Anna Cleary – In Bed With Her Tall, Sexy Handsome Boss: All Night with the Boss / The Boss's Wife for a Week / My Tall Dark Greek Boss (страница 16)

‘I eat at the office,’ she said resentfully.

‘You eat cereal at the office. Don’t you eat anything else?’

‘I really like soup,’ she replied, tilting her chin up, daring him to criticise her.

Resisting the urge to plant a kiss on those upturned lips as he wanted, he rolled his eyes instead. ‘When did you last have a decent home-cooked meal?’

‘This is my home. I do cook. And it’s none of your business.’ She flung herself down on the bed and ruined the defiant effect completely by doubling over and coughing. He moved across to her and rubbed her back in gentle wide circles as she hacked away. He could feel her warmth through the thin tee shirt and he tried not to notice that there was no bra strap under it.

A few minutes later she looked up at him with watery eyes and mumbled, ‘Rory, I feel awful.’

He sat down next to her and put his arms around her in the age-old gesture of comfort. He felt no resistance as she leaned into his embrace and he continued to rub gently up and down her back. ‘I know, beautiful.’ He gently pushed her back onto the bed so she was lying down and hastily pulled a rug up to cover her long legs. Her eyes closed and she shivered spasmodically. He watched her closely. She really looked sick. He could feel the frequent bouts of shivering, and her skin was burning up. The cough was nasty. He guessed she had the flu with a chest infection on top of it. Looking around him, he felt frustrated. She couldn’t stay here alone like this. In this condition she wasn’t capable of looking after herself and she sure as hell wasn’t going to be making any trips to the supermarket for supplies in a hurry. He stroked her arms gently. She appeared to have gone to sleep.

Quietly he stood and surveyed the scene critically. She hadn’t a lot of possessions, hadn’t bothered to make much of a personal mark on the place. Clean and clutter-free, it looked as if what she had could be thrown together reasonably quickly. An assortment of candles sat arranged on a shelf; he could smell their vanilla fragrance even unlit. Next to them leaned a framed photo of a woman who looked as if she could be Lissa’s sister. There were no other photos. New Zealand, eh? Beautiful mountains there, good for snowboarding. He smiled.

A huge pile of books stood stacked in two towers by the bed and he glanced at a few titles with interest. Novels, biographies and a few travel guides. A map of London was taped to the wall. A toiletries bag stood neatly on the chest of drawers. The suit she’d worn yesterday lay in a crumpled heap on the floor by the wall, which surprised him. That didn’t seem to fit with the way she wore it so creaselessly. He’d thought she’d be fastidious about hanging her clothes up. She must have been feeling terrible when she got in. Frowning, he picked up the skirt and jacket, shook them out a bit and draped them over the back of a chair. He didn’t poke into the wardrobe, feeling as if he was intruding enough.

He spun about quickly; he needed to do something about her. She couldn’t stay here alone. He didn’t know if she had other friends to call on and in any case she was in no condition to get to them. Besides, if he knew her at all, she wouldn’t even if she could. Miss Cool Independence. He did know one thing for sure; she hated admitting a weakness. Well, undoubtedly she’d hate him for what he was about to do, but tough. Sometimes, he figured, you’ve just got to lie back and let others help you. He grabbed the keys lying on the table and, flipping open his cell phone, strode out of the flat.

She never wanted to wake up. The dream seemed so real and lovely. She floated in a state of bliss. Soft, comfortable, secure. But it hadn’t started that way. Someone had been shining a light in her eyes and from a distance she’d heard an unfamiliar voice asking questions, annoying questions that tried to rouse her, made her feel as if she’d been taken hostage by the Spanish Inquisition and she just wanted whoever it was to go away. Then she’d been hot, so hot and dreadfully thirsty. Her mouth had been too dry to be able to swallow and her lips were cracking. Then he’d appeared. He’d cradled her and helped her drink something cool and refreshing. Then he’d moved away and she’d felt so bereft and so alone. She’d called to him. Asked him not to go.

‘Not going anywhere, beautiful.’

She’d rested back against him, smiling, her irritated skin feeling soothed against something smooth and soft. At last she’d slept, cocooned in arms that were tender and strong.

She opened her eyes and blinked at the wall lazily. At least her eyeballs didn’t hurt quite as much as they had last time she’d used them. When was that? It felt like hours ago. She came to with a rush. Rory. Rory had turned up on her doorstep. She lifted her head off the pillow and looked around her. Where was he now? Wait a second—where was she? She stared at the totally unfamiliar room. There was a snowboard leaning up against the wall and a couple of boxes stacked beside it. The curtains were pulled but she could see a chink of pale light through the gap. What time was it?

Then she became aware of regular breathing near her and she turned her head, rolling over onto her back to look properly. Rory, clad in jeans and a tee shirt, was lying on his side beside her, sound asleep. Her heart stopped in her mouth as surprise came and went in a flash. Fascination took hold. She had never seen him so vulnerable. Until now she’d only seen him in suits or corporate casual wear and even though he had that easy charm he always exuded self-assurance, a commanding style. Now, just in jeans and tee, he looked younger, a little less like the boss and more like a sporty hunk. She studied his mouth, the fuller lower lip that curved into such a devastating smile when he was awake. She took in the long dark lashes resting on his cheek, a hint of a shadow on his jaw. Her fingers itched to rub against it. He looked relaxed. It was incredibly appealing.

She really hoped she hadn’t got some form of selective amnesia and was unable to remember what should have been the most awesome sex of her life. She wriggled a little experimentally. While her body ached, it wasn’t the kind of ache you got after a night of passionate love-making. And he was lying on top of the bed fully clothed. No, somehow she’d got to his place and he’d looked after her. She remembered her dream, and knew him helping her drink had been real. Guilty pleasure swamped her. She shouldn’t be here, this shouldn’t have happened, and yet she was so pleased it had. She glanced around the room again with more interest now she knew it was his. There wasn’t a lot to make it personal—just the snowboard hinting at athletic pastimes and boxes signalling the recent return from his time overseas. The walls were painted a warm creamy colour and she wondered what the rest of the place was like.

Then she looked under the bedclothes and made a shocking discovery.

‘What am I wearing?’ she screeched.

Rory jerked awake. ‘What?’

She watched as alertness sprang into his features and repeated the question.

He frowned as her words sank in. ‘Oh,’ he mumbled. Then as she watched, amazed, an embarrassed flush mounted in his cheeks. ‘You were h-h-hot and sweating.’ He was actually stammering. He cleared his throat. ‘You said the cotton was too rough on your skin. You were aching. You were complaining about the sheets too.’

‘I what?’ Oh, dear God. She was mortified. She remembered feeling hot and uncomfortable. She must have been feverish. What else had she been muttering while in that delirium? She masked her embarrassment with aggression. ‘So what—you just happen to have a selection of silk negligees for whoever comes to stay? I assume this is your, your…’

‘Spare bedroom. Yes.’ He looked directly at her. The flush had receded. ‘And, no, I went and bought it especially for you. In fact—’ his eyes gleamed ‘—I bought two.’

Her mouth hung open for a second before she remembered herself and snapped it shut. She said nothing, absorbing the fact that she was wearing nothing, nothing, other than a simple, long silk negligee. No lace, no knickers. ‘Did I get changed myself?’

He started to colour again and looked away.

‘I didn’t think so,’ she muttered darkly. Then a coughing fit took over.

‘Hey, you’re OK here.’ His low comment did nothing to soothe her.

She sat up sharply, knowing damn well she wasn’t, and the room spun horribly. She wasn’t OK and it wasn’t the flu bugging her.

‘Take it easy,’ he said, pushing her back down with a gentle but firm hand on her shoulder. ‘You’ve been very sick and you haven’t eaten in days.’ His hand lingered. His warm fingers on her bare skin were heavenly. She realised she was hungry. And not just for food.

‘What time is it?’ she asked abruptly.

He checked his watch. ‘Seven p.m. Saturday.’

‘You mean Friday.’

‘No, I mean Saturday. You’ve been out of it for over twenty-four hours. You’ve had me damn worried. But I think half of it was just exhaustion. Once the fever broke, you slept like a child.’