentle fingers caressed her cheeks and forehead, brushing her trembling lips, wiping her wet eyes with unexpected tenderness. “Shhh.”

  Filling with warmth, she turned to bury her face in the soft pillow and swallowed a painful gasp. Her tears soaked the fabric. The sheets smelled of apple, like those of her bed at home. She briefly thought of Brian, but pushed his image out of her mind.

  Mica moved up on the mattress until his chin rested on top of her head, beard stubble grazing her scalp, and snuck his hand to her back, pressing her chest closer to his stomach. “Sleep, bella. I’m here in the morning, too, you know.”

  She nodded and slid her arm around his waist again with a discreet sniff. Strange how the tables had turned. Instead of being the one seeking comfort, this sick man enveloped her with brotherly kindness and warmth, providing calmness in her moment of need.

  She nuzzled her face into the crevice of his throat, lips pressing against the hard mounds of his upper ribs, breathing in the masculine scent. His tanned skin smelled a bit sharper and muskier than Brian’s pale, pinkish skin. He emanated an intense heat, as if a thousand furnaces glowed beneath his flesh, and tiny beads of sweat coated his skin. Had he been a child, the fever could potentially become life-threatening. Thank God it was only a cough! In a few days, he would be fine.

  His low voice rumbled in his chest, resonating against her. “Tomorrow, you tell me. Okay?”

  “Hmm.” Holding him harder, she slid a leg over his thigh and nuzzled closer, inhaling in time with his deep, labored breaths.

  She didn’t know if she could confide her wish for a baby to him. He might be behaving like a friend, but the secrets she shared with Brian didn’t really concern anyone else.

  Limbs entangled, they remained together in peaceful harmony. His warm hand stroked from the small of her back to her shoulder blades, following the contour of her spine. He cocooned her like a guardian until her mind, lulled by the regularity of his breathing, drifted away to nothingness.

  Chapter Thirteen

  She awoke several times in the night. Baby cries sounded from the bedroom down the hall, soon shushed by a cooing maternal voice. And Mica’s occasional coughing, so strong and scorching it made the mattress jerk and forced him to turn away to bury his face in the pillow, added to the interruptions.

  When she opened her eyes for the ninth or tenth time, low daylight from two curtainless windows bathed the small guest room, casting silhouettes on the opposite wall. Horizontal rain prickled the glass panes, creating an ever-changing maze of tears as new drops joined. Noisy gusts of wind swept the clearing outside, bending the forest trees. Unfamiliar cracks sounded through the house.

  Mica’s side of the bed was empty. She sat up and checked her watch: 7:34 a.m.

  She should call Brian.

  Brian! After what happened with Mica last night? Though they hadn’t exactly had sex, she’d been close to giving in to her lust. Thankfully, sleeping with her wasn’t on his mind. But, still, sex or not, she’d spent a few hours in the arms of another man.

  Heavy-headed from the bad rest, she put on her shoes, stood, and silently opened the door before sneaking into the dim hall. The sound of water spraying on tiles drifted from the bathroom.

  She tiptoed past Caroline’s closed bedroom to the main entrance.

  Wind shook the door on its hinges. A cold draft crept in from under the pane like a snake.

  She found the cell phone in her jacket. The battery had died. Oh, no! And without electricity outside of the house, Caroline’s stationary phone would never connect.

  Caroline…. She probably owned a cell, too, but, no, Anne didn’t want to wake her.

  So she couldn’t call Brian. At this hour, he must be up and preparing breakfast for the tenants—and worrying like hell about her. She could only hope Todd had awoken and told him she’d driven Mica to the doctor and that, despite the bad weather, they should be back soon.

  Guilt weighed on her. She hated the idea of making Brian worry. His sad hazel eyes flashed in her mind, adding to her remorse.

  Now what? Only one thing: drive back home.

  The least she could do before leaving was make the bed. She went back through the hall. Steam poured out of the open bathroom door, giving her an idea of what—or who—waited in the guest room. Pulse beating faster, she peeked inside.

  Sure enough, Mica stood in front of the bed with a white towel tied around his waist, long, wet hair hanging down his back, gazing at her. A smile widened across his gorgeous face.

  She drew a breath. What a hunk, despite the feverish glow of sickness in his dark eyes and the slight hunch of his shoulders.

  He winked. “Mmmm, feeling like a man again.”

  A few sparse water drops glided from his muscular, tanned chest to his hairy navel. She almost stepped forward to catch them with a finger and taste the mix of shower water and sweat. Then place her tongue on his hot skin and—

  Ah, she must be going insane.

  Are you forgetting about Brian?

  Renewed guilt sent a rush of cold to her head and shook her. She needed to focus on the right thing to do. No more missteps. “Have you taken your medicine?”

  He nodded.

  “Good.” Avoiding his glowing eyes, she moved to the other side of the bed and folded their ruffled sheets as neatly as possible on the mattress. To think they’d almost had sex….

  The door closed, and she looked up. Mica stepped toward her with a grin. Before she could react, he stood near, large hands reaching out to her waist, and pulled her toward him with gentle but determined strength. Humid heat oozed off him, and a mix of musky scent and lavender lingered between them.

  So near, so tempting.

  Her heartbeat sped up, and she took a deep breath, fixing her gaze on the pulsating vein in his throat. She imagined trailing her fingers down to his towel, pulling out his hard cock, and curling her tongue around its velvety head.

  “Now, we can catch up.” His hot breaths brushed her forehead.

  He slid a hand behind her ass while moving the other to her shoulder blades and pressing her breasts against his naked, sculpted torso. She gazed up, and his dark pupils met hers with deep scrutiny, as if seeking a way into her soul. Her inner thighs tingled with awoken need as he dipped his head and nibbled at the tender flesh of her lobe, wet teeth sending a sharp rush of heat to her womb.

  Ouch. Trapped in this man’s intoxicating embrace, she swayed and almost wrapped her arms around his neck, yet resisted and kept them at her sides. It would be so easy to accept the seduction, but Brian was waiting.

  Brian. The sound of his name echoed in her mind, giving her the strength to resist.

  “No, Mica.” She breathed out, hard nipples pressing against his ribs. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to go back to my husband, and you have to go back to your lover. It’s the order of things.”

  He straightened, a flash lighting his eyes. “What you saying?”

  “I’m saying I’m married. I can’t—”

  “No, you say my lover.” With a grunt
, he removed his arms from her and stepped back.

  Oh God. Realizing her terrible mistake, Anne stared at him, her face heating like a furnace.

  “How you know I have a lover?” His voice turned low, harsh, his pupils charcoal black.

  She couldn’t move.

  He pointed a finger at her and squinted. “No one knows, Anne. How you find out?” The finger pressed into her chest, digging in between her ribs. “Huh? How?”

  She lowered her gaze, unable to reply. No way could she admit having spied on him and his boyfriend and witnessing their lovemaking.

  “I can’t believe. You…you seen me with him.” He pushed her with his finger again then retreated.

  Perfect silence lingered between them, yet her ears buzzed as if a bomb had exploded in the room.

  She was speechless. What could she possibly say to justify or somewhat apologize for what she’d done? The weight and ugliness of the truth in his words hung between them like an invisible barrier.

  Seconds later, he spun around and strode to the other side of the bed, letting out a long line of Italian curse words she didn’t understand.

  Her eyes burned, and her throat tightened. How could the tone of their relationship turn sour so fast? She’d never meant for him to be angry at her.

  Keeping his back to her, he removed the towel and bent to grab his clothes that sat folded on a chair. “Women, all the same. Traitorous bitches. No better than men.”

  How could he say that? He had the right to be pissed about her snooping, but his labeling all women as bitches was entirely disproportionate.

  She finally found her voice. “No.”

  “You know what they do to people like me?” He put his briefs on and turned again, long locks dancing around his shoulders, shiny eyes staring as if drilling a hole into her conscience. “In the past, they burned us with the witches. Seventy years ago, they sent us to Auschwitz. Now, you think they only piss in our faces?” His voice trembled, and he clenched his fists. “Nooo, they find other ways.”

  Anne shook her head and fought tears. She wanted to reach out and, with some magic, calm his anger, soothe his pain, ask for forgiveness, but the bed separated them.

  “I liked you, bella.” He tilted his head to the side, wetness in his black eyes reflecting light from the windows behind her. “I thought you were different. Nice. But no.”

  She grimaced. “M-Micaela.”

  He pointed a finger. “You gonna destroy me”—his voice cracked—“like her.”

  Her? Who was he talking about? His mother, a sister, a girlfriend? And what did that woman do to him?

  He bent to put his pants on, black hair sliding along his arms.

  “No.” Eyes filling with hot tears, she stood helpless while he straightened and zipped up. “I’ll never hurt you, I swear. I’ll never tell anyone.”

  He huffed and, without another look or word, put on his pullover, then his socks and shoes, before pivoting and opening the door, exiting the room like a whirlwind.

  She stood alone in the overwhelming silence, clutching her aching chest and struggling to hold back a loud gasp.

  Ooo-kay, only one thing to do before she fell to her knees and started sobbing.

  Get the hell out of here, stupid. Find him and talk to him.

  Heart in her throat, she followed Mica out into the hall, past Caroline’s still-closed door—no time for good-byes—and joined him at the front door as he zipped up his raincoat.

  He refused to look at her; they would have to talk in the car.

  She grabbed her raincoat and, together, they stepped out into the rainy wind, careful not to let the door slam behind them. Caroline and baby Désirée needed all the sleep they could get.

  Her small Peugeot stood alone in the clearing. Tall trees loomed around the farmhouse, whistling and bowing dangerously in the wind. Raindrops whipped her face, prickling her skin like a hundred bee stings. Heavy clouds passed high above their heads at frightening speed. When the hell would the storm relent? She hoped to God they would make it home.

  They hurried to the car and slumped into their respective seats. Silence lingered between them as she started the engine and let it warm for a minute.

  Heart hammering, she swallowed and turned to him. “Micaela?”

  He shook his head and stared out the passenger window. “Not now.”

  Okay, later. But we will talk.

  When the storm subsided, he and Todd would hit the road, and she might never see them again. But after Mica’s numerous advances and the intimate sleep they’d shared last night, she didn’t want him to leave with a grudge, hating her.

  She pulled out of the clearing, sent a mental good-bye to Caroline and her baby, and drove out onto the narrow forest road. A few minutes after they left the trees behind, gravel became asphalt, and she drove past the château, now standing tall and majestic in the daylight.

  She glanced at Mica, who sat with his hands in his lap, thoughtful, gazing ahead.

  At the village entrance, she took the main road to the left. Wind gusts played with the car like a marionette as they followed the winding lane, rain clattering on the roof. The wipers swooshed from side to side, sending waves of water backward. Though she didn’t dare drive too fast on the slippery asphalt, they would be home soon.

  In the bottom of a deep valley, a sharp turn made her pull the brakes—a good thing because a few meters farther, a fallen log barred the road, huge tentacle-like branches spread on the ground. The car wheels skidded on the wet asphalt until she managed to stop on the shoulder.

  Mica ran a hand over his face with a low curse. Heart hammering, she clutched the steering wheel, holding her breath, staring at the hindrance behind the rapidly moving wipers.

  No way could they move the heavy log by themselves. They would have to sit in the car and wait for rescue.

  She killed the engine. Everything stilled, except for the relentless prickling of rain on the windshield.

  With a grunt, Mica pulled up his hood and yanked the passenger door open. The swooshing of a nearby river filled her ears. He climbed out, closed his door, and walked around the front of the car, head bent, palming the glistening metal. When he reached her side and opened her door, cold, humid air swirled in, circling her legs.

  Oh God. Not that. She stared into his face with wide eyes. The idea of stepping out of her warm, safe shelter and walking all the way home terrified her. Couldn’t they just wait for…?

  He frowned. “Come on!”

  “B-but you’re sick!”

  “Not that bad. I can walk.”

  He grabbed her hand and pulled until she scrambled out of her seat, into the bad weather, into the unknown.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Leaving her Peugeot behind broke Anne’s heart, but the tall vegetation growing along the road persuaded her. What if another tree gave in to the brutal gusts of wind, fell over the road, and hit the car roof?

  In this weather, it would probably take a whole day before a rescue vehicle arrived, and although Mica was sick, waiting to be decapitated by a tree was not a good alternative to walking home. Only three kilometers separated them from their destination, a mere forty-minute walk.

  Hood covering his head, Mica tugged at her hand, pulling her behind him as they stepped over the first branches. Humid air filled with the snaps of twigs and the bitter smell of pine needles and fresh resin. They reached the thick, knee-high trunk of wood lying across the asphalt like a giant from some fairy tale. He stopped and turned to help her climb. Their gazes met as he lifted her hand, urging her on. No time for romantic eyelash-batting.

  Clutching his strong hand for balance, she stepped up on the slippery trunk and jumped down to the other side. He joined her, entwined his warm fingers in hers again, and soon they left the dead giant behind.

  Stinging, wind-borne raindrops whipped their faces, and icy gusts of air blew through the valley, rustling their coats. The rain splashed up their legs and soaked their shoes as small current
s of water danced on the asphalt. Hand-in-hand, they marched down the winding road, shoulders hunched and heads bent to fight the wind.

  She hoped the cold weather wouldn’t worsen Mica’s condition. If it did, his cough could turn lethal, and she wouldn’t know what to do then. The thought paralyzed her. She couldn’t think straight. Thank God his warm, encouraging hand tugged on hers and kept her going.

  They walked in silence at a steady pace, meeting no one along the road. No stray cat looking for prey, nor the usual munching sheep on sloping green hills. It seemed the storm had put a stop to all activity on the mountain, and only the neediest, as in their case, dared put a foot outside.

  The road climbed uphill and wound through a short mass of trees before straightening in the middle of a wheat field. A little farther ahead, an open barn came into view, with a couple of farmhouses in the background. The rain eased, but relentless wind swept the flat landscape, blowing up their coats and assaulting their mouths and noses.

  Mica started coughing. He withdrew his hand and spun away from her as scorching coughs shook his torso.

  Oh God. She’d hoped the medicine would stop the coughing fits.

  He made it to the low stone barn and they sought shelter inside, where hay lay on the floor and the smell of cattle hung in the air. He coughed hard, crouching before going down on his knees.

  Fearing for his life, she knelt next to him, pulled the hood of her raincoat back, and reached out to pat his back. Her pulse pounded in her ears.

  He turned to look at her, heaving, sweat beading on his pallid face and black hair sticking to his wet skin. He frowned. “Eh, bella, don’t cry.”

  Oh, was she crying? She nodded with a sniff and wiped her face. She hadn’t realized tears were rolling down her numb cheeks. He stared at her through his long hair, and she brushed wet locks from his face. “Y-you don’t hate me anymore?”