Page 56 of The Healer

“Because good triumphs in the end?” She splashed.

The imagined imagery of her washing her body dried his mouth, increased the rhythm of his heart, and spiked his temperature with a steady throbbing nestling between his thighs. His bear whined for action. He shifted on his ass.

“Yes. Music of choice?” He cleared his throat hoping to return his hoarse voice to normal.

“I have too many, and it depends on the moment. For now, I’d say Nina Simone.”

Sultry, sensual, throaty? Yes, he could hear her singing along. “I’m into Rammstein, but my go-to would be Pink Floyd.”

“Both are good choices. I’d have to be in the mood for either, though.” She sneezed and groaned. “Pain meds,” she said as if dictating to herself.

He glanced at the nightstand. One of those generic bottles might contain an analgesic. Her bed was a mess, and her sheets soaked. One his feet, he browsed through the closets until he found a stack of linen. Within minutes, he remade her bed, and despite the fresh pillowcase, it still scented of her. He buried his face in it, inhaling deeply. His bear grumbled, complaining again.

“Shut up,” he said. “I’m working on it.” He fluffed the pillow and placed it at the head of the bed.

“Working on what?” She hovered in the bathroom doorway.

The bath flushed her skin pink, and by skin, he meant her bare legs, the robe’s small V at her throat, and her face. She swayed and threw out a hand to grip the doorframe.

“Getting to know you.” He hurried around the bed to grab her hands. She tried to shake him off, but he held firm. “Just get into the damn bed before you fall over.”

“We need to talk about your high-handedness.” She climbed between the sheets, moaning as she rested her head on her pillow. “I haven’t forgotten.”

“You’re a terrible patient,” he teased, lifting the blankets to tuck her in. “Which meds are for now? Then I’ll head out for chicken soup.”

A tear slid down her cheek, and her sniffing turned into a sob. “Sorry, I’m miserable when I’m sick.”

He clambered onto the bed, resting his head on the pillow beside hers then looped his arm around her to rub her back.

She hummed, her eyes stuttering closed.

“You’re just doing it wrong,” he said. “You need to see it as a forced vacation. Besides, you have me to order around. Few get that luxury.” He flashed her a smile.

Her eyelashes fluttered open, unveiling her hazel eyes. “You don’t have to stay.” She shook her head and winced. “Pain meds.” With a groan, she rolled over.

He found himself rubbing her stomach and froze. Needing space before he did something to jeopardize his seduction, he spun away.

“Mo’s for soup. On it.” He bolted out the room and beat a hasty retreat.

Chapter Twenty

VACATION

Ilonaogledthesleepingman sprawled on the three-seater. His bedside manner was better than hers. He had brought home tubs and tubs of Mo’s chicken noodle soup. But instead of feeding Ilona in the bedroom, he warmed the living room with a roaring fire and carried her to the two-seater couch. After cocooning her within many blankets, he placed a bowl of soup in her hands.

They watched movie after movie, their banter and commentary entertaining. And with each bout of laughter, she felt better, not so sluggish, and the hearty soup calmed the nausea gripping her stomach. The meds had her waxing romantic, but she liked the idea of his company making a difference.

The sun was setting, casting streams of light across his torso and face. Her heart leaped into her throat at the sheer beauty of him. His form dominated the couch, with his long legs crossed at the ankles. He had removed his boots, and dark-gray socks adorned his feet. His T-shirt stretched tight across his chest with the short sleeves cinching his biceps. A bit of brown hair peeked over his shirt collar. She sighed. Her fingers itched to run through it.

No man should look this good, but then again, Dane was as virile. She expected an award for her ability to decline the many offers she had received in the past two days. Rejecting those had been easy. Resisting Rhys wasn’t.

He embodied everything she looked for in a man. Strong, muscled, tall, dark, sexy, and kind. She wasn’t a fool, though. He wanted her so keeping her company guaranteed him a romp in her bed. She vowed not to succumb because, with him, she would lose her heart.

He stirred, his long lashes fluttering before opening to reveal blue eyes. Blinking at the television mounted on the wall, he asked in a sleep-coated husky voice, “What did I miss?”

“Nothing much.” She snuggled deeper into the blankets, her focus on his reflection off the television screen rather than the scrolling credits.

He glanced at her and smiled.

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