by Lori Foster
“You paid for my drinks. We’ll call it even.”
“Thanks.” Soon as he left, Denver went into the bathroom and dampened a washcloth. When he headed back, Cherry watched him with alarm.
“What are you going to do?”
“Smothering a fever won’t help anything, babe. You need to lose the blanket.”
“No.”
The demonic tone might have amused him at any other time. But not now. She looked miserable and it twisted his heart.
He sat beside her again. Putting the damp cloth on the nightstand, he took hold of her blanket.
“Denver, no,” she whimpered.
“Trust me, okay?” Relentlessly he wrested the blanket from her, but let her keep the sheet—for now. “I’ll make you more comfortable.”
Around more coughing, she growled, “You’re not a damn doctor.”
“My father is.”
That stalled her. “Seriously?”
“Yeah.” He rarely shared his family history. No point to it. But if conversation helped her to relax, hell, he’d tell her fairy tales if she wanted to hear them. “He has his own practice.”
While she licked very dry lips and thought about that, he stroked the cool cloth over her face and then her neck.
At first she sucked in a breath. A second later she leaned into his hand.
If, as he suspected, she had the bug that’d been going around, sex was off the table for at least a week. It’d take her that long to start feeling human again.
Her hair was smashed on one side, frazzled out on the other. And he’d never seen her makeup so wrecked. But he wanted to hold her close and care for her, and for however long it took for her to get well, he wanted to be with her. With or without her looking her usual irresistible self.
With or without sex.
Armie had great instincts and if he didn’t trust the guys claiming to be her family, then Denver didn’t trust them, either. So at least for now he had a damn good reason to stick close—beyond the fact that for the first time in his life, a woman had him in over his head and he knew it.
CHAPTER FOUR
WHEN DENVER TUGGED her sheet away, too, and then urged her against his body, bone-deep chills had Cherry trying to burrow closer. “This is awful,” she mumbled.
“Me holding you?”
Never that. His attention was the most wonderful thing to ever happen to her.
But the timing was the worst.
Almost too drained to reply, she whispered, “You seeing me like this.” When he lifted up the back of her T-shirt, she braced herself. The first touch of that cloth felt like ice on her spine and she hissed in a breath that brought on a nasty coughing fit.
He stroked her, rocked her, made soft shushing sounds—those same husky sounds he’d made while holding her legs open and gently squeezing into her.
Remembering his size, the delicious sensation of being filled, Cherry ducked her face. “This sucks so badly.”
“I’m glad I’m here with you.” Holding her hair up with one hand, the cool cloth in the other, he stroked it from her nape all the way down her back to the top of her barely there underwear. “And I love your panties.”
She groaned. “If I’d known I was going to be sick—”
“Don’t say you wouldn’t have worn them.”
“I don’t own any other kind.” But by God, she’d have bought some briefs if she’d known it wouldn’t do her any good to tempt him.
He went still, then hugged her carefully before easing her to her back on the bed. “Stay put. I’ll be right back.”
She reached for the sheet, but he stopped her, saying again, “Trust me.”
Trusting him had nothing to do with the teeth-rattling shivers. “Hurry.”
She watched through gritty eyes as he went into the bathroom to rinse out the cloth.
Trying to concentrate on something other than her discomfort, she rasped, “Tell me about your dad.”
After a long pause, he said, “He’s a terrific doctor. Well respected.” He returned in less than half a minute and again sat beside her hip. He started on her legs, and sure enough, some of the awful chills let up so that she mostly felt lethargic and very achy all over.
She studied Denver’s face. With his head bent down, his wavy hair hung forward, concealing his high cheekbones. This late in the day, he had a very appealing beard shadow on his jaw and chin. His nose was narrow with a slight crook from once being broken. Long lashes framed his amazing topaz eyes.
And his mouth, firm and sexy... “Does he look like you?”
“He’s as tall as me,” Denver remarked while working to cool her down. “Athletic, but never competed.”
“Meaning he’s not all buff like you.”
Denver smiled. “Same features, but his coloring is different. Lighter than mine. He’s fit.”
As he leaned over her legs, she lifted a hand and stroked her fingers through his shaggy hair. Jogging under the afternoon sun had added golden streaks to the light brown color. It was just long enough to be held in a rubber band when he fought. “Bet he wears his hair different.”
“Military short.” He lifted one leg and moved the cool cloth behind her knee. “He doesn’t say much about my hair, but I know he doesn’t like it. My stepmother does, though.”
Cherry looked from his hair to his face and saw his lean jaw tighten. “Your stepmother?”
He tensed, then suddenly turned and lifted the front of her shirt all the way above her breasts. “Yeah.” For just a moment he cupped his large hand over her left breast, his thumb teasing dangerously close to her nipple. “You are so damned pretty.”
A sweet talker—who wanted to change the subject. “I look terrible.”
He bent to her breast for a soft kiss, almost stopping her heart. “You just look sick, honey—but not here.” He kissed her very briefly again, the press of his warm mouth gentle, and then he straightened. Gaze riveted, he touched the cloth over her upper chest, around each breast, down to her belly.
She squirmed, both from the coolness of the touch and from the absorbed way he looked at her body.
Tears burned her eyes and she sniffled. “I wish I wasn’t sick, damn it.”
One brow lifted. “I wish you weren’t, either.”
Melancholy weighed heavy on her, and she knew she had to ask. “Will this be it?”
With the cloth held still high on her inner thigh, his gaze locked on hers. “Come again?”
Scrambling away from his touch, she pushed her shirt down and pulled the sheet over her. Shoving her ratty hair back, she sniffled, feeling so dreadful it was almost unbearable. “It’s taken me forever to get you here, and now—” That awesome accusation got interrupted with harsh coughing that hurt all the way through to her back.
Denver left the bed to fetch a juice from the in-room bar.
“Don’t,” she wheezed. “It’ll cost a fortune.”
Ignoring that order, he twisted the cap off the bottle and again sat beside her. “My treat.” He tipped it to her mouth. “Come on, Cherry, drink.”
Since he gave her little choice, she did, swallowing down half the container before stopping.
He stroked his thumb over her bottom lip. “Better?”
She nodded. It was, but the insistent way he had of making her feel helpless was both sweet and a little unsettling. “Denver...”
“To answer your question, no, this isn’t it.” He set the juice on the nightstand before giving her a direct look.
Complaints disappeared under his scrutiny. “It isn’t?”
“Not by a long shot.”
“Oh.” A million questions came to her at once, but Denver spoke before she had decided where to start.
“Armie is picking up more juice. You need to stay hydrated. How’s your belly?”
“Fine.” She wasn’t nauseous, thank God. “Well, unless I move too fast.”
He cupped the back of her neck and looked into her eyes. “Head still hurt?”
“Some.” Growing in intensity, but she really didn’t want to come off as whiny. It was bad enough that tears kept pricking her eyes.
“What else?” When she didn’t immediately answer—what woman wanted to spend her first night with the man of her dreams by complaining?—he used both hands to hold her face. “You’re right, I’m not a doctor. But I’ve learned a lot from Dad, and from the sport.”
“The sport?”
“Sure. Fighters have to know their own bodies well enough to stay healthy. So quit stalling. Your head, your throat. I’m guessing your chest with that cough. What else?”
She didn’t think he’d let it go, so she admitted the truth. “Pretty much everything.”
“Body aches?”
She nodded. “And my eyes burn.” Maybe that’d be a good excuse for the tears.
“That’s probably from the fever. Soon as Armie gets back we’ll get some meds in you.” Once more his thumb teased over her bottom lip and he let out a pent-up breath. “I’m so damn sorry.”
“You didn’t make me sick.”
“I also didn’t pay close enough attention to realize you weren’t feeling well.”
She hadn’t paid enough attention, either. At the time, with Denver touching and kissing her, she’d been focused only on feeling. “You thought I was drunk.”
“I worried about it, yeah. I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”
Talking hurt her throat, but she still had to say it. “When I had to practically beg you?”
His eyes narrowed in thought. “You should have told me, you know.”
“I didn’t realize—” she started to say.
“Shh.” He kissed her forehead, softening his rebuke. “Don’t lie to me, Cherry. Ever.”
How could he so easily make her feel guilty? She bit her lip. “Well...”
“There’s no way you couldn’t have known you were getting sick.”
True enough—to a point. “I didn’t feel well, but—” She coughed some more, then had to bite back a groan at the radiating discomfort.
Denver supported her, rubbing her back until she’d quieted again.
Holding on to him, she drew a careful breath. “I didn’t know I’d be this bad,” she wheezed. “Honest. I wouldn’t have risked getting you sick.”
“I’m not worried about that.” He helped her resettle in the bed. “But why didn’t you tell me?”
She started to again bite her lip, but when his gaze focused on her mouth, she stopped herself. In a hoarse whisper, she said, “It’s embarrassing.”
As if her embarrassment didn’t factor into things, he shook his head. “I need you to always be honest with me, Cherry, no matter what.”
It irked her, this persistence that she might not be truthful. “I’m not a liar.”
“No. But there are layers of honesty.” Firm, he tilted his head to stare into her eyes. “I have to have one hundred percent.”
“Fine.” Though she felt like death warmed over, she lifted her chin. “I was afraid if I told you, you’d use it as an excuse to walk away.”
His piercing gaze softened at her admission. “Am I walking away?”
“No.” And it confused her so much. “But I don’t know why not.”
He took her hand. “You think I’d walk out on you when you’re so ill?”
She didn’t want his pity. “If that’s the only reason you’re staying—”
“It’s not.”
“Oh.” With her eyes gritty and her head throbbing, she could barely stay upright. She persisted anyway, drawing in a slow breath to keep from coughing. “Long as we’re being honest, why did you ignore me?”
For the longest time he stared down at their clasped hands and she felt the tumult of his thoughts, his resistance and even a sort of muted resentment.
She got nervous, dreading what he might say. It had been tough to take his unspoken rejections on good days. Being wretchedly sick, this was not a good day. But if she cried in front of him, she’d just die.
Finally he lifted his head. The piercing focus of his attention unnerved her. “Mostly I avoided you because I wanted you too fucking much.”
Wow. Never had she expected that. How did that even make sense?
“The way you smell,” he murmured, dipping his nose to her temple and inhaling. “The way you look. How you laugh and the bounce of your hair, your tits, that amazing ass...”
She gulped. His tone was gritty, almost raw, and she couldn’t think of a reply except to say, “Oh,” again.
“Every time you’d get near me, hell, even in the same room, I could smell you.”
“That’s...unsettling.”
“You smell good, girl. So fucking good.” Keeping her pinned in his gaze, uncaring about her mute surprise, he continued. “You know you’re stacked. There’s no way you could not know. But I’ve known plenty of built women.”
She scowled, making her head protest with ramped up pain.
“But they aren’t you. It’s the combo, I think. Your bod, your attitude—which drove me nuts, by the way.”
In a croak, she asked, “My attitude?”
“Party girl,” he accused. “Tease.”
Despite being ill, her shoulders stiffened. “I am not—”
“You tease every guy who gets near you.”
Her gasp choked her, making it impossible to protest. She did not tease. How dare he—
“You do,” he stated, “even if you don’t mean to.” Working his jaw, his gaze went over her body, his hands following suit until he clasped her hips. “You have no idea how it affected me.”
If it got him to this point—in bed with her—then she’d accept the blame.
“I hate to admit it, but that’s probably why I went overboard.” His voice dropped. “Swear to God, girl, if you weren’t sick I’d be inside you right now.”
Her eyes widened on a startled breath, and of course that set off a spate of coughing again.
Denver pulled her against his hard chest, cradling her gently. “Easy now.” She’d only barely gotten her air back when he added, “I’m betting I’ve wanted this longer than you have. So damn long, I was going nuts. Then to finally give in—”
Give in? What did that even mean?
“That’s not an excuse for pushing you so hard, but fact is, you do it for me. Around you, I stay so primed it’s almost agonizing.”
Ducking her face against him, Cherry said, “That’s exactly how I felt, too. As to you pushing me...” She shivered, remembering. “I liked it.”
She felt his smile when he kissed her temple. “I know you did. But you’ll like it more when you’re feeling like yourself.” Almost as an afterthought, he added, “There’s still a lot I want to do to you.”
Oh Lord. Not with her, but to her? How was she supposed to breathe normally when he said things like that?
For Denver, it sounded like everything was sexual. It thrilled her to finally make some headway—but what she felt was so much more.
He rubbed his hand down her back toward her bottom—but stopped short. “Soon as you’re well, we’ll try this all again.” His lips teased her ear, and he whispered, “When you can take it, I’ll make you beg.”
Wow. As unnerving as that sounded, she could hardly wait.
His fist under her chin tipped up her burning face. “Far as I’m concerned, there’s no end date in sight.” He searched her eyes, then focused on her mouth. “You okay with that?”
She’d been hung up on Denver Lewis from the day she’d laid eyes on him and every day since she’d fallen harder. If he asked her to marry him right now, she’d probably say yes.
Instead, he wanted unlimited sex, and the answer was still a resounding, “Yes.”
“Good.” He tucked her hair back, then leaned away to see her body. “You’re shivering again.”
With nervousness, excitement, and yes, fever. The way he’d cooled her down had helped, but not for long.
He pulled off his shirt�
��a treat no matter how sick she might be—and kicked off his shoes, then crawled into bed beside her and hugged her up to his warm chest. “Better?”
Heavenly. “Yes.”
“Doze off if you want.” Stretching out his long legs and then reaching for the remote, he got comfortable with the TV on low. “I’ll wake you when Armie gets back.”
Tired as she was, she didn’t think she’d be able to sleep. Not with her head feeling like it might explode off her body and her throat getting scratchier by the second. “Could we chat some more?” By chat, she meant her resting against him while he shared details of his life.
“About what?”
So many things. “Tell me about your family.”
“Already did. Dad’s a doctor.”
The way he summed that up, to the point of being curt, made her wonder. Did he have a bad relationship with his dad? “You mentioned a stepmother?”
“Yeah. Dad remarried years ago.”
Curling up next to him, her cheek on his bare chest, his arm around her, felt more comforting than meds ever could. The heat of his body seemed to permeate her aching muscles, and his scent wrapped around her. When she rested a hand over his abdomen, the incredible muscles there tightened. “How old were you?”
“Nineteen.” Covering her hand with his own, he moved his thumb over her knuckles. “You are so soft.”
Changing the subject again? “You like your stepmother?”
Silence stretched out while Denver played with her fingers. She didn’t rush him. If he chose not to answer, she’d let it go.
She knew all about family issues better kept private.
Then he said, “Dad loves her. I figure that’s what’s important.”
She turned her face up to see him. “You don’t get along with her?” Given Denver was so wonderful, she couldn’t imagine anyone not loving him.
Again, he took his time thinking. Finally he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “It’s complicated.” After a quick hug and a kiss on the top of her head, he promised, “We’ll have plenty of time to talk when you’re feeling better. It’s late. You should sleep.”
She didn’t want to, but lethargy pulled at her. Soon as Denver tucked the sheet around her, she felt herself slipping away.