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My cheeks are burning with the oddity of feelings surrounding my erratic behavior. Leave it to a woman like Elianna to make me run around a gas station at ten at night like a fool.
By the time I get back to the resort, my night security people are there, and we’ve got our softer lighting scheme on in the lobby. There’s something so satisfying about walking through the employee/executive entrance and feeling the peace of night descending on my own little kingdom. Everything’s right in the world. And with the most exhilarating, interesting, and beautiful woman upstairs, I’m on top of it.
The lighting is dimmer in my office, too, so I enter in a hush. I round the corner past the sitting room into the seating area and stop short. Elianna is lying on her side on the couch, one throw pillow under her head, another one in her arms. Her eyes are closed.
She’s asleep? How long was I gone?
I tiptoe past her to the door to my private suite. Eating ice cream and half the contents of the convenience store wouldn’t be nearly as fun without her, so I’ll save all this stuff.
Once I’m back in my office, I see she hasn’t moved and I wonder what to do. I can’t wake her up, that would just be cruel. But what’s the proper protocol for this?
I go back in my suite and grab a blanket from the closet. Covering her with it, she stirs. She mumbles something, and I don’t know if she’s talking in her sleep or trying to say something to me. I tuck the blanket in tighter around her and I hear it again. “I don’t feel well,” she whispers and then rubs her forehead and the bridge of her nose with the back of her hand.
I test the temperature of my hand before I carefully place it on her forehead. Does she have a fever? I don’t know these things. I mean, I did check my brothers for fevers occasionally when we were kids, but they haven’t needed me to do that for a long while, thank goodness.
I remember something about my mom saying that it’s easier to tell if someone is feverish if you kiss their forehead. Something about the nerve endings of the lips being more sensitive to variations in temperature. Never done it before. But I can’t get it out of my head now.
Is that creepy? Is that crossing some sort of line? And what would I do if she did feel hot? I pace the room, turning off the lights except for a lamp by my sofa across from her. I sit for a moment, trying to figure out what to do. Her cheeks do look flushed, well, the one that I can see, anyway.
Finally, I make up my mind, easing myself out of the sofa. This doesn’t mean anything, and it’s not creepy if it doesn’t mean anything, right?
I reach her, taking in her smooth, clear skin, her wavy blonde hair clinging to her neck and jaw. I lean down and as softly and quietly as I can, brush my lips above her eyebrow.
She gives the smallest of moans as I make contact with her skin, which sends me to places I never thought I’d go with Elianna. I can’t. But I’ve never wanted to so badly before.
Except, a sense of alarm pricks the back of my neck. Her skinishot.
Oh no. I’ve made her work so much she’s gotten sick now. I feel responsible for this. What do I do? I can’t wake her to inform her she does indeed have a fever. Do I put a cold cloth on her face? Do I try to lower the temperature? Do I find some fever reducing medicine?
I decide to change into some shorts and a t-shirt while I figure out what to do. I grab a pillow and blanket from my bed and take them into the office. I can wait a while to see if she gets worse or improves. But, regardless, I’m not just going to leave her by herself.
I lie down on the sofa across from her. I normally would have the ottoman between us, which would offer a barrier of sorts. But I had to move it with my gift for Navie into hiding in my bedroom closet. Now that there’s nothing but blank space between us, I fight all sorts of thoughts. Of joining her on her sofa. Of her getting up and joining me on mine.
Okay. I need to stop. I force myself to think of my numbers. This months’ dividends, this quarter’s P and Ls. After what feels like a long time, my body relaxes into the cushions and I sense my breathing even out.
I hope Elianna’s okay.
Chapter 19
Elianna
I’m in a dark cocoon. Raising my hand to try to get out hurts. Moving anything hurts.
I blink to become conscious of my surroundings and am surprised to see, through the dark, the ceiling of our office at Tate International above me. How long have I been lying here? Did I fall asleep?
I hear the rhythms of breathing near me and know it’s Sebastian. But where is he? He’s not right next to me, but he’s not far, either. A night light is on across the room, and there are some backlit lights along the floor leading to the door. Huh. Never noticed those before.
Except, looking at them makes my head throb. I guess I’ve never been here in the dark. I lift my arm again and am frustrated it’s still in its cocoon. One glance down at my side reveals a blanket, heavy and tight, tethering me to the cushions.
I squirm free from the hold of the blanket and swallow, my tongue thick. I think I’m sick. Lifting my head, everything feels upside down and wrong.
Iamsick.
I squint until the numbers on the small clock on Sebastian’s desk go from fuzzy to clear. Or clearer. I think it says four-seventeen.
Holy crap. Is that four-seventeen in the a.m.? I sit up fast and the room spins. I think I moan, but I can’t be sure because that sound could be coming from a fan. Or maybe it’s the hiss of a cat. Or the rattling of a rattlesnake.
Okay, I feel confused.
