Fever Cure

by Phillipa Ashley

“So why don’t we spend every minute of it we can together?” he said.

  Life was too short…and it was so tempting. Wake up to him every morning; share his body, his bed, his life. Knowing he could see her wavering, part of her wanted to cry out in frustration. This wasn’t fair, and yet he was right. The alternative was a cold blank nothing and regrets to last a lifetime.

  “It’s okay, Tom,” she said, disguising the tremor in her voice as a teasing laugh. “I’d like that very much too. I’m a big girl, and I’m not going to boil your bunny when it’s all over.”

  He smiled and said gently, “I never had you down as a bunny boiler. You’d be more likely to keep it in a hutch for the kids.”

  She got to her feet, snatching up a buttery plate to try to disguise the pounding in her wrist that he would surely feel if she let him hold on any longer.

  “Keira, I’m serious. Are you absolutely sure about this?”

  She opened the dishwasher door and deposited the plate in the rack. Tom couldn’t see her face from here; that was good. Before she answered him, she retrieved a dirty cup from the worktop and added that to the load, clicked shut the door and faced him.

  “I wouldn’t blame you for walking away,” he said. “It’s incredibly selfish of me, but I want you to stay.”

  The butter tub was just out of reach. She stretched out an arm to rescue it. “This needs to go back in the fridge.”

  He was too quick for her and caught her wrist. “Keira, answer me, please. After last night, there’s no going back, really, is there?”

  She smiled. “Relax. We’re both grown-ups, we both know the score. We’re adult enough to know it’s a no-strings, no-complications relationship. Trust me, I’m not expecting anything more from this than great company and some fantastic sex.”

  She looked up into his face, expecting a gleam of triumph. What she glimpsed wasn’t quite that. Oh, the smile was there, but there was something else clouding his eyes. A tinge of doubt and uncertainty.

  “Aren’t you pleased?” she said, keeping her tone light and teasing. “I’ve said yes. We can spend the rest of the time together until you leave. Nothing more, nothing less.”

  Now she got the stirrings of a smile.

  “No strings or complications, eh?” he echoed. “What man could resist?”

  And what woman, she told herself. Not this one. Not this time. Keira decided to risk a little more. What had she got to lose now? “There’s just one condition,” she said, trying her sternest expression.

  Tom narrowed his eyes. “Ah, now we get to the sting in the tail.”

  “No sting.” She laughed. “Let’s agree never to talk about you leaving. Let’s stick to your philosophy and live for today, worry about tomorrow when it comes.”

  “That I can agree to.” His voice was soft, but again there was something very like bitterness behind his words. Even as he hugged her to him, his fingers tangling in her hair, she could sense it. She nuzzled against his chest, wondering why he’d said he was happy with the arrangement but didn’t sound it.

  She’d done exactly what he wanted, and yet a tiny corner of him seemed almost regretful that she’d said yes. Maybe she was being paranoid; when he released her and tilted her chin up to look at him, he was just Tom again. Maybe she could stick to the agreement, forget he was going and just enjoy the ride without worrying where or when it would end.

  Taking his hand, she began to lead him out of the kitchen. “Let’s get on with it, then, shall we?”

  Tom cursed and dropped his razor into the washbasin. Outside the Lodge, the night had begun to give way to a deep blue dawn. He found a piece of tissue and rubbed the cut on his cheek. Just a nick; nothing to bother about.

  Fishing the blade out of the basin, he began to shave again, under his chin, his neck, his upper lip. He surveyed his face in the mirror critically. The shadows under his eyes had diminished. His weekend of sex and sleep and—he realised with a jolt—a weekend of that thing called happiness had done more for him than medication or counseling could have.

  “Keira, I’m so happy you’re staying,” he’d told her as she’d tugged him up the steps from the kitchen to the bedroom.

  “I think you need to understand something, Tom Carew. I’m not staying here. Not every night, but that doesn’t mean the nights I do…deign to stay, can’t be hot. Very.” He remembered trying to scan her expression. Was she making fun of him? Teasing him? But of course, that was a given.

  “No strings. No complications. Just two adults enjoying each other,” she’d said airily.

  Which was what he’d wanted, wasn’t it?

  “Nothing more, nothing less.” Those were her words. So everything was okay, then, wasn’t it? He patted his face dry with a towel and wandered into the bedroom to get dressed. Around the room lay the debris of their lovemaking. Muddy running shorts and vest still abandoned on the carpet, an empty packet of condoms dropped on top of a textbook on tropical medicine. The blue cotton robe lay crumpled in a heap by the chest of drawers.

  Tom couldn’t care less about the mess; it was the impression her words had made that disturbed him, that were upsetting his orderly life and making him doubt. Even as he gulped down a coffee, grabbed his bag and tried to scrape the ice from the windscreen of the Land Rover, he kept trying to put his finger on what was wrong. “Nothing more, nothing less.” He turned her words over in his mind as he turned the key and tried to coax the ailing engine into life. More or less than what? Was it really just sex for her? Didn’t she want more?

  He heard the ancient machine cough then sputter as it lived to fight another day. He heaved a sigh of relief. Everything was fine after all. Perhaps Keira really didn’t want more from their bargain. If she had, it would have been cruel of him to pursue her. His stomach lurched as he pulled away, and it wasn’t due to any damn speed ramp. Nor to the fact that Keira might expect more than fun and sex from their month together. Tom knew, deep down, that the bolt of panic was because he just might expect more.

  “So it’s just a bit of fun, and he’s leaving you at the end of the month, but you’ve practically moved in with the guy.”

  Keira looked up from the underwear displays in the department store and gave Su a mutinous look. This shopping trip for Charlie Carew’s upcoming birthday party had seemed like a good idea, but she was having second thoughts already. “Trust you to make it sound ridiculous. And get this clear. I am not living with him.”

  “It is ridiculous, hon.”

  She didn’t like the edge of concern in Su’s voice. It was verging on genuine worry, and that bothered her. So she turned her attention to a white lacy thong on the knicker rack. Hmm, now that was so naughty in a nice way. Sexy but not too in-your-face. Very her and very Tom.

  Su cut in on her fantasy. “Tell me to mind my own business, of course, but if it makes you happy.”

  “Su, just remember it was you that encouraged me to make the most of him—enjoy his company, you said, get to know him better.”

  “That was before I knew you’d fallen for him like a ton of bricks.”

  Keira inspected a pair of minishorts and wondered if that would be more her, then dismissed them. She wanted something that would surprise him, something not like the old Keira. The old Keira wore sensible knickers and the first bra she could drag out of the drawer. When had she become this daring, confident lover wanting to inflame a man? What had Tom done to her?

  Oh heck, this wasn’t a good time, not here in the shop. Pulling a slinky half-cup from the display, she eyed Su rebelliously. Her voice came out as a squeak. “It’s just a bit of fun. No comeback, no commitment.”

  The snort that followed from Su drew a disapproving stare from a sales assistant.

  “We’ve made everything clear between us. And I haven’t fallen for him.”

  “You’re right,” said Su, frowning at a lurid yellow corset. “I know you haven’t fallen for him. Just like you didn’t want to become a teacher since you were five. Like you said you
weren’t bothered when Alex turned into Mr. Hyde. This is me, Keira. Don’t try and pull the wool over my eyes.”

  “I never said I didn’t like Tom, but it’s not love or anything like that, so don’t worry. I’m in no danger.”

  She held the undies aloft. “Will these do? They’re a stupid price, of course, but my best set had a disastrous date with some jeans in Tom’s washing machine.”

  Su raised her eyebrows. “He does his own washing, then? Doesn’t have the laundry maid in?”

  “He does his own everything. Not including laundry maids.” She laughed, fluttering the lacy undies in Su’s face. “Well? What do you think? Will these do for an earl’s fortieth birthday party?”

  “Sophisticated, saucy, impractical and definitely not the Keira I know. And you say you’re not in danger from this guy? Sorry to tell you this, hon, but you need warning cones around you.”

  The invitation lay propped up on the mantelpiece at her flat under the Jack Vettriano print. It was twenty-first century, very cheesy and with no ancestors involved, but Keira loved it. “The Singing Butler”, it was called. She wondered if Charlie had a butler.

  Hmm, doubtful.

  Keira scuttled past the window into the bedroom with a towel wrapped round her and tipped the contents of the department store bag onto the bed. The underwear that had added an extra burden to her credit card was truly gorgeous, and now was the night to try it out. She twisted this way and that in front of the dressing table mirror. Whoever invented thongs, she thought, should be made to wear them night and day for a lifetime. The bra was all lacy and sort of tickly and irritating in a nice way.

  She grabbed her little silk dress from the wardrobe and slipped it on. Half an hour later she was ready, in the lounge, in the killer heels, waiting for Tom to buzz her door. Which he did, just as she was hunting for a pashmina and wondering how she’d ever be warm again.

  His voice sounded distorted over the intercom. “It’s me.”

  “Come up,” she called.

  She cursed as she turned the catch on the door. Had she left the price tag on the thong? She could feel it scratching the small of her back. She frowned and twisted round as she pulled the door open.

  “Hello.”

  “Oh.”

  Wearing a beautifully cut dinner suit, a silk black tie round his neck, Tom Carew looked quite absurdly handsome.

  He bent to kiss her cheek. “You look gorgeous, Keira,” he said, giving her one of his intense gazes that she knew by now had more to do with making her turned on than uncomfortable.

  “You also smell positively edible.” He pressed his lips to her neck. She felt a flush of delight. Su had given her a gorgeous vanilla perfume. She’d concocted it herself, and it was just so delicious. She’d hoped Tom would like it and most of all would love seeing her in her “wedding” outfit again. It was way too cold, of course, and the shoes were still hopeless, but it was a special night.

  Keira didn’t know how to reply but managed, “You look…tall.”

  “As far as I’m aware, I’m exactly the same height as when I started med school.”

  “In that suit thing, you look taller. Oh, you know what I mean!” she cried in exasperation.

  “This ‘suit thing’, if you haven’t forgotten, madam, is entirely your responsibility. It was you who persuaded Charlie to make the evening black tie.”

  “Mea culpa.” She giggled and let him take her in his arms for a kiss.

  “Well, I thought the tux was corny, so what in the name of the cheesiest Bond movie is this?” she asked as Tom escorted her out of the flat towards a sleek sports coupe.

  She ran a hand along the shining paintwork. “Where’s the Land Rover?”

  “I’m sorry to report it’s critically ill.”

  “You’ve not had an accident in it!”

  “No. Serious electrical failure brought on by damp. The prognosis isn’t good.”

  She pointed at the dark blue Aston Martin, gleaming in the light of a street lamp.

  “But where did you get this thing?”

  “From the garage at the Lodge. I’m afraid I had no choice.”

  She loved his discomfort at driving a car that smelled of money rather than diesel fumes. Slithering into the sculpted passenger seat, she felt like purring in delight. “Tom. You do know what this is, don’t you?”

  “A four-wheeled vehicle with an internal combustion engine?” he offered, getting into the driver’s side.

  “I thought we had a no-sarcasm policy.”

  The heavy door closed with a satisfying clunk, and Tom clicked his seat belt into place. “I’ll stick to the bargain if you do.”

  “Touché,” she conceded, pulling the pashmina round her. “It’s fabulous, but I have to say, these leather seats are freezing.”

  He turned the key, and the engine gave a muted roar. “It might help if you wore more underwear.”

  She inhaled deeply and sighed, the smell of creamy hide seats filling up her senses. “You don’t really mean that.”

  “You’re damn right I don’t, and besides, I know a way to warm you up.”

  Pushing a button on the dashboard, he pulled away from the kerb, and the seat belt tightened around her body. Within moments, a very pleasant glow started spreading beneath her legs. She tried not to squirm at the overload of sensations: cool silk, hot leather and the discreetly powerful roar of the engine.

  “Heated seats. Nice.”

  “Quite,” said Tom, putting his foot down as they left the lights of the city behind.

  He battled with himself almost the whole way to Carew Hall. The thought of her heating up nicely overwhelmed everything else. In fact, if they hadn’t been twenty minutes late already, he’d have stopped the Aston at the Lodge and taken her across the front seats. Even though he knew it was probably impossible and that the centre console and gear stick would have stuck in all sorts of places, he’d have given it a try.

  She smelled great. She looked amazing. Her hair hung loose and natural over creamy shoulders, a smattering of freckles on the tip of her nose. And that bloody dress. It was driving him crazy. What was worse, she had hold-ups on; he had felt the fine seam at the top through her dress. Hold-ups and a thong.

  He turned on the CD in the car to try to take his mind off things. Rock music blasted out: The Manic Street Preachers, he recognised. One of Gareth’s, no less. It was his car, after all, but still, some things were beyond the pale.

  “It’s really good of Charlie to ask us,” ventured Keira as they drove past the Lodge. “Even if you have had to smarten up a bit.”

  “Thanks,” said Tom. Good of Charlie… He wanted to add that it was also clever of Charlie. For Charlie, as Tom well knew, didn’t want him to go back to Papua, and this was his unsubtle way of showing it, just like the loan of the Lodge and the Aston. Charlie wanted Tom to put down roots, to return to Carew permanently. Get married. Do his duty and produce an heir.

  And, thought Tom wryly, Charlie saw Keira Grayson as the way of achieving all his aims. Having failed to get Tom settled with some girl from the local hunt or university, Charlie had decided to make the most of Tom’s stay in England. Charlie had always behaved more like a mother hen than a big brother, right down to trying to persuade him not to go off to Papua in the first place. Tom had been resolute. He’d always rebelled against his background and privilege, desperate to be able to make a difference to the world beyond idling about on the proceeds of his trust fund. Sometimes being born with everything you would ever need made it difficult to see why you needed to exist at all.

  It was a shame he’d made such a mess of trying to help.

  He stopped the Aston sharply outside the Hall, sending gravel flying into the air.

  “Wait,” he ordered as Keira started to open the door.

  “I can open the door,” she protested, rightly annoyed at his gruff manner.

  As Tom strode round to the other side of the car, Charlie ran down the steps of the house and cut ahead o
f him.

  “Welcome to Carew Hall,” said Charlie as he handed an amazed Keira out of the car. “So good of you to bring Tom.”

  As he saw her expression of delight as Charlie led her up the steps towards the smiling Gareth, Tom’s heart rate accelerated. She picked her way up the stone steps, and Gareth took her arm. Sandwiched between two burly men, she seemed even more delicate and ethereal. The coppery lights in her hair shimmered in the flickering flame of torches set on iron stands on either side of the entrance to the hall.

  She was beautiful. Truly beautiful. He may as well have been run over by the Aston and the Land Rover at once. His throat tightened, his palms felt slick around the handle of their overnight bag. His heart was so full, he was overwhelmed. This couldn’t be happening to him. It was impossible for him to start falling in love now.

  “Tom, hurry up! Charlie and Gareth want to give me a tour!”

  She sounded so happy his heart sank.

  “Coming,” he growled.

  His legs grew heavy as he climbed the steps, and his feet settled in the hollows worn by thousands of feet over hundreds of years. He knew what they were doing. They wanted him to stay, and they were using all this, his home, the whole ridiculous package, to tempt him. They were using Keira to make him see how good it could be to stay here and have a normal life, and oh God, it was almost starting to work.

  “Hurry up, Tom, for goodness’ sake, and shut the door.” Keira’s voice drifted across the stone façade of the hall as Tom feigned trouble with their overnight bags.

  Charlie laughed. “Yes, do you have any idea how much the heating bills are for this place?”

  Charlie escorted Keira into the drawing room. Tom took the steps slowly, as if he were a toddler or very old indeed. Ahead of him, the door to the hall was open. All he had to do was walk inside. Stomach churning, he crossed the threshold and deposited their bags onto the marble floor. He’d once tried to play football with a friend from school on that floor. Inevitably, they’d smashed something, a Meissen figure, if he recalled rightly. His mother had grounded him for a week, and his father had made him get up early to help the housekeeping team light the fires for two weeks.