Page 156 of Angel

He adjusted the elastic travel straps around my skin, his fingers careful and gentle for a man of his size.

I raked his face up close, my heart pounding with a volatile blend of terror at his power over me and fierce desire.

He left me and returned with hot ginger tea, dry biscuits, and anti-nausea meds.

‘Approved by the pharmacist for baby.’

I took it all as he eyed me from the door.

When I was done, he reached for the tray as I yawned.

‘Want to sleep?’

I nodded.

‘I’m moving my gear to the living room sofa,’ he stated, his jaw ticking. ‘I’m sleeping close by so you can yell if you need anything. I’m not leaving you alone through this.’

Too tired to argue, I surrendered with a sigh and snuggled into bed, and in seconds I was out like a light.

When my eyes opened at dawn, I found Angel in the armchair in my room, asleep.

As he’d done in Capri, he stayed by my side through the night.

He must have sensed me waking because one eye cracked open.

He left and returned with a white ceramic bowl.

Placing it on the adjacent table, he slid two pillows behind me and helped me sit up.

‘Eat this dry cereal first. You need calories before trying to move again.’

I took the spoon from him, my fingers brushing his.

The brief contact made my throat tight with longing.

‘Thank you,’ I muttered, chewing and sighing in relief as the food settled the bile in my gut.

‘I’ll make sure to always have a fresh pitcher of ice water for you,’ he rasped, placing the water infused with sliced strawberries, lemons, and mint in a jug within my reach. ‘Drink it slow.’

He spent the day hovering over me, with more ginger tea, biscuits, and cleaning up the bucket he placed next to me when things got rough.

Later, tired of lying down, I asked him to help me to the living room.

‘Angel, the fatigue is too much for me to walk.’

‘Say no more, mama,’ he drawled.

His muscled arms scooped me out of the sheets.

My heart did a crazy flip as I gripped his neck, my face buried into his chest, breathing his musk and cologne like I loved to.

‘I’ve got you, sweetheart,’ he murmured, his timbre reverberating as he carried me to the lounge room sofa and set me down.

He arranged the patchwork quilts around my legs until I was cozy, then grabbed the remote.

‘I’m putting on Sabrina,’ he said, toggling the screen. ‘Focus on Audrey Hepburn. Keep your mind off the nausea.’

This became our routine over the next few days.