Page 55 of The Healer

“You’re burning up.” He held his wrist to her forehead.

“Hotter than you for a change,” she huffed, then ruined it by sneezing. “I hate being sick. It’s so inconvenient.” She flipped away from him and fell off the bed. Crawling on all fours, she headed for the bathroom before struggling to her feet. When she swayed, she threw out a hand to stop him. “I’ve got to pee, and no, I don’t need your help.” After another stagger and wobble, she shut the bathroom door behind her.

The toilet flushed amid many grumbles about his audacity, his sexiness, parts of his anatomy she liked. The more she spoke to herself, the more he smiled. A squeal had him tapping on the door and lowering his hand to the handle.

“Sorry, just saw my reflection. I’m taking a bath.” Running water followed.

“What if you faint?” He pressed his temple to the cool wood of the door.

“Under no circumstances can you enter this bathroom with me naked.” She sneezed twice. A thump, a moan, and a few curses peppered the distance between them.

“Ilona? Talk to me, or else I’ll come in there.”

“I’m fine, dammit.” She did sound feistier.

“Can I call a friend, a woman preferably?” He didn’t like the idea of another man standing where he was.

“So help me, Rhys.” Rippling water accompanied her stepping into the tub.

The urge to open the door was the hardest temptation he had fought in a while. Made harder when her throaty moan that took a one-way path to his groin. She sneezed a few times, each time accompanied by a groan.

She was sick, and all he could think about was bedding her. Releasing a long-drawn-out sigh, he pushed his back against the bathroom door and slid down it, landing on his backside. He folded a leg to rest his elbow on his knee.

“You weren’t dressed appropriately yesterday.” He tapped a rhythm on his splayed leg.

“Great. Just what I need. A lecture. Well,” she huffed, “you can keep your I told-yous to yourself.”

“But then again, this could be coming from when you frolicked in the snow because of a boot.” He grinned, remembering her childlike joy and debilitating sadness. The memory of her sorrow wiped away his smile.

“You’re right. I should have expected this and taken precautions.”

Silence fell. He strained his ears to hear water rippling, her breathing, anything.

“What’s your favorite color?” He picked at the stitching in his jeans.

“What?”

“It’s random questions, or I climb into the bathtub with you.” He smiled at her grumbling.

“Sky blue,” she said a few minutes later, but only after he rattled the doorknob. “Damn Neanderthal.”

He chuckled, enjoying tormenting her. “Favorite movie?”

“Nope, you have to answer your questions too.”

“Storm gray,” he said.

“You’d look good in that color.” Her words warmed his heart, sending shards of joy into the dark recesses of his soul. “Casablanca.”

He twitched at hearing her choice. “Why?”

“Bogart was unapologetically male.”

“Do you like strong men?” Silence met his question, and he reached up to rattle the doorknob again.

“Yes.” She cursed him under her breath.

He grinned. “Shawshank Redemption.”

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