and proper and right it was nauseating. Had she ever made a mistake in her life? He so didn’t think so. And if she had, he bet she’d never admit to it.
Utterly perfect, wasn’t she?
He shifted under the rug. She was perfect—like a porcelain doll. Creamy skin and a blonde bob that sprang into neat curls at the ends—how long did it take her to get it to sit just so? Then there was that little nose and the lips that had a sweet cupid’s bow that begged to be kissed. And big blue eyes that went even bigger when she looked at him—a blend of intense interest and reserve. She looked as if she wanted but was wary. She half teased and then withdrew again. It made him want to pounce all the more. He saw her gaze flick over him again. Damn the weakness in his bones. Because that look in her eyes made him want to strip her bare—inch by beautiful inch—and find out whether the hint of the fire he could see really was just the glow from an inferno beneath. He sure as hell was fantasising it was.
Only he was so damn helpless.
That one last part of his body refused to acknowledge the sickness. He raised his knees, lifting the rug to hide the evidence, and mentally berated himself. So inappropriate. It must be the fever putting these kinds of thoughts into his head.
He looked at her, she was speaking briskly into her phone again. Some other poor soul was at the mercy of her efficiency. He was beyond even trying to listen. All he wanted was to rip the gadget from her and press his mouth to hers—just to shut her up. Just to slake the lust. So damn irresistible. So damn impossible. For one thing he was harbouring a million nasty bugs in his throat, for another she just wasn’t his type. Not at all. Not when he was on form.
But he felt an almost feral need to touch her—had done since the second he’d first seen her looking so snippy out the back of the warehouse. He wanted to muss her up so bad he wanted to growl.
Sick. He really was sick.
‘Okay, that’s everything settled, then.’
‘You’re going?’ Oh, man. He grimaced. Where had that sound of disappointment come from?
She paused. ‘You didn’t think I was going to stay, did you? I’ve got other things to do. And you said it yourself, Lorenzo—you don’t need a mother, or any kind of sympathy.’
‘So you’re going to leave me here at the mercy of some stranger?’ He opted to try to wheedle. Thinking on it, he’d rather have her here than some nurse—even if she was a little too efficient for his liking. Did she never stop and slow down? She should slow down—he’d make her. Give it to her really, really slow. Bend her back and lick all the way up her gorgeous length until she…Hell, his eyes were probably glazing over. He shut them tight. It made the fantasy worse. It made the aching in his gut worse.
On seconds thoughts, the sooner Sophy left, the better.
‘She’s very well qualified and has great references,’ Sophy said—oblivious to the base nature of his thoughts. ‘She’ll get you right again.’
‘I do not need a damn nursemaid.’ What was she going to do all day? He’d had the pills, now he just needed to sleep until it was time to take more. The last thing he wanted was some woman poking round his apartment. He never let women poke around. He liked his privacy—the peace in isolation.
‘Your temperature is sky-high. Until it’s down and the antibiotics have kicked in, then you are not being left alone. We’re talking twenty-four hours or less, Lorenzo. Get over it.’
He opened his mouth. Shut it again. He hadn’t been given orders quite like that in years.
‘Now you need to rest. The nurse will be here in twenty. She’s bringing more medicine with her.’
Enough was enough. He wasn’t putting up with this for a moment longer. He put his feet on the ground and hauled himself up.
‘Lorenzo.’ Sophy’s heart lurched. She moved fast.
His 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
