eyes were closed and the frown on his face was heightened by his extreme pallor. His whole body was covered in a film of sweat but he shivered again. She wrapped her arm around him—felt every single muscle in his body go tense. Sophy bit her lip. The sooner the nurse got here, the better.
‘I’m fine.’ The anger surged in his voice. Directed at both her and himself. He was furious with his weakness.
‘And I’m the Queen of Atlantis.’
‘This is ridiculous. I’m hardly at death’s door. It’s a sore throat.’ But he sat back down all the same, put his feet up this time and scrunched more into the sofa, lying shivering beneath the rug. His teeth were tightly clenched—to stop them chattering or because he was so mad? Probably both.
Sophy was definitely staying ’til the nurse arrived now. She sat in the chair across from the sofa. Keeping a wary eye on him and sneaking interested glances round his apartment. The space was gorgeous—huge and light. The kitchen was modern—had all the lovely stainless steel appliances a gourmet home cook could ever want. There was a massive shelving system on one wall—filled with books, CDs, DVDs. She leaned close to look at the titles, even though she knew she was being nosy.
She glanced at her watch. Shouldn’t be long now ’til the nurse arrived. He’d gone very quiet. Was he asleep? Quietly she moved back to the sofa, bent so she could see his face.
His jet-black hair was just slightly too long—as if he’d missed his last appointment with the barber—and right now it was a tousled mess. It was gorgeous—just begging for fingers to tunnel into it. And his features were beautiful. His eyelashes were annoyingly long while the shadow on his angular cheek tempted her to touch. And then there was his mouth. In the heart of his chiselled jaw were the most sensual lips she’d ever seen. Full, gently curved, slightly parted as he slept. The shivering seemed to have eased. Had his temperature dropped? She put her palm on his forehead again.
His hand moved fast, clamping round her wrist as his eyes shot open. The brown so deep as to be black, filled with a fire she wasn’t sure was purely fever.
She was caught, crouched half over him, unable to move.
His eyes burned into her. ‘I told you to quit it.’
But he wasn’t holding her hand away from him, instead he pressed her fingers harder to his skin. Afterwards she never knew from where she’d got the audacity, but she spread her fingers, gently stroking them over his damp brow. Smoothing the frown lines, stretching higher to reach into his hair, rumpling it ever so gently.
Her fingertips felt so sensitive—never had she felt something so strong inside from just touching someone. The strangest kind of electricity surged into her. Thrilling yet relaxing at the same time. It felt right to be touching him. It felt good. Okay, more than good. Sexual energy strummed through her, just like that. She wanted to move, to touch more, to shift her hips—tease the ache that had woken deep within.
His eyes didn’t leave hers, filled with a look so full of…something. Was it anger or desire or something deeper and darker still?
The buzzing made her jump. Made him grip her even harder—so hard she winced.
‘That’ll be the nurse,’ she muttered.
Despite the illness he had fearsome strength when he wanted to use it.
She finally broke away from his deepening gaze, and pointedly looked at his hand. ‘You need to let me go.’
His fingers loosened and she pulled her hand free. Her heart was beating so fast she felt dizzy. Maybe it wasn’t tonsillitis that he had. Maybe it was the flu and she’d caught it just like that. She felt as hot as he looked.
She caught a glimpse of herself in a mirror hanging on the wall as she hurried to the door. Yes, the colour in her cheeks was definitely more than the usual. And her eyes looked huge.
The nurse was at least fifty and looked like a total grandma with her specs and cardigan and knitting needles poking out of her bag. She talked like a grandma too—incessant, interested and caring but with an underlying thread of steel.
Sophy smothered her smile as the woman began her no nonsense fussing over Lorenzo. Definitely time to make a move. She needed some space to examine that moment again too.
‘I’ll phone later,’ she said to the nurse.
‘Aren’t you going to talk to me?’ A growl from the sofa.
‘You’re going to be asleep.’ Sophy went even warmer inside when she saw the put out look flash on his face.
But then he started shivering again and the nurse turned to him. ‘We need to get you into bed, don’t we? I’ll go and put some nice fresh sheets on it. No, don’t worry, I can find them. You just lie back and relax. Medicine, some painkillers, something nice and warm to drink. We’ll have you better in no time.’
Sophy watched the woman bustle off, finding her way around the place by some kind of special nursing sixth sense. She looked back at Lorenzo; he was looking at the nurse with such loathing that Sophy had to clap her hand over her mouth to stop herself laughing. At her movement his head whipped round and he glared at her. Oh, boy, definitely time to go.
‘Sophy.’
Halfway across the room she hesitated.
‘Come here.’
Sick as he was, it was a command. And Sophy felt a scarily overwhelming urge to do as he bid. How pathetic—it wasn’t as if he could do much if she refused.
‘Come here.’ Softly spoken again, but it wasn’t just a thread of steel in there—it was a whole core. And his magnetism wasn’t something she could ignore.
She walked over to him. Even though he was the one lying down, even though she was the one who could leave, somehow the balance of power had changed. In those few minutes when she’d been crouched next to him, stroking him, something had changed completely.
She stopped a little distance away, met the deep, dark gaze a little nervously.
‘I want to thank you,’ he said quietly.
‘It’s not necessary.’ She felt the blush rising in her cheeks. Sorting out others was her speciality. She had a family of geniuses who could barely organise what they wanted to make for dinner every night. This was nothing.
He was still looking at her so intensely she wondered what it was he was trying to read. His focus dropped, to her mouth. She swallowed—determined not to give herself away by licking her suddenly desperately dry lips. Her pulse thumped in her ears.
‘I’m kissing you. Can you feel it?’
Sophy blinked. Had she just dreamed that? Was that a fantasy moment? Had he really just said that? Like that—a purring whisper?
Mind sex. Was that what this was? Because she had to admit she was feeling it—and was desperate to feel more. Okay, she was delirious. She really was. Definitely burning up. She licked her lips, not realising she was ’til she was done and they were still tingling with the need for touch—his touch. His kiss.
Suddenly he was smiling—that absolutely
