Page 63 of Heart Strings & Hotlines
Not much of a fucking option.
“You’ll look,” she mumbles.
“There’s only one little liar in this relationship, sweetheart, and it isn’t me. When I undress you for real, you’ll not only be conscious, you’ll be begging me to do it.”
What the hell am I doing?
When she doesn’t reply, I place my hands on the hem of her T-shirt, then reconsider.
I take off my dress shirt and my undershirt. This will be big enough to go on top of her clothing, then I can remove her shirt while mine covers her.
As soon as I place my T-shirt over her head and tug it down to her thighs, she smiles. Her hands reach for me, become grabby, and clasp hold of my upper thigh, right below my cock.
I’m going to hell.
Then she begins to explore, and I quickly pull away. My sweet little liar has grabby hands. I tuck that away for later, then reach under my T-shirt that she’s wearing and remove her arms from the armholes of her shirt.
By the time I tug the damn thing through the neck hole, I’m sweating more than she has been, but at least she remained covered.
Her leggings and socks come off without incident, and then I tuck her into bed tightly enough that she resembles a mummy. The timer on my phone vibrates for her meds. I have them all laid out on her vanity according to the time she has to take them, and to make sure nothing is missed, I’ve written the schedule in my notebook.
The chart doesn’t flow with the rest of my notes, but for once, it doesn’t matter. Slipping back into my dress shirt, I button it but leave it untucked.
“Brad?”
I bite back a groan, then rush out of Lottie’s room before my sister’s bellows wake her.
“Up here.” I’m not sure how to classify my tone. A strange mix of yell and whisper that still manages to carry down the stairs.
Kara’s footsteps pound on each step as though she weighs more than an elephant. Is it too late to put her in ballet or something? It astounds me that she’s so heavy-footed.
Quieter footfalls sound behind her, and when she reaches the hallway, I’m not shocked to find Rafe. I am surprised to see Boone though. I don’t want him in Charlotte’s house. Not that he isn’t a good guy, but he’s too close to her bedroom for my liking.
“Downstairs. Now. I’ll attend to Charlotte and be down in ten minutes.”
Kara’s brows pinch together, and I bite my lip.
“Please,” I concede.
“Is she okay?” Kara attempts to peek behind me, but I’m sure I latched Lottie’s door.
“She’s got one hell of a flu, and her fever is making her…” My mind decides that’s the moment to remind me of Lottie’s hand drifting dangerously close to my dick, and I clear my throat. “She’s still sleeping, but it’s time for her meds. Wait for me downstairs.”
“Yes, sir, Brad, sir.” Kara salutes me, and Rafe chuckles.
“Ah, I’d make it quick,” Boone says. “There’s an issue we need to discuss with your house.”
I nod with a scowl. He shakes his head, completely unfazed by me, and jogs down the stairs after Rafe. I’m not sure what to make of the guy.
So far, he’s found a lot of problems with my house. Not that I’m surprised, but all I want him to do is fix it. I don’t care about colors or fixtures or crown fucking molding.
Slipping back into Charlotte’s room, I pause at the door. Even sick, with hair matted to her forehead, she’s still the most beautiful woman on the planet. She makes it hard to breathe, hard to swallow. Jesus, she’s probably the only person in the world who can make my brain go dumb.
Grabbing one of the bottles of Gatorade I brought up earlier, I uncap it, slip a straw inside, then grab the mini paper cup that says ten a.m., and carry it to her bedside table.
Her soft mattress dips with my weight.
“Sweetheart, I need to sit you up one more time.” Removing her arms from the blankets, I gently pull until she’s sitting, then slip beside her to hold her upright. “Can you open your eyes?”
