“Can I sleep now?” I wiggled my toes; they were burning too.
“No, not yet. I want you to sing until I’m back, all right? Sing, Monia. Sing.”
I chuckled, but it was too hot to keep laughing. The only song I could think of wasThe Lights o’ London. I didn’t fully remember all the words, so I made them up. My voice echoed in the cabin, and the more I heard it, the more I wanted to laugh and sleep. I was so tired.
“The devil, were you singing? You gave me such a fright!” Rennie was carrying a bucket so big that he staggered on his feet. “It sounded like you were being butchered.”
I closed my eyes. Exhaustion burned through me. “I thought I was all right.”
There were noises as Rennie muttered curses under his breath and fussed around me. A wave of freezing cold caused me to open my eyes again right when I was slipping into unconsciousness. The chill was both a relief and a shock. I gazed down. Ice cubes covered my body. Rennie was placing them with surgical precision on my chest, belly, knees, and wrists.
“Drink this.” He lifted my head gently, holding a vial with a pale-yellow liquid.
“What is it?”
“An antidote of sort.”
The potion didn’t have any remarkable taste. It could be lukewarm water, but the burning heat consuming me diminished a little.
“Better?” he asked, rubbing two ice cubes over my temples. He seemed to ignore the fact that my chemise was soaked and plastered to my breasts, and that with the sudden cold, my nipples were two hard peaks, pointing up at him. But I was too tired to care.
“Better,” I said, letting out a sigh.
My head stopped spinning. As he cooled my temples with the ice cubes, moving them in slow circles, I moaned, squirming a little. He ran an ice cube down my neck and collarbone, and up again. The little devil sneaked down the valley between my breasts. He swallowed hard and retrieved the fleeing ice cube, brushing my wet breasts in the process. With my sensitive skin, the gentle touch intensified, and I let out another moan. There was no mistaking the nature of it. Not pain, but pleasure.
“Don’t move too much.” He brushed a lock of my hair from my face. “The ice will drop your temperature. Stay still.”
“Do it again,” I whispered.
“No, darling, you aren’t well.” He caressed my cheek with the ice cube. Drops of water slid down my neck.
“I want it. Touch me. You have my permission.”
He let out a nervous chuckle. “We’ll discuss that again when you’re well.” He kept stroking my body with the ice cubes, shuffling them around and replacing them when they melted, but he didn’t touch me again, and I was growing weaker.
“Can I sleep now?” I slurred, fighting the heaviness of my eyelids and the funny taste in my mouth.
“Yes, you can.” He caressed my hair and cheeks. “I’ll watch over you.”
