She felt guilty about that. He was sick. Practically unconscious . . . and she enjoyed being in his arms more than she wanted to admit. When his fever finally broke and he came back to his senses, he’d most certainly be horrified over his actions. Not that she’d tell him.
She hadn’t expected or wanted to play nursemaid to a man she didn’t know, though she no longer found the experience nearly as awkward as she had the first night. And the concern went both ways. Even though he wasn’t fully conscious, he was worried about her. Was she eating? Was she warm? Was she okay?
She suspected his true self came out while he was delirious. And if he was that protective and concerned about her when he was semiconscious, she had a feeling he’d be even more so when he was fully awake and aware.
For her part, it was a heady feeling, knowing she could soothe him when he was unconsciously afraid. And being held in his arms was . . . heaven.
Hence the guilt. He was delirious. Out of his mind with a fever. Hurting. Terrified as he relived whatever awful experience he’d been through in his past. And all the while, she was enjoying being close to him. There had to be something wrong with her for liking it as much as she did.
But it had been so long since she’d felt wanted or needed. Tommy didn’t cuddle. Ever. He was the sort who got himself off, then rolled over and immediately started snoring. Riggs held her as if he never wanted to let her go.
Of course, he was very likely imagining she was someone else. That had to be the reason he clung to her so tightly, why he’d calm so quickly at her touch. Dreaming of a woman from his past.
When she’d gotten out of bed minutes ago, finally too hungry to remain, Riggs’s brows furrowed, and he’d grunted in displeasure. Carlise had smiled a little at his reaction. He was like a kid who’d had a favorite toy taken away.
But Riggs was no boy. He was all man, and it was disconcerting and confusing to realize how much she was attracted to him. She didn’t know anything about the man.
Okay, that wasn’t true. She’d been living in his space for three days now. She knew what kind of books he liked to read—thrillers and science fiction—and that he was a neat freak. He had an unnatural affinity for the color black, since most of his T-shirts were that color. He probably didn’t drink much alcohol, if any, since she hadn’t found a drop in the cabin, and he preferred crunchy peanut butter over smooth.
She also knew that he was extremely protective and loyal. Whoever JJ, Cal, and Bob were, they were lucky to have someone who cared about them as much as Riggs did. And he was clearly a hard worker—there were lots of logs out on the porch that he must’ve spent hours chopping and stacking.
Thinking about the front porch made her think about the dog again. She’d been feeding him every day and was immensely relieved he hadn’t died or wandered off. Every time she went to check on the pooch, Carlise ached to bring him inside where it was warm. But he was still extremely skittish, cowering in his blanket fort when she got near him with food and water. He needed time to learn she wouldn’t hurt him, but it was stressful leaving him out in the howling wind and swirling snow.
A noise from the bed made Carlise look in that direction, and she was startled to see Riggs staring at her. He’d propped himself up on an elbow and was blinking in confusion.
“Riggs?” she asked.
“Bathroom,” he muttered.
Putting down the knife she’d been using to make herself another peanut butter sandwich—if she never ate another in her life after this, it would be too soon—Carlise quickly hurried to his side.
The second she touched him, every muscle in her body sagged in relief. His T-shirt was soaking wet, and she could see sweat glistening on his forehead, but his fever had broken. Finally.
She helped him to his feet, and they shuffled toward the bathroom. Thankful that she hadn’t had to help him pee while he was sick, she said, “I’ll be right here, outside the door, when you’re done.”
He nodded and slowly headed for the toilet.
Carlise blushed as she heard him using the bathroom. Which was ridiculous. It wasn’t as if he was doing anything every person on the planet didn’t do. But somehow, listening felt too intimate.
His gaze had been a little clearer than in the last three days, but he hadn’t asked who she was or what she was doing there, so she assumed he was still a little confused.
She heard the water running and couldn’t stop the small grin from forming on her face. He was sick, still weak as hell, and yet he was washing his hands after using the bathroom. This was definitely a man she could like.