Here Comes Trouble

by Anna J. Stewart

  He shivered and she heard his teeth chatter. Pressing a hand against his chest, she felt the heat pouring off him in waves. Sweat stained his shirt, dampened his hair.

  “Malcolm, wake up.” She shook him, the relief that washed over her made her head go light as he rolled his head toward her and blinked open his eyes. “Malcolm, you’re burning up.” She pressed a hand against his forehead. “I think you have a fever.” For a moment, Sheila worried he wasn’t quite there.

  “Shit,” he growled and struggled to push himself up. “Sorry. I should go.”

  “I don’t think so.” She tugged him down before he collapsed. “What is it? Has this happened before? Should I call someone? Call 911.” She leapt off the couch to find her phone, but Malcolm snatched hold of her wrist.

  “I’m okay.” He coughed, shook his head as if trying to clear his thoughts. “It’s not a fever. Sometimes—um, sometimes spicy food does this to me.”

  “I need to call someone.” Her heart wouldn’t stop pounding. Her breathing came in rapid waves. “Might not be much time. Can’t be too careful.” Her hands were shaking. Where was the phone? She had to call—

  “Sheila, stop.”

  Even as she watched his eyes clear and the determined set to his mouth return, she couldn’t. She couldn’t pull out of the hole she’d fallen into weeks before. When she’d been too late.

  “It’s only night sweats, honey, I promise.” He stroked her arm, but she was trembling, as if one more touch and she might shatter. “Nothing a cool shower and a bed won’t cure. Which is why I need to go.”

  “You promise?” she asked, cupping his cheek in her palm and looking so deeply into his eyes she saw her own terrified face staring back at her. “You promise that’s all it is?”

  “I promise.” But he winced, as if he was in pain. “Now let me up.”

  “Come upstairs with me.”

  He turned tired eyes toward her. “Now really isn’t the time—”

  “Do I look like I’m feeling frisky?” She grabbed hold of his hands and clutched them against her chest. “Let’s go upstairs, you can take that shower and I’ll put you to bed.”

  “Your spare bedroom’s down here.”

  “Since when did you turn into Sir Galahad?” She hooked his arm over her shoulder and hauled him up, giving a passing glance to Sherlock, who blinked sleepy eyes at her. “Shower, then bed. And sleep.”

  “Sounds good to me.” He stumbled on the first step and sent Sheila back to the edge of panic, but he righted himself and pulled himself up the rest of the way. “Jesus,” he muttered when she shoved him inside the bathroom. “Do the ancient Romans know you stole their bath house?”

  “Every woman has her weakness.” And the gold and white marble spa-inspired room had been her pride and joy inside the loft. She reached through the open shower to turn on the water that cascaded down from three recessed heads in the ceiling. “Strip.”

  “Your wish.” He bowed, but nearly tipped over. “Wow. This must be such a turn on.”

  “Maybe we’ll laugh about it next week.” Satisfied with the cool temperature, she pulled a set of towels off the shelf before helping him pull his shirt over his head. When she reached for the snap on his jeans, he slapped her hands away.

  “I’m not that incapable.”

  She planted her hands on her hips. “Prove it.”

  “Man, this could be my worst nightmare come to life. I don’t need you taking care of me, Sheila.”

  “Someone needs to.” Contrary to his claim he could undress himself, he barely pushed his jeans over his hips before he had to lean against the sink. “How often does this happen?”

  “Not often.” He squeezed his eyes shut. “I’ll be okay, Sheila.”

  “As long as you don’t drown.” But she gave him his space and stepped away as he divested himself of his jeans and briefs. “Do you need—”

  “I do not.” He held out his hand and walked slowly into the shower. The frosted glass encompassed him and she saw him tilt his head up into the waterfall shower. The tension in her chest didn’t ease until she heard him exhale in relief.

  “I’ll be just be a few minutes.” She scooped up his clothes and hurried downstairs, stopping when Sherlock hauled himself up onto the third step. He plopped his butt down and stared up at her.

  “Mew.”

  “Hang on, little guy.” She went into the laundry room, going through the pockets. She set his wallet aside, squeezed the fabric between her hands and popped out an orange prescription bottle. Antibiotics. “‘Take one tablet orally two times a day with food.’ Maybe it’s just as well he’s not up to being frisky,” she said, and set the load to wash.

  On her way up she pocketed her cell phone, picked up the second small litter box Malcolm had bought, filled it, and brought it upstairs with her along with Sherlock, who took to exploring the second floor without hesitation. She put the box just inside the door of the bathroom, and found Malcolm standing where she’d left him. Still on his feet. Good sign. She pulled the comforter off the bed, leaving the sheet on, set his pills on the nightstand, and changed into her sleep shirt.

  When she returned to the bathroom, she saw his hand come around the wall and search for the towel. She dashed forward and shoved it into his hands, ignoring the irritation on his face. “Suck it up, Malcolm. You’re stuck with me.”

  “Don’t I wish.”

  She froze at his words, but when she looked after turning off the shower, he was busy tying the towel around his waist and acting as if he hadn’t spoken. She swallowed, playing along. She draped another towel over his shoulders, patting his hair dry as he passed before he wandered into the bedroom and dropped onto the bed.

  “You’ll feel better in the morning,” she said, turning off the light and coming over to stand beside him. She took the one towel, pressed his hair dry before she pushed him onto the mattress. She tugged the sheet over him and then, when he threw an arm over his face, she reached under and untied the towel, whipping it free of the covers.

  His chest rumbled as he laughed. “Honey, you have no idea how much I wish these were different circumstances.” And with that, he rolled onto his side and dropped off.

  “Right there with you.” She stroked his damp hair, ran her fingers over his shoulder, along his arm. She bent and pressed a kiss on his bare skin, tossed the towels into the bathroom. Sherlock was sitting patiently on the floor at the foot of the bed, but once deposited on the mattress, he pounced on Malcolm’s feet. Sheila slid in beside Malcolm, then behind him, leaning over him and once again stroking his hair. His skin was cool to the touch now, as if nothing had happened. Except he’d scared the life out of her, something she’d had enough of for five lifetimes.

  “Mew.” Sherlock wiggled his way between them, lodging himself between the back of Malcolm’s legs and her knees. He circled once, twice, and then, as Sheila snapped off the light he settled, as did she. Into a restless, worried sleep.

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sheila raised her hand to bat away the engine roaring in her ear and encountered a warm wiggly body pawing its way across her arm and shoulder. She pried open one eye and found a pair of eerie blue feline ones blinking at her.

  “Mew.”

  “I think that’s code for feed me.”

  Sheila’s hand froze mid-pet as the arm around her waist tightened and drew her back against Malcolm’s solid form. He nuzzled the back her neck despite the competition for her attention. “You gave him to me.” Oh, boy. Her heart couldn’t decide between racing or flat-lining. “Everything he does is now your fault.”

  “Considering I just watched him claw his way up onto this Princess Pea of a bed you’ve got, the cat’s a flipping genius. But I might need a ladder to climb down.”

  Sheila grinned. She loved having risers on her bed. Made her feel as if she awoke every morning on the top o
f the world. Then again, waking in bed with Malcolm had the same effect.

  “Okay, you.” Malcolm plucked Sherlock off her shoulder and rolled onto his back, holding the teeny kitten in the air. “You and I need to come to an understanding.”

  Sheila rolled over. The sight of the bedraggled Malcolm having a heart to heart with what could be the tiniest kitten on the planet shifted her stifled emotions into overdrive. “Don’t listen to him, Sherlock.” She reached out and scratched the little guy’s belly. “He’s just jealous.”

  “Damn straight. You used to wake up looking at me that way.”

  She propped a hand under her ear and watched him settle the cat on his bare chest. “I still might.” Sherlock, however, had other ideas, and after padding around in circles for a while, lost interest and dropped off the edge of the bed. The silent thud had Sheila leaning over Malcolm to make sure he was okay. More than okay. That stray cotton ball was going to entertain him for hours. She felt Malcolm’s hand in her hair, his fingers massaging her scalp as his body shifted under hers. “Somebody’s feeling better this morning.” She purred louder than Sherlock.

  “Danger ahead.” He gripped her shoulders and flipped her onto her back. He leaned over her, sliding his hand under the comforter to encounter her bare thigh, fingers teasing as they skimmed up, higher, higher. Sheila bit her lip, kept her eyes pinned to his. “I think I’ve recharged my batteries,” he murmured, and dipped his head and pressed his lips against the side of her throat. “How about you?”

  Her brain fogged, the feel of his lips against her skin, the warmth of his breath tingling as she tried to remember why this wasn’t a good idea. She slid her foot up and through the tangle of blankets until she found the back of his thigh, her hands skimming over his hips as every dormant synapse in her brain fired like a Fourth of July overload.

  “What are we doing?” she asked, arching her neck as his lips continued to search, wanting him to kiss her the way she remembered, the way she needed him to.

  “Whatever we want? God, you smell so good.” He nuzzled her neck, stroked her pulse point with his tongue. She shivered. “Tell me this isn’t what you want.”

  She pressed her lips together, wanting to deny him, to prove him wrong, to not give in, but no one had ever made her feel like Malcolm did. As if she were the most powerful woman on the planet, that she had him wrapped around every part of her. That she was all he ever wanted. “Malcolm—” she whispered and curved her hand into the curls at the base of his neck.

  Her phone rang.

  “You have got to be kidding me.” Sheila groaned. Malcolm dropped his head onto her shoulder. “So much for ending a five-year drought.” She slammed her hand down on her nightstand, pulled her phone up, and looked at the screen. “I’m going to kill him.” She tried to sit up, but Malcolm wasn’t budging. “Up.” She shoved at him, but he laughed harder, to the point she joined in.

  “It’s Nathan, isn’t it?” He rolled off her and covered his eyes with his arm. “I’m flashing back to college when I forgot to put a sock on the door.”

  “Please regale me with that story later.” Sheila trailed a finger down the dusting of hair on his chest, teased lower, lower . . . and snatched her hand away. “Good morning, Nathan.” She hugged her knees into her chest and tried not to feel her good mood slip away.

  “Try good afternoon. Seeing as Malcolm wasn’t around for our planned morning run, can I assume he’s with you?”

  “Um.” Sheila glanced over at her bed companion. “Were you supposed to run with Nathan this morning?”

  “Oh.” He glanced over, saw the clock. Grinned. “Yeah.”

  She had to hold the phone against her chest until she could stop laughing. “He says sorry, Nathan. What’s going on?”

  “I had a chance to run that scanner program on the lading we found at the storage unit. We’re meeting at Dad’s in an hour.”

  “An hour?” Malcolm shot a look at her inquiry that set her insides to tingling. “How about two?”

  “While I appreciate the advancement of your social life, let’s not lose sight of the big picture here.” Her brother tsked. “Tell Malcolm to put his pants on and the two of you get over here.”

  She stared at the disconnected phone. “Our attendance has been requested at a meeting of the Nemesis mind meld.”

  “Was that a Star Trek reference?” Malcolm shoved up in bed and gave her such a shocked look she might as well have just told him she’d been elected prime minister of Britain.

  “Maybe.” She tucked her hair behind her ear and leaned in, brushed her lips against his, and just as she saw his hand come up to cup the side of her face, she scooted away. “I get the shower first, just as soon as I throw your clothes in the dryer. Oh.” She stopped halfway to the bathroom, hooked a finger in her teeth and grinned. “And that ‘doing what we want’ thing? Yeah. Let’s give that a shot.”

  ***

  “I don’t know how you can drink that stuff.” Sheila shuddered as Malcolm finished his protein drink. When he’d spotted his pills on the nightstand table, he’d been jolted into reality. He knew it was a matter of time before she asked about them. Better to get ahead of it now.

  “The medication I’m taking isn’t the easiest thing on my system in the morning. But I’m done taking them tomorrow.” He followed her up the path to her father’s house, a modern but clean-looking house mixing sectioned glass windows and sturdy columned architecture. Practical but posh, much like the Tremaynes.

  Nathan pulled open the front door as they headed up the walkway. “Right on time,” he said. “Coffee’s on.”

  “Should I have worn my winter coat?” Malcolm guided Sheila inside with a hand on her back after Nathan’s cool greeting.

  “He’s no doubt realized both his sisters have more of a sex life than he does. Serious dry spell at the moment.”

  “You don’t have a sex life,” Malcolm reminded her, sliding a finger down her bare arm. The coral halter dress she wore made her skin glow, the soft fabric brushing softly against him as she walked beside him. “Yet.”

  “Yeah, well, we’re working on that.” She turned to face him and placed a hand on his chest, the concerned look in her eyes setting his teeth on edge. “Is everything okay? I know you’ve been dealing with a lot with your father and the two companies. Those pills—”

  “I had a bout of bronchitis a while ago and it’s hung on. Stop worrying.” Guilt nibbled at his gut like a rat. It would have been easier if she hadn’t asked, but the truth wasn’t an option. For either of them. He knew what it was like to live with regrets. He’d dealt with them for five years. But he wouldn’t regret protecting her from this. Even if it meant she’d hate him in the end. “You want to worry about something, worry about having left Sherlock alone in your apartment.”

  “What’s a Sherlock?” Nathan asked as they entered the kitchen, followed by Jackson.

  “My new cat,” Sheila poured out. “Malcolm gave him to me yesterday.”

  “Something for you to take care of.” Jackson patted her shoulder as he pilfered the mug she’d just filled. “Nice touch.” He slapped Malcolm’s shoulder. “Help yourself to croissants before you join us in the backyard. It’s one of your mother’s days.”

  “Mother’s days?” Malcolm asked as he pried open the bakery box on the counter, felt his appetite dip, and pushed it toward Sheila, who, to his surprise, took one.

  “That’s what he calls perfect mornings,” Sheila said around a dainty bite, crumbs dotting her lips. He watched her tongue lick them free, felt his body tighten as the corner of her mouth tilted ever so slightly. “Mom used to spend hours in the garden on days like this.” She plopped the rest of the shellacked pastry onto a napkin. “One thing neither Morgan nor I inherited was mom’s green thumb. Although Morgan’s better at growing things than I am.”

  Malcolm bypassed the coffee machine and c
hecked the fridge, pulled out a pitcher of iced tea. “Okay if I do this instead?”

  Sheila’s eyes widened. “Don’t recall you passing up coffee that often.”

  “Tea’s healthier?”

  She looked down at the mug she’d filled. “I don’t want that to be true.”

  “So, question.” Malcolm filled a glass, and because Sheila looked concerned he wasn’t going to eat anything, grabbed the pastry she’d set aside for him and followed her outside. “Just how insulated is Morgan from Nemesis?”

  “Not as much as I’d like,” Jackson said from his place at the circular table in the middle of the cobblestone patio. “But that was never the intention. Helping Morgan with her funding issues for the Pediatric Cancer Treatment Center was a fluke. We knew she was in trouble, despite not telling us the extent of what she’d done.”

  “What did she do?” Malcolm took a seat across from Nathan.

  “Let’s just say our sister is as creative an accountant as she is a fundraiser.” Sheila shook her head in what Malcolm equated with either amusement or grudging admiration. “She moved some funds around where they shouldn’t have been moved, but we caught it in time. Or rather Nathan did. Saved her from a possible jail sentence for misappropriation of funds.”

  “There’s nothing like having your actions put someone you love in the line of fire.” Jackson flinched behind his mug.

  “I’ve done a little digging where I can,” Nathan said. “Your brother’s pretty tied up in Oliver Technologies. I’m not sure there’s any way to separate him from your father before the shit hits the fan.”

  Malcolm folded his hands over his stomach. “Which should happen any day.”

  “The company’s his again,” Sheila explained. “And he told Ty the truth, that he left to protect him.”

  “Somewhere there’s a contract with Ty’s signature on it, approving the sale of the water treatment system to Worthington Incorporated.”

  “So that’s what your father did.” Jackson tapped his finger on the table. “He forced you out by threatening to expose Ty.”