Page 66 of Bad for Business
Camille shakes her head. “No. I haven’t been able to move.”
The weak quality of her voice makes my heart break. I hate seeing her like this. She’s the strongest woman I’ve ever met. I know how hard it must be for her to let me see her like this. I know her well enough to know she hates showing weakness, and it isn’t lost on me how easily she admitted she needed me.
Stay.
One word had never felt so good to hear. I hadn’t realized how desperately I needed to hear that until she said it.
I don’t want to leave this bed. I don’t want to leave her. I want to hold her until the color returns to her cheeks and her body returns to a normal temperature, but she needs medicine.
My thumb traces over her cheekbone as my eyes meet hers. “I’m going to get you some medicine. Have you had water? Food?”
She shakes her head again.
Her answer makes me worried all over again. How long has she gone without food or water?
Fuck.
Why does she have to get this sick the two days I’m gone? We’ve been stuck together for over a month now. What horrible luck is it that she gets this sick the one time we’re apart.
I never want to leave her side again.
I tuck a piece of her hair behind her ear, hating how clammy her skin is. I already know I’m going to beat myself up about not being here for her. She shouldn’t have had to deal with this alone.
“I’ll be right back.”
She groans, her body nestling against mine. “Don’t go,” she pleads.
I close my eyes for a moment, unable to handle the tone of her voice.
“I won’t be long. You’re burning up. You need medicine.” I’m also going to get her some food and some water while I’m up, but I leave that part out for now. I don’t want her to argue, not that I think she has much energy to argue at the moment. “I’ll be back,” I add, wondering if that’ll help.
“You don’t have to come back,” she croaks. “I’m sick, and I know you don’t like me. You don’t have to take care of?—”
“I’ll be back,” I respond, my voice full of conviction. I can’t imagine leaving her right now. It’d kill me. She’s letting me be there for her, and I’m not taking that responsibility lightly.
“What if I get you sick?” she asks, her voice weak.
“Then I get sick.”
She opens her mouth to say something, but I gently press my fingers to her lips before she can get anything out. Of course, even when she’s sick and miserable, she’s wanting to argue. I might find it kind of cute if I weren’t incredibly worried about her at the moment.
“I’m not letting you push me away. You don’t get to do that right now. You asked me to stay, and I’m staying. Don’t waste your energy trying to change my mind because it won’t work.”
Her lips turn down in a frown. I half expect her to argue again, but to my surprise, she doesn’t.
“Okay,” she whispers.
I lift an eyebrow. “You’re not going to argue?” I was fully prepared for this to turn into a battle.
“Don’t get used to it.”
The tension in my chest loosens slightly at her words. I know she isn’t feeling good, but she’s at least feeling enough like herself to give me a witty response.
I don’t know if this is something she’ll get upset with me about, but I can’t help it. I lean forward and press a kiss to herforehead. And then I press another because it feels good—and right—to do. I don’t know why the feeling of my lips against her forehead as her breath tickles my chest feels more intimate than having my fingers inside her.
She doesn’t protest the forehead kisses. In fact, I swear she lets out a little sigh of relief the third time I press my lips right between her eyes.
“Okay, I’ll be right back,” I say, having to untangle my limbs from hers before sliding off the bed.
