minutes, she had showered and changed into comfy yoga pants and a soft much-washed T-shirt.
Case’s king bed was large and roomy, and he was passed out cold. She would get more rest there than if she slept in the guest room and had to be up and down all night checking on him.
That reasoning seemed entirely logical right up until the moment she walked into his bedroom and saw that he had, once again, thrown off the covers. The man might have the flu, but looking at him still made her pulse race.
She would have to set the alarm on her phone for regular intervals, because Case was still racked with fever. When she managed to get the thermometer under his tongue and keep it there for long enough to record a reading, it said 101.2 degrees. And that was with medication.
No telling how high it would go if left untreated.
She gave him one last dose of acetaminophen, coaxed him into drinking half a glass of water and straightened his covers. After turning on a light in the bathroom and leaving the door cracked, she stood by the bed.
When this was all over, he would be back to his bossy, impossible self. But for now, he was helpless as a baby.
Refusing to dwell on how unusual the situation was, she walked around to the other side of the bed and sat down carefully. Case was using two of the pillows, but she snagged the third one for herself. There was no way she was going to climb underneath the covers, so she had brought a light blanket from the other bedroom.
Curling into a comfortable position, she reached out and turned off the light.
* * *
Case frowned in his sleep. He’d been dreaming. A lot. Closer to nightmares, really. His head hurt like hell and every bone in his body ached. Not only that, but his mouth felt like sandpaper.
He had a vague memory of someone talking to him, but even those moments seemed unreal.
Suddenly, the shaking started again. He remembered this feeling...remembered fighting it and losing. Aw, hell...
He huddled and gritted his teeth.
Above his head, a voice—maybe an angel—muttered something.
He listened, focused on the soft, soothing sound. “Oh, damn. I didn’t hear the alarm. Case, can you hear me? Hold on, Case.”
Even in the midst of his semihallucinatory state, the feminine voice comforted him. “S’kay,” he mumbled. “I’m fine.”
Vaguely, he was aware of someone sticking something under his tongue, cursing quietly and making him drink and swallow. “You are definitely not fine.”
The angel was upset. And it was his fault. “Hold me,” he said. “I can’t get warm. And close the windows, please.”
The voice didn’t respond. Too bad. He was probably going to die and he’d never know what she looked like. Angels were girls, weren’t they? All pink and pretty with fluffy wings and red lips and curvy bodies...
Belatedly, he realized that if he survived whatever living hell had invaded his body, he might get struck dead for his sacrilegious imagination.
Suddenly, his whole world shifted from unmitigated suffering to if this is a dream, I don’t want to wake up. A body—feminine, judging by the soft breasts pressed up against his back—radiated warmth. He would have whimpered if it hadn’t been unmanly. Thank you, God.
One slender arm curved around his waist. “You’ll feel better in the morning, Case.”
The angel said it, so it must be true. Doggedly, he concentrated on the feel of his bedmate. It helped keep the pain away. Soft fingers stroked his brow. Soft arms held him tight.
Maybe he would live after all.
Case opened one eyelid and groaned when a shard of sunlight pierced his skull. Dear Jesus. If this was a hangover, he was never going to drink again. And if this was hell, he was going to beg for another chance to relive his thirty-six years and hope for a better outcome.
He moved restlessly. Even his hair follicles hurt. His chest felt as if someone had deflated his lungs. But his brain was clearer than it had been. Though he didn’t want to, he made himself open both eyes at the same time. Sitting in an armchair beside his bed was Parker Reese.
Parker hadn’t yet noticed that Case was awake. The other man was checking emails and/or texts, frowning occasionally and clicking his responses.
Case cleared his throat. “Am I at death’s door? Have you come to show me the error of my ways?”
His doctor friend sat up straight, his gaze sharpening as he turned toward the bed. “You should be so lucky. No...you’re going to be fine.” Even so, Parker’s expression held enough concern to tell Case that something serious was afoot.
“I didn’t know you made house calls.” Turned out, it even hurt to talk.
“I don’t. Here. Drink something.” Parker picked up a glass of ice water and held the straw to Case’s lips.
Case lifted his head and downed the liquid slowly, trying not to move more than necessary. “Seriously. Why are you here?”
Parker’s eyes widened, expressing incredulity. “Maybe because you’re half-dead with the flu?”
“Only half?” Case tried to joke, but it fell flat.
Parker pulled out his stethoscope, ignoring Case’s wince when the cold metal touched his skin. Listening intently as he moved the disc from side to side, Parker frowned. “We have to watch out for secondary infections, pneumonia in particular.”
“How did you know I was sick? Did I look that bad when I left the poker game last night?”
Parker sat back, his head cocked with a clinician’s focus. “Today is Saturday. The poker game was Thursday night.”
Case gaped at him. “What happened to Friday?”
This time Parker’s grin held a note of mischief that rattled Case. “You tell me. I’ve only been here twenty minutes.”
Case subsided into the warm nest of covers and searched his brain for an explanation. He remembered someone in the bed with him, but that someone definitely hadn’t been male. He’d been far too sick for any fooling around, so the woman he remembered must have been a dream.
He wet his chapped lips with his tongue. “No more jokes, Parker. Did I really lose an entire day? Surely you didn’t wait on me hand and foot. You’re a good friend, but not that good.”
Parker chuckled. “I’ll take pity on you. Yes, you lost a day. You’ve been out of it for thirty-six hours. And no. I wasn’t here to help, though I’m damned sorry about that. You picked the worst possible time to get sick. We’ve had baby after baby born at the hospital, some of them in worse shape than you, unfortunately. I haven’t even been to bed yet, but I wanted to see how you were doing.”
“Then
