Page 29 of Contractually Wed

If she hadn’t already.

CHAPTER SEVEN

SHELOOKEDLIKEa wraith, sweaty and feverish, amidst a cloud of navy-blue bedsheets. Stilling at the entrance to their bedroom, Apollo tried to work through the turmoil that had gripped him ever since she’d fallen sick.

In a mere two weeks since she’d fainted at work midday, Jia had already lost weight.

It didn’t matter that the team of doctors he’d summoned had reassured him that it was a very bad case of chest infection. Or that his mother and sisters took turns tending to her and feeding her when Apollo had to leave her side. Which, to be honest, hadn’t been much.

He wasn’t the best person to nurse someone in such fragile health but the thought of deserting her when she was weak and vulnerable didn’t even merit consideration. At least, Mama had convinced him to let the nurse he’d hired check on Jia every few hours, in case he missed any turn for the worse.

For the first time in his adult life, he was behind on deadlines for two different projects, his two assistants were constantly reminding him about the things he was pushing back, and one billionaire client, and an old friend, had jokingly threatened to cancel when Apollo had told him that he had no bandwidth to look at his design modifications. Apollo’s reaction to that had been telling on many levels.

It felt like a personal affront to Apollo that she would fall this sick under his care. He and his entire family were all healthy as oxen so where had Jia caught this illness? Had he driven her too hard by having her work long hours with his team so soon after taking her away from her family? Had he demanded too much of her at work and in bed? Had she been unhappy? Shouldn’t he have seen the signs that she was unwell long before she’d fainted at work?

When he sat by her, he felt restless, useless...and worse, helpless. Which he’d never been good at abiding. Still, a strange, horrible fear that she would slip away if he left had kept him glued to her side, night and day.

He didn’t require a degree in psychology to understand that it reminded him of the time that Papa had started taking to bed at all hours of the day.

He had been crushed by Jay’s deceit, devastated by having to sell most of their assets to pay off overdue bank loans. Had hated the fact that they’d all had to move back in with their grandparents. Nothing they’d done had stirred him from the fugue.

Mama had urged Apollo to concentrate on his own studies, that whatever Papa was going through was a temporary thing. The small malaise had lasted for months. Until one day, Apollo had found him lying still on his bed, his face pale and all his vitality gone, overdosed on painkillers.

And he, Apollo, had done nothing to help him. Which had set him on a path he hadn’t budged from in two decades.

“Why do you look so angry?” The whisper-thin question from the bed jerked Apollo into the present.

Sweaty hair sticking to her forehead, Jia looked small and pale, as if the infection was doing its best to dim her. Except her eyes, which finally had that sparkle back. She raised her arm, smelled herself and then fell back against the sheets with a sigh. “You can come closer. I don’t stink.”

Despite the volatile mix of emotions churning through his gut, his mouth twitched. This was the spirit he had missed in two weeks, the Jia he was coming to see as the prize for all his struggle. The only prize worth winning and having and keeping.

Only a month and a half of marriage, and she had embedded herself under his skin, and he wasn’t even sure if he wanted to pull her out. He’d blindly and arrogantly stumbled onto the best thing in his life and for a man who reached his goals on his own merit and strategy, it was unsettling as hell. Because what was the guarantee that it wouldn’t be snatched away from him? Especially, since he’d done nothing to deserve her.

“Who do I have to thank for the latest sponge bath? I smell like my favorite red roses.”

Without answering her, he pressed the back of his hand to her forehead. She was damp and sticky. “I think your fever’s finally broken.” His hand shook as he reached for the water glass, so great was his relief. In its wake, exhaustion hit him like a full body assault. Grabbing a straw, he dunked it into the water and pulled her up a little so she could drink it.

Her eyes stayed on his face as she sipped.Dios mio, how he had missed that playful, challenging, sometimes downright angry gaze on his skin...and sometimes so addictively open in its wanting.

Unable to help himself, he tucked a thick lock of damp strands behind her ear. He wiped a drop of water from the corner of her mouth, feeling his heart finally settle into a normal pace.

“You didn’t answer my question.”

“Which one?” he said, settling near her legs.

With a rough exhale, she pushed off the sheets, and looked down. The cotton top stuck to her skin and her shorts had ridden up all the way. Sitting up, she adjusted her clothes. “Who gave me the last sponge bath?”

He wrapped his fingers around her ankle, his gaze caught on a small red heart tattoo there. “How did I miss this one?” he muttered to himself.

“You’re way too focused on my breasts. And another spot further south.”

When he looked up, she was grinning. It sparked a chain reaction in his chest, some feelings known and acceptable, and some...downright debilitating.

“You owe me two answers,” she said, her gaze sweeping over his face intently.

“I was the one who gave you all the sponge baths. You were docile as a lamb, for the most part. Though I can tell you I prefer you as you usually are.”

“Mistrustful and argumentative?” she said with a self-deprecating laugh.

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