And once Lexi had found out he was there, she’d thrown a minor hissy fit, stomping around and whining for her cousins, her grandparents, anyone but her mom. She’d even gone to her room and cried for her daddy.
The guilt had hit Jane so hard it left her breathless.
It neared dinnertime and she’d grown concerned. The sun had long since set and her children were all bathed and ready to eat. She’d made something simple, spaghetti, and she wondered if Chris might be hungry.
So she stood in front of the door like some sort of chicken instead of the grown woman she was, hesitation consuming her when she should just walk right in and check on him. Offer him dinner if he was awake. Suggest that maybe he should head on home before it turned into an overnight stay.
She couldn’t have him stay overnight. What would the kids say? Lord, what would the neighbors say? Lone Pine Lake was too small, and everyone knew Chris’s truck. Having it sit in her driveway would cause a ripple of gossip. But she couldn’t worry about it now.
Resolve made her spine stiffen and she turned the door handle, quietly so she wouldn’t disturb him. The room was pitch black. She only heard the steady, even breathing of a man asleep. Walking into the room, she approached the bed and quietly cleared her throat, hoping it would wake him.
It didn’t. In fact, a soft snore sounded and she knew she’d have to shake him awake if she wanted to talk to him.
“Mommy!”
Jane turned to see Lexi standing in the doorway, her little mouth scrunched up in anger. “Lex, give me a minute.”
“When is he going to leave?”
She wondered what had changed her daughter’s mind about Chris. At the fire station, she’d thought he was wonderful, hadn’t been able to stop talking about him after they’d left. But the minute she’d seen him as some sort of threat for her mother’s affection, he’d turned into the enemy.
“Lexi, please be nice.”
“He shouldn’t be here,” Lexi protested. “Tell him to go.”
“He’s sick. I can’t make him leave.” And he’d also just woken up. She heard the rustle of the bed covers, a body rolling over, and she hoped he hadn’t heard what Lexi said.
“Chris?” She took a couple of steps closer to the side of the bed, the light from the open door allowing her to make out his shadowy figure.
He didn’t answer, though she thought she heard an unintelligible murmur come from him. Kneeling, she reached out and brushed the back of her hand against his forehead.
He was warm, and she wondered if he was feverish. Moaning, he sounded like he was in agony, and she let her hand rest against his neck for the briefest moment. No way could he leave, let alone drive home.
The neighbors were just going to have to deal.
She went to the master bath and dug out the over-the-top first-aid kit her mother had given her when she’d moved in. It included a fancy ear-reading thermometer that she knew must’ve cost the big bucks. And already she’d appreciated it greatly when squirmy Logan had come down with a minor fever soon after school started. It would be just the trick to use on Chris. She needed to make sure his fever wasn’t too high.
“Mommy, what’s wrong? What’s the matter with Captain Nelson?” Lexi followed her every move like a little shadow.
“He’s sick. Stay out of the guest room, okay? I don’t want you to catch it.”
“But what about you? What if you catch it?” The fear in Lexi’s voice was unmistakable.
Jane hugged Lexi to her, giving her an extra squeeze. “I’ll be fine; don’t worry about me. I take care of you guys all the time and never get sick, right?”
“I guess so. Is he going to be okay?” She actually sounded concerned, which gave Jane a glimmer of hope.
“He’ll be fine. Let me take care of him and then I’ll finish dinner, okay?”
Lexi nodded, her expression solemn. “Okay.”
Jane went back into the bedroom and turned the lamp onto its dimmest setting. Chris now lay flat on his back, his eyes closed, his face pale. She touched his cheek, the bristle of stubble scratching her hand, the warmth of his skin not necessarily hot, but better safe than sorry.
Without hesitation, she gently turned his head and set up the ear thermometer, did a reading that clicked in at a little over ninety-nine degrees. A low-grade fever, certainly nothing to worry about. Still, it was as if the man had been completely knocked out.
“Chris.” She murmured his name, wanting to wake him but not startle him. “Christian, wake up.”
He stirred, his lids lifting and then closing, and she noticed his thick, dark lashes. Lashes any female would be envious of, including herself. He lifted his lids again, his eyes opening fully, though he still looked out of it.
“No one calls me Christian but you. And my first grade teacher,” he whispered, his voice rough. And goodness, even in his weary state, sexy.
Her heart fluttered and she smiled. “You’ve got a minor fever.”
“I know. I’m hot.”
He certainly was, in more ways than one.
She noticed the empty water bottle on the table. “Want something to drink? Water or juice, maybe?”
“More water would be good, yeah.” His eyes shut yet again, and he let forth a little groan. “I’m so tired.”
“You need rest.” She allowed herself to touch him, unable to help it. She drifted her fingers across the top of his head, over his silky soft hair.
He sighed. “That feels good.”
She did it again, let her fingers tangle in the strands, and she wished she could do this forever…
But she had her children to take care of, and they were waiting for her.
“Um, maybe you should shed some clothing. Help cool you down,” she suggested. He still wore his T-shirt, but she had no clue if he had his jeans on.
“Honey, I take anything else off, I’ll be naked.” His eyes stayed closed but he smiled. A naughty smile that made her laugh softly.
So tired and not feeling well, and he still had a sense of humor. That was a good sign.
“Well, maybe just your T-shirt, then? You need to get rid of as many layers as you can. Want me to turn on the fan?”
“No, I’m good.” He sat up and, with one hand, tugged the shirt up and over his head, then tossed it onto the floor.
Her mouth dropped open at the sight. Those broad, smooth shoulders, the wide, muscular chest with the lightest patch of dark curling hair in the center, all of that burnished skin stretched taut over sinew and muscle.
Stephen had been physically fit, but nothing like this. The sudden urge to smooth her hands over him, to search and explore and see if he was as hard as he looked was so strong she had to clutch her hands together to keep from reaching out.
“Okay, sure. Well, I hope you feel better.” She was rambling—she could hear it—and she backed away from the bed, suddenly needing as much space as possible from this all-too-tempting man. “I’ll get you some water.”
Jane fled the room, her heart racing, her feet nearly tripping over themselves in her urgency to get to the kitchen and away from Chris.
All three of her children sat at the table coloring, watching her with wide-eyed curiosity as she went to the refrigerator and retrieved a bottle of water, then grabbed the aspirin.
“Is he okay?” Lexi asked.
“He’ll be fine.” She smiled at them, wishing she had someone else here to help. “I’m getting him some water and then I’ll finish dinner, okay?”
“Okay,” all three of her children sing-songed, and she thanked them silently for their patience. Something they definitely weren’t known for.
Chris was already drifting off back to sleep when she arrived at his bedside, and she placed the cold water bottle against his bare forearm, startling him awake.
“That was mean,” he grumbled, “but it felt good.”
“I’m sure. Here, take this, too.” She offered the aspirin, but he took the water from her first, uncapped it, and pr
oceeded to drink nearly half before he stopped.
And again, she felt like a fool for being aroused by him while he felt ill. But the way his big hand had clutched that bottle, his arched neck, the movement of his throat when he drank brought forth such a feeling of longing she almost ached with it.
“Thanks, Jane.” He held out his hand, palm up, and she set the pills there. He swallowed them with another gulp of water and then placed the bottle onto the bedside table, settling into the pile of pillows beneath his head. “I’m wiped.”
“Of course you are. Get some sleep; you’ll feel better in the morning.”
“You don’t mind my staying here, do you? It’s not going to cause any problems, is it?” His golden gaze locked onto her. He watched her carefully as she searched for the right thing to say.
He was sick, but the gossips might have a field day with this if they were discovered.
For once, she realized she didn’t care.
“Maybe I should go,” he added when she still hadn’t said anything. He tossed the covers back, giving her a glimpse of flat abdomen, black boxer briefs, and thick, muscular thighs.
“No, no, stay the night. You can’t drive like this.” She reached for the blankets at the same time he did, their hands brushing against each other’s, and she jerked away, her fingers landing on his thigh instead.
Cheeks heated, she yanked her hand back, let him pull the covers over himself.
“Sorry,” she mumbled, her fingertips still tingling from touching him. That thigh had been hard, hot, and she wondered what it would feel like to have him pressed against her. In bed. Naked.
“It’s all right.” He rolled over on his side, facing her, a sleepy smile curving his lips.
Those very same lips had kissed her senseless not too long ago. The memory of that moment lingered, filled her thoughts more often than not.
“Thanks, Jane.” He closed his eyes, drifting off already, and she leaned over, snapped off the lamp with a quiet click. “For taking care of me.”
“You’re welcome,” she said softly, a pang in her heart.
She had a feeling if she let him, he’d take even better care of her.
…
Chris woke up a sweaty, disoriented mess. He blinked his eyes open with a start and stared into the unfamiliar darkness. It took him a minute to realize where he was, what had happened.
Tired, even a little feverish, the leftover vestiges of his flu bug. Jane driving him to her house, ushering him inside, and into her guest bed. She’d taken good care of him, checked on him twice before she’d gone to bed and then once more, in the middle of the night.
The last time she came, he’d feigned sleep, absorbed the tender care she’d shown him. The way she’d tucked the blankets around his shoulders, her cool hands touching his flesh. She’d tested his forehead, her fingers surging upward to thread through his hair, and then she’d run a single finger down his cheek.
She’d touched him as if she wanted to touch him some more. Nothing impersonal about it. If he’d felt well enough, he would’ve returned the favor. Hauled her into his arms and held her close, kissed those sweet lush lips and thanked her for everything she did for him.
Yeah, but he’d been too out of it to do anything but enjoy it. Savor it.
Slowly he sat up, pushed the hair off his forehead. No more aches, no more weariness. He felt like a new man.
Chris climbed out of bed and switched on the lamp, blinked hard to bring everything into focus. He tipped back the blinds and peeked out the window, noticed it was still dark. Shuffling into the bathroom, he turned on the shower. A towel hung on the rack on the wall and he sniffed it, deemed it clean. He needed a shower just to feel like himself again. And then he was going right back to bed.
A quick and cool five-minute rinse-off was all it took. He dried himself quickly, found a giant bottle of mouthwash under the sink, and gargled with it to get the bad taste out of his mouth. He collapsed back into bed just as fast as he’d climbed out of it.
Then he heard the gentle knock on the door. His voice froze in his throat; he couldn’t find it to answer and the door swung open. The outline of her slender body shone in the entryway. She slowly walked into the room and he realized she had no idea she was dealing with a semi-coherent naked man.
“Chris?” Her soft voice twisted his insides, made certain parts of his body stand at attention, and he prayed for some sort of control. “Are you awake?”
“Yeah,” he croaked, then cleared his throat. He sounded terrible. “I feel better.”
“Oh, good. Are you sure, though? That was really fast.” She rushed toward him, her cool, slim hand touched his forehead, the tips of her fingers like a caress against his skin. He shuddered.
He could barely make out what she wore, but it looked like some flannel pajama pants and T-shirt set. He wondered if she was wearing a bra beneath that shirt. His wayward thoughts were going to kill him if he didn’t watch it.
“You took a shower? I thought I heard you.”
“Yeah.” She kept touching him, fluttering her hand across his bare shoulder, and the urge to pick up that little hand and bring it to his mouth was overwhelming. “I feel a lot better.”
“You should go back to sleep and get more rest. I’ll leave you alone.”
“What time is it?” He didn’t want her to leave, not yet. He grabbed her by the wrist, slipped his hand into hers.
She didn’t leave—didn’t try to jerk her hand from his, either. “It’s a little past two thirty.”
“And you’re up?” He laced his fingers with hers, noticed how slim they were, long and elegant and so full of grace. Gentle and soothing, they knew just how to touch to make a person feel good.
They made him feel good.
“I heard the water running and figured it must’ve been you,” she said.
He jerked on her hand, urging her closer. “Sit down.”
“W-where?” Her whisper was small, almost sounded scared, but he ignored it.
He wanted her closer. And he would have her closer, too, damn it. Despite her protests, despite how both of them continued to claim they wanted nothing beyond friendship, the chemistry between them had grown too large to ignore.
He was tired of fighting it.
“Right here, on the edge of the bed.” He scooted over, giving her room, and she sat, her body warmth seeping into him, the curve of her bottom so close, so tempting.
“Christian. You need to go back to sleep,” she urged.
“In a minute. Let me thank you first.” How did he want to thank her? Well, he could think of a few ways. But would she let him?
There was only one way to find out.
“You’re welcome.” She nudged at his shoulder again with her free hand and curled her fingers around him. Damn, if he didn’t become aroused at her simple touch. “Now go back to sleep.”
“Join me,” he murmured, and he swore he heard her gasp.
“What did you say?”
“You heard me.” He paused, squeezed her hand before he brought it to his mouth and pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. “Join me.”
Chapter Eleven
“You—you can’t be serious.” No way could he be. Even though he didn’t feel overly warm, he must still be delirious with fever.
That was the only way Jane could justify the odd request, the downright romantic way he treated her. After their kiss and then her ultimate rejection that night at the movies, he’d essentially kept his distance. Always respectful, polite, more like a friend than a lover.
Right now, he was acting very much like a lover. And she liked it. A lot.
“I’m dead serious.” He kissed the back of her hand again, his lips lingering, warm and damp on her skin. A shiver moved through her and her breasts grew heavy in reaction to his simple touch. He drifted his mouth over her hand, across her knuckles, and her lips parted on a sigh.
“Join me, Jane.” His sleepy voice was seductive, alluring, and she was tempted
, so tempted. But what would happen if she did join him? Would he touch her, take this even further? Or would he recoil from her in disgust when he discovered her scars?
No way could she let him see her…but even in the dark he would feel the raised, puckered, scarred skin.
“Chris.” She tried to sound strong, firm. “I can’t. The children—”
“Are still asleep,” he finished for her. His voice was low and rough, the sound of it sending a shiver down her spine. “They’ll never know. Lay with me, Jane, just for a few minutes.”
“I shouldn’t.” Again, with the firm voice and the not-so-firm resolve.
“You should. You know you want to.” He actually chuckled, the cocky man, and she felt him slide over to make more room for her. He released her hand and flipped back the blankets. “Come on. Before I get cold.”
She could not believe she was doing this…but she wanted to. She was attracted to him. Giving in to him seemed natural. Kicking off her slippers, she shifted under the covers, her bare toes nudging a knee, sliding down to brush against a hairy calf. He was very warm, his body heat embracing her much like his strong arms when he drew her to him.
“Christian! You’re naked,” she said on a gasp, shock coursing through her when she realized he didn’t have a stitch of clothing on.
He chuckled again, smoothing his hand up her back to tangle in the hair at the nape of her neck. “You’re very perceptive.”
“I think…I think you’re hallucinating or s-something,” she stammered, and she rested her hand against his chest. His very warm, very hard chest. She couldn’t resist streaking her thumb across his skin.
“Nope, no hallucinations. I’m feeling a lot better.” He dipped his head, his still damp hair brushing against her cheek, and his mouth moved against her neck in the softest of kisses. “Just wanted to show my thanks.”
“A simple thank-you would’ve worked just fine.” She arched her neck, giving him better access as she clutched his broad shoulders, holding onto him for dear life. He was an anchor, something to cling to as the storm of emotions his mouth brought forth raged within her. That mouth slid down her neck, kissing and nipping, and his tongue licked, making her squirm, making her sigh in anticipation.
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