At least her eyeballs didn’t hurt quite as much as they had last time she’d used them. When was that? It felt like hours ago. She came to with a rush. Rory. Rory had turned up on her doorstep. She lifted her head off the pillow and looked around her. Where was he now? Wait a second—where was she? She stared at the totally unfamiliar room. There was a snowboard leaning up against the wall and a couple of boxes stacked beside it. The curtains were pulled but she could see a chink of pale light through the gap. What time was it?
Then she became aware of regular breathing near her and she turned her head, rolling over onto her back to look properly. Rory, clad in jeans and a tee shirt, was lying on his side beside her, sound asleep. Her heart stopped in her mouth as surprise came and went in a flash. Fascination took hold. She had never seen him so vulnerable. Until now she’d only seen him in suits or corporate casual wear and even though he had that easy charm he always exuded self-assurance, a commanding style. Now, just in jeans and tee, he looked younger, a little less like the boss and more like a sporty hunk. She studied his mouth, the fuller lower lip that curved into such a devastating smile when he was awake. She took in the long dark lashes resting on his cheek, a hint of a shadow on his jaw. Her fingers itched to rub against it. He looked relaxed. It was incredibly appealing.
She really hoped she hadn’t got some form of selective amnesia and was unable to remember what should have been the most awesome sex of her life. She wriggled a little experimentally. While her body ached, it wasn’t the kind of ache you got after a night of passionate love-making. And he was lying on top of the bed fully clothed. No, somehow she’d got to his place and he’d looked after her. She remembered her dream, and knew him helping her drink had been real. Guilty pleasure swamped her. She shouldn’t be here, this shouldn’t have happened, and yet she was so pleased it had. She glanced around the room again with more interest now she knew it was his. There wasn’t a lot to make it personal—just the snowboard hinting at athletic pastimes and boxes signalling the recent return from his time overseas. The walls were painted a warm creamy colour and she wondered what the rest of the place was like.
Then she looked under the bedclothes and made a shocking discovery.
‘What am I wearing?’ she screeched.
Rory jerked awake. ‘What?’
She watched as alertness sprang into his features and repeated the question.
He frowned as her words sank in. ‘Oh,’ he mumbled. Then as she watched, amazed, an embarrassed flush mounted in his cheeks. ‘You were h-h-hot and sweating.’ He was actually stammering. He cleared his throat. ‘You said the cotton was too rough on your skin. You were aching. You were complaining about the sheets too.’
‘I what?’ Oh, dear God. She was mortified. She remembered feeling hot and uncomfortable. She must have been feverish. What else had she been muttering while in that delirium? She masked her embarrassment with aggression. ‘So what—you just happen to have a selection of silk negligees for whoever comes to stay? I assume this is your, your…’
‘Spare bedroom. Yes.’ He looked directly at her. The flush had receded. ‘And, no, I went and bought it especially for you. In fact—’ his eyes gleamed ‘—I bought two.’
Her mouth hung open for a second before she remembered herself and snapped it shut. She said nothing, absorbing the fact that she was wearing nothing, nothing, other than a simple, long silk negligee. No lace, no knickers. ‘Did I get changed myself?’
He started to colour again and looked away.
‘I didn’t think so,’ she muttered darkly. Then a coughing fit took over.
‘Hey, you’re OK here.’ His low comment did nothing to soothe her.
She sat up sharply, knowing damn well she wasn’t, and the room spun horribly. She wasn’t OK and it wasn’t the flu bugging her.
‘Take it easy,’ he said, pushing her back down with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ve been very sick and you haven’t eaten in days.’ His hand lingered. His warm fingers on her bare skin were heavenly. She realised she was hungry. And not just for food.
‘What time is it?’ she asked abruptly.
He checked his watch. ‘Seven p.m. Saturday.’
‘You mean Friday.’
‘No, I mean Saturday. You’ve been out of it for over twenty-four hours. You’ve had me damn worried. But I think half of it was just exhaustion. Once the fever broke, you slept like a child.’
Saturday.
‘You want to use the phone at all? Will anyone be wondering where you are?’
She ignored the question in his eyes and simply shook her head. No, if friends called they’d probably think she was out with someone else.
He seemed to have forgotten his hand still rested on her shoulder, his thumb smoothing over her skin. The touch did crazy things to her insides. She shivered and this time it wasn’t the fever causing it.
He frowned. ‘You lie still and just relax. I’m going to get some food.’
He slid off the bed and she felt sorry as the warmth and weight of him disappeared. She cringed at the hazy memory of begging him to stay with her. What else had she let slip? But she couldn’t stop watching him leave the room, his butt shown off beautifully in the low-slung jeans.
She bit her lip and looked up at the ceiling. She was in trouble here. Big trouble. The question was, did she get up and try to go home now, or did she just give in and let the inevitable happen? She tried sitting up again and slumped back in a hurry. The inevitable. No contest.
He reappeared twenty minutes later bearing a tray that, she had to admit, smelt heavenly.
This time, she discovered, she was able to sit up no problem at all. She propped the pillow up behind her. He carefully placed the tray across her knees and smiled. Her heart thumped slowly and she tried to ignore the tenderness in his actions.
‘This is great.’ She gazed in pleasure on the laden tray before her. In the centre was a bowl of rich red soup accompanied by a plate of fingers of buttered toast. A smaller bowl of freshly cut fruit was also on the tray; it included, of all things, raspberries. She was in heaven. She picked up the glass of juice on the side and tasted. Pineapple. How did this guy know all her favourites? The question must have been written all over her face.
‘You were begging for it last night.’ He grinned. ‘I had to go to the twenty-four-hour shop to get it.’
‘Thank you.’ She put the glass down, having drained half of it. She felt bad for having reacted so ungratefully before. ‘I’ve put you to a lot of trouble.’
‘No trouble,’ he said easily. ‘Eat your soup—roasted red pepper.’
She didn’t need to be told twice. But while she was hungry, she wasn’t hungry for a huge amount of anything much and this platter was exactly what she would have chosen herself. ‘What about you?’ she asked between mouthfuls.
‘I ate earlier,’ he replied, settling down on the end of the bed.
She couldn’t manage to eat it all, but when she finally sat back she felt a million times better. He smiled at her. She wished he wouldn’t; every time he did her resolve
