I took a step back.
He stopped, his brows twitching at my retreat, then said, “I mean, you don’t look like you feel well.”
“I’m perfectly fine,” I lied.
“And you don’t sound like you feel well.”
“This is how I sound normally,” I lied, yet again.
“It isn’t how you sounded last night.”
“It’s morning. I just woke up. This is my waking-up voice.”
“Your waking-up voice sounds like you’ve got a sore throat and stuffed nose?”
I kept lying. “I have allergies.”
He looked out the windows and then at me. “In snow?” I looked out the windows, too, and when he continued speaking I looked back at him. “Nothin’ alive in the ice out there that’ll mess with your allergies, Duchess.”
I decided to change the topic of conversation. However, I was becoming slightly concerned that I was getting lightheaded.
“How did I get here?” I asked him.
His head tipped to the side again and he asked back, “What?”
I pointed to myself and said, “Me”—then pointed to the floor—“here. How did I get here?”
He looked at the floor I was pointing to, shook his head, and muttered, “Shit.” Then he looked back at me and said, “You were out. Never saw anything like it. Figured you were fakin’.”
“I’m sorry?”
He took another step toward me and I took another step back. He stopped again, looked at my feet, and then for some reason grinned. Then he looked back at me.
“I waited a while, called the hotel to see if you’d checked in. They said no. I called a couple others. They said no, too. So I went after you, thinkin’ maybe you got yourself into trouble. You did. I found your car in a ditch, you asleep in the back. I brought you and your shit to the house. You were out like a light, dead weight.” His torso twisted and he pointed to my suitcase, which was on a comfortable-looking armchair across the room, and then he twisted back to me. “Put you to bed, slept on the couch.”
I was definitely getting lightheaded, not only because of being sick but also because of what he just said. Therefore, in order not to fall down and make a right prat of myself, I skirted him, walked to the bed, and sat down, or, if I was honest, more like slumped down.
Then I looked up at him and asked, “You put me to bed?”
He’d turned to face me. His brows were drawn and he didn’t look amused anymore.
“You’re not okay,” he stated.
“You put me to bed?” I repeated.
His eyes came to mine and he said, “Yeah.”
I pulled at the T-shirt and asked, “Did you put this on me?”
The grin came back. It was different this time, vastly different, and my lightheadedness increased significantly at the sight.
Then he said, “Yeah.”
I surged to my feet and then my vision went funny, my hand went to my forehead, and I plopped back down on the bed.
Suddenly he was crouched in front of me murmuring, “Jesus, Duchess.”
“You took my clothes off,” I accused.
“Lie down,” he ordered.
“You took my clothes off.”
“Yeah, now lie down.”
“You can’t take my clothes off!” I shouted, but I heard my loud words banging around in my skull. My head started swimming and I would have fallen backward if my hand didn’t come out to rest on the bed to prop me up.
“I can, I did, it ain’t nothin’ I haven’t seen before, now lie down.”
I started to push up, announcing, “I’m leaving.”
He straightened and put his hands on my shoulders, pressing me right back down. My bottom hit the bed and I looked up at him, suddenly so fatigued I could barely tilt my head back.
“You aren’t leavin’,” he declared.
“You shouldn’t have changed my clothes.”
“Duchess, not gonna say it again, lie down.”
“I need to go.”
I barely got out the word go when my calves were swept up and my body twisted in the bed. I couldn’t hold up my torso anymore so it also fell to the bed. Then the covers came over me.
“You had medicine in your groceries. I’ll get that, and you need some food.”
“I need to go.”
“Food, medicine, then we’ll talk.”
“Listen—”
“I’ll be right back.”
Then he was gone and I didn’t have the energy to lift my head to find out where he went. I decided to go to my suitcase, get some clothes on, and get out of there. Then I decided I’d do that after I closed my eyes just for a bit. They hurt, too much, and all that sun and snow, I had to give them a break. It was too bright.
Then, I guess, I passed out.
* * *
“Nina, you with me?” I heard a somewhat familiar, deep, gravelly voice calling from what seemed far away.
“How do you know my name?” I asked, not opening my eyes and I would have been highly alarmed at the grating sound of my voice if I wasn’t so very tired.
“You’re with me,” the somewhat familiar, deep, gravelly voice muttered.
“My throat hurts.”
“Sounds like it.”
“And my eyes hurt.”
“I’ll bet.”
“And my whole body hurts.”
“You’ve got a fever, Duchess.”
“Figures,” I murmured. “I’m on holiday. Fit as a fiddle through my boring bloody life, I go on holiday, I get a fever.”
I heard a not-in-the-slightest-unattractive chuckle and then, “Honey, I need to get you up, get some ibuprofen in you, some liquids.”
“No.”
“Nina.”
“How do you know my name?”
“Driver’s license, credit cards, passport.”
My eyes slightly opened and that was too much effort so I closed them again.
“You went through my purse.”
“Woman sick in my bed, yeah. Figured I should know her name.”
I tried to roll but that took too much effort too so I stopped trying and said, “Go away.”
“Help me out here.”
“Tired,” I mumbled.
“Honey.”
He called me honey twice. Niles never called me honey or sweetheart or darling or anything, not even Nina most the time, which was my bloody name. In fact, Niles didn’t speak to me much if I thought about it, which, at that moment, I didn’t have the energy to do.
I was nearly asleep again before I felt my body gently pulled up and then what felt like my bottom sliding into a man’s lap and then what felt like a glass against my lips.
“Drink,” that somewhat familiar, deep, gravelly voice ordered.
I drank.
The glass went away, then I heard, “Open your mouth, Duchess.”
I did as I was told and felt something on my tongue.
The glass came back and then, “Swallow those down.”
I swallowed and jerked my head away. The pills going through my sore throat hurt like crazy.
I ended up with what felt like my forehead pressed into someone’s neck, soft fabric against my cheek.
“Ouch,” I whispered.
“Sorry, darlin’.”
I was moved again back between sheets, head on pillow, and before the covers fully settled on me, I was asleep.
* * *
I woke up when I felt something cool, too cool, hit my neck.
“No,” I rasped.
“You’re burnin’ up, baby.”
I wasn’t burning up. I was cold. So cold I was trembling, full-on human earthquake.
“So cold.” The words scraped through my throat and I winced.
The cool left my neck and was pressed to my forehead.
“Nina, do you have travel insurance?”
I tried to focus but couldn’t and asked, “What?”
“This doesn’t break soon, I gotta get you to the hospital.”
I stayed silent mainly because I was trying to concentrate on getting warm. I pulled the covers closer around me and snuggled into them.
“Nina, listen to me, do you have travel insurance?”
“Wallet,” I told him. “Purse.”
“Okay, honey, rest.”
I nodded and pulled the covers closer but I couldn’t get warm enough.
“I need another blanket.”
“Honey.”
“Please.”
The cool cloth stayed at my forehead but I felt strong fingers curl around my neck and then they drifted down to my shoulder.
Then I heard the word “Fuck,” said softly and the covers were drawn away.
“No!” I cried. It was weak but it was a cry.
“Hang tight, baby.”
The bed moved and I fell back as substantial weight came in behind me.
Then his body was the length of my back, fitting itself into the curve of mine. I nestled backward, deeper into his solid warmth, as the tremors kept quaking my frame. His arm came around me, his hand found mine, and the fingers of both my hands curled around his, hard, tight, holding on.
“So cold, Max.”
“Beat it back, Duchess.”
I nodded against the pillow and said, “I’ll try.”
It took a while, the trembling keeping me awake, him holding me tight, his body pressed to mine.
What felt like hours later, when the tremors started to slide away, I called softly, “Max?”
“Right here,” came a gravelly yet drowsy reply.
“Thanks,” I whispered.
Then I slid into sleep, so exhausted it felt like I’d fought an epic battle.
* * *
The cool cloth was again against my brow, sweeping back across my hair.
“Max?”
“Fever’s broke.”
“Mm,” I mumbled, falling back to sleep.
The words “Work with me, Nina,” stopped my descent.
“Okay,” I whispered and I was moved to my back and then my upper body was pulled up.
“Lift your arms.”
I did as I was told and the T-shirt came off.
“You sweated it out, Duchess. You’re in the home stretch.”
“Okay.”
“Keep your arms up.”
“Okay.”
I felt another T-shirt come down over my arms, over my head. I felt it yanked down at my belly, my sides. I fell forward and felt my forehead resting against something soft and hard. The material was soft and it covered what I figured was a hard shoulder.
“You can drop your arms.”
“Okay.”
I dropped my arms and then I slid them around what felt like a man’s waist. Then I cuddled closer. It felt like arms came around my waist, too, and it also felt like a hand was trailing gently up and down my back.
“You’re sweet when you’re sick.”
“I am?”
“Hellion when you’re riled.”
“Yes?”
“Yeah.”
“Mm.”
Then he muttered, “Not sure which I like more.”
I had no reply. Mainly because I’d fallen back to sleep.
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