I don’t know what to do with all these feelings that I can’t name.
The night descending around us creates an intimacy that feels dangerous in a different way now. Or it would be dangerous if I weren’t weak and in desperate need of a shower.
She kneels down next to me and takes the spoon, dipping it into the bowl of broth. She holds it up and offers it to me.
“Are you going to feed me like a child now?” I ask, with a wry smile.
“You’re sick,” she says simply.
I want to balk at that. But something in her eyes, at her focus on my mouth, has me transfixed. So I open my lips, my eyes on hers, and sip the broth she’s made me.
It should be awkward. Instead, it’s intimate.
After a half dozen spoonfuls, she stops. “We better go easy,” she says, her voice breathless, her cheeks as heated as mine. “We don’t want to overdo it and risk having you sick again.”
I want to argue, but a sudden wave of tiredness hits me.
“Lie down,” she says, pushing me gently against the soft cushions. “You need to recover your strength.”
I’ll figure this all out after a short rest. When I wake, I’ll tell her to go, for her own good.
Later, I think, before sleep overtakes me.
CHAPTER 15
Olivia
That night, I fall asleep in an overstuffed side chair next to the sofa, where Chase sleeps fitfully.
When I wake throughout the night, I check his fever. While checking, it’s possible I stare at him a little too long, my hand brushing the soft strands of his hair out of his face.
It’s no wonder, when I sleep, my dreams are full of Chase.
In the morning, consciousness comes slowly. I open my eyes, disoriented, staring at an unfamiliar ceiling, hovering on that precipice between sleep and reality. My lips tingle, my body is on fire, and am I panting? Trying to catch the thread of my dream, I lie still until I remember.
Oh, I remember.
Chase came to me in my sleep. His kiss was carnal and roamed everywhere on my body. I couldn’t get enough of him or his wicked mouth.
For a fraction of a second, I wonder if it could have been real because I suspect my panties are wet. With eyes still closed, I pat my hands over the blanket covering me, and I assure myself that my jeans and shirt are still on. I’m fully clothed, still reclining in the chair where I fell asleep. My breath rushes out in relief—or is it disappointment?
I will my eyes to open. And stare straight into Chase’s eyes.
“Ah!” I gasp in surprise to find him awake and looking at me with a mix of curiosity, amusement, and heat. That’s when I recall something else about my dream. Chase’s hands and mouth had me moaning. A lot. And not just generic moaning. I recall moaning his name over and over like a prayer, and—oh my God. Had I been having a sex dream, saying Chase’s name out loud?
“I didn’t—you didn’t hear—um.” My breath whooshes out.
“Good morning,” Chase says in a sleep-roughened voice, ignoring my fumbling attempt to ask if he knew I was having a horny dream about him.
I’m sure I didn’t moan out loud. The alternative would be too mortifying, so that’s my story, and I’m sticking to it. A lifetime of practice avoiding reality comes in handy sometimes.
I sit up, smooth my hair, and rub sleep and rogue mascara from my eyes.
“Morning,” I mumble-greet Chase, angling my head down as I panic about the state of my breath. I need the bathroom. Stat.
“You don’t need to do that,” Chase says and reaches over to stop my hand that’s finger-combing the tangles from my hair. “You’re cute all mussed.”
In the night, I’d shifted my chair, so it was up against the sofa he slept on. I told myself it was so I could check on him without having to get up. But in reality, I loved being close.
Tingles spread from where he touches me, but he drops his hand all too soon. I try to let go of my self-consciousness and focus on Chase.
“You look better.” I lean forward. His forehead thankfully feels cool to the touch.
He scans my face, a small smile playing on his lips. My hand falls from his forehead as I realize how intimate my gesture is. It’s something you might do to a child or a loved one, not a casual acquaintance.
He was so sick last night that I became familiar with his body—a deceptive familiarity, I realize. It’s not as if I gave him a naked sponge bath or anything—though that sounds like a fun idea—but I passed a good portion of last night memorizing every line and shadow of his face, the strength in his neck and shoulders and chest. But that was conditional on me playing nurse. It’s not something I can continue, as tempting as it is.