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“Not like you care!” She tries to push me away but I’m stronger than her, so I don’t budge.
“Come on, let’s get you out of the tub. You’re going to get sick.”
She snorts. “That’s an old wives’ tale. Getting wet and cold doesn’t make you sick. A virus does!”
I drop my head to my chest. “Only you would give me facts while I’m trying to save you from dying.”
“I’m not dying,” she mumbles.
“Yeah, because I’m here.”
She rolls her eyes at me, and I continue to move her out of the tub. She’s swaying on her feet, but thankfully she’s standing. I keep an arm on her as I reach for a towel. Wrapping it around her shoulders, I bring her to the kitchen, then make her sit on a stool.
“Liam Miller,” she says my full name again, and I swear my cock twitches. Her coal black makeup from her show is smeared around her eyes, and her dark lipstick is completely gone, but God she looks…No, don’t go there, Liam.
“Birdie Wilder,” I say, her name like syrup on my tongue.
She holds the towel close to her body. “I like it when you say my name. I shouldn’t like it, but I do,” she admits, her voice hoarse.
“I thought you didn’t like anything when it came to me.” I get her a glass of water and some Tylenol I find in one of the cabinets. She’s going to have a killer headache in the morning if she doesn’t take any. Probably some body aches too.
“I don’t! You’re an asshole.”
I can’t help but grin. “You’re right about that.”
“What are you doing here, Liam?”
“I told you, I’m helping you.”
“No.”Hiccup. “What are you doing HERE?” she exclaims.
I get the picture now. “I told you. I’m here to do a job.”
“And that’s all?”
“As I said, I need the money.”
“But why do you need the money?”
I roll my shoulders back and crack my neck. “What is this, twenty questions?”
“You just… UGH! You make me so mad, Liam Miller. I look at you and—” she pauses.
I stare at her hooded eyes and messy lips. Fuck, her lips… they look like delicious pillows. I want to lay my own lips on them and… “And what?” I ask, my mouth now dry.
She doesn’t say anything, instead she stands and almost falls over. I grab her and keep her steady. “Where are you going?”
“I’m cold. I need to change… but the floor seems to be moving.”
I let out a breath. This woman! I pull her into my side, “I’ve got you.” She doesn’t seem to notice the hitch in my voice, or the way I hold her closer than I should.
We walk together to the bedroom, and I gently settle her on the edge of the bed. I turn to walk toward her suitcase, but she stops me by grabbing my hand.
“Did you hear your song tonight?”
Her eyes are still glassy from the liquor, and I want to tell her to shut up and go to bed, but there’s also some sort of pleading in her eyes that makes me answer.
“So, it is about me?”
