Page 48 of Play On

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Oh God. No, no, no! I frantically look around at the mess I’ve created—oh, crap, even the LED candles are all still knocked over in the fireplace, in addition to the den of sickness I’ve created here in the living room.

I swallow—ouch—and give up. I’ll tell him to stand back on the pavement and only open the door a crack to him, assure himI’m alive, and send him back to his hotel. I drag myself to the door—I’m so tired—and open it a sliver.

“Get back,” I say, my voice sounding creaky and hideous to my own ears.

“Violet, I’m not afraid of your germs,” Noah says, not moving an inch. I notice he’s holding a bag in his arms, and my heart leaps, knowing he’s probably brought me stuff to make me feel better.

“I’m warning you, I practically have a plague,” I say.

His mouth curves up in an amused smile. For a moment I forget being sick and remember the wonderful way he kisses with that mouth, and I don’t know if I’m getting hot from him or if my fever is spiking.

“I’m confident you don’t have the plague.”

I still don’t open the door any wider. “I don’t want you getting sick before you have to go to Australia. Your coach might never forgive me.”

“My coach has nothing to worry about. Now will you let me in?”

“No. I look like crap. I’m still in the first-impression stage with you. You cannot see me sick, Noah!”

He tilts his head to the side, studying me between the slim sliver of doorway that I’m allowing him to see.

“You were gorgeous the first night I laid eyes on you at Wisteria House. You were gorgeous the first time I saw you again in Dorset. You were gorgeous at the beach, at dinner, at breakfast the next morning, and you were gorgeous the other night when I pulled you into that alcove and kissed you. You’re sick, and you’re still going to be beautiful, but more than that? You’re still the woman I want to know. Now, will you please let me come in? I have some things for you.”

I bite my lower lip so I don’t cry in front of him. “How are you real?”

“I can ask the same thing of you,” he says in his soft-spoken voice.

It takes everything in me not to throw my arms around him. But instead, I settle for opening the door and stepping aside for him to walk through. “Welcome to the den of sickness, enter at your own risk.”

Noah pauses, and I shut the door behind him. Before I can say anything else, he gently lays his hand to my face. “You look so pale,” he says, concern flickering in his beautiful eyes. “And your face is warm.”

“I just woke up.”

“No, this feels like fever. Have you taken anything recently?”

I begin walking into the mess of a den and cough. “Yes, I drank some Lemsip a few hours ago.”

“Okay, so not time to take that again,” Noah says firmly. He strokes his fingers through my hair, and then his brows draw together in confusion.

“What?” I ask, confused by the way he’s looking at me.

“There’s something in your hair, and I’m going to pull it out, okay?”

Oh my God. This is mortifying.

AND WHAT IS HE GOING TO PULL OUT OF MY HAIR?

I nod, and Noah makes a face as he gently tugs on something in my hair, near my cheekbone. Then he holds it between his thumb and forefinger to show me. “Is this a lozenge?” he asks.

GAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!

Noah just pulled a half-dissolved lozenge out of my hair.

I’mmortified.

But Noah merely looks amused.

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