Page 95 of Playing for Keeps
I meet her gaze. “I don’t want to stay here, Ivy. I want to go home, with you. Let’s go back to my place.”
She shakes her head, touching my forehead again. “You’re on fire, Wyatt. And you’re as pale as a ghost. There’s no way you’re driving anywhere.”
I manage a tired smile. “I just want to be in my own bed… with you next to me.”
Her features soften. “I want that too.”
“Then come home with me. I know I’m not exactly a catch right now, but I just want you there.”
She studies me for a long moment, then leans in and presses a soft kiss to my forehead. “You’re definitely a catch.” She smiles. “Okay, I’ll come back with you, but I’m driving.”
A smile breaks across my face. “Deal.”
“And you’re taking meds the second we walk through the door. No arguments.”
“Agreed,” I say, and I mean it. I’d agree to anything if it means she’s coming home with me.
As I stand, she slips her arm around my waist to steady me. I reach for her overnight bag, but she intercepts it, taking it from my hand.
“I’ve got it,” she says.
“You never answered my question,” I say as we head for the door.
She glances up at me, curious. “What question?”
“Are you mine?” I ask, my voice quiet, and my eyes locked on hers.
She smiles, and it’s the kind that goes straight to my chest. “Yes.”
Relief washes over me.
“Thank God,” I breathe. “Let’s go home.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
Ivy
Twenty minutes later, we’re back at Wyatt’s place. I help him to his room, anxiety twisting in my chest. His skin’s burning even hotter than before, and all I can think about is getting something in him to bring the fever down.
“Sit,” I tell him. “I’ll grab some Tylenol.”
He sinks onto the edge of the bed, his shoulders slumped as he slowly kicks off his shoes. I head into the bathroom, rummage through the cabinet until I find a bottle of painkillers, then hurry back to him.
“Here.” I hand him two tablets and reach for the half-full water bottle on his nightstand. He takes them without a word, swallowing them down with a wince.
He tugs weakly at his shirt, trying to get it off, but his hands are unsteady. Without a word, I step in and ease the fabric overhis head, brushing his hands aside. My breath catches for a second as my eyes land on him, bare-chested, and gorgeous.
“You keep looking at me like that, and I’m going to forget I feel like death,” he says, his voice husky.
I smile, brushing hair back from his damp forehead. “You need rest, not distractions.”
He groans, falling back against the pillows as I pull the comforter down and help him get under the covers, tucking him in securely.
“Stay,” he says quietly, reaching for my hand.
“I’m not going anywhere.”
I slip off my shoes and climb in beside him. I don’t press in too close at first, but it only takes a moment before he reaches for me, draping an arm around my waist and pulling me in like he can’t stand the space between us.
