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“Lia, have some of this soup, come on,” Sam coaxed, and Lia peered at him through one swollen eyelid.
“No.” Her voice was embarrassingly croaky and completely unappealing at the moment. “Can’t taste it. Don’t want it.”
“God, I think you’re a fucking worse patient than I ever was,” he complained, exasperation peppering his voice.
“Can’t eat. It’s like swallowing razor blades,” she said, and he winced in sympathy and set the soup bowl aside. It was the third day of her illness. Her mother, Daff, and Charlie had left for Cape Town earlier that day, and the knowledge just made Lia crankier. Spencer had dropped Sam off on her doorstep after four that evening. And Sam had brought a bag, because he claimed to be staying with her for the weekend.
Lia hadn’t agreed to him staying over. He had some nerve to just move in for two days. She was angry about it—nobody had informed her that she would be getting a new minder after Daff left. After two days of Daff’s not-so-tender care, Lia had been looking forward to mooching around her house alone. But Daff had been replaced by Drill Sergeant Brand, who had only been there for four hours but kept ordering Lia to do things.
Eat this! Drink that! Sleep there! Take these!
Ugh.
But there were other perks to having him here. He gave great back rubs and foot massages, and even when she was being unreasonable, he remained infinitely patient and tried to fulfill her every need. She would never have taken him for a nurturer, but Sam Brand just kept on surprising her.
She curled up on her side on the sofa, and he covered her with a blanket. He lifted her feet and sat down, dropping them into his lap and absently rubbing them through her socks. He reached for the remote control and put on the TV, and Lia fell asleep to the comforting drone of some sci-fi movie or other playing in the background.
Sam kept one eye on the movie and the other on Lia. She seemed fine. In discomfort, cranky as hell, but leagues better than she had been on Wednesday. Still, he couldn’t stop looking at her, touching her, reassuring himself that she was fine, that she was breathing easily, that she was just sleeping and not unconscious.
She was such a quiet sleeper—she barely moved and her breathing was so faint he often paused the movie and leaned closer just to hear that reassuring rasp of her breath.
By the time the movie had ended, he was ready for bed as well. Much earlier than he was used to, but it had been an exhausting day. He carefully, so as not to disturb her, lifted Lia’s feet from his lap and went into the bedroom to change the bed linens. It wasn’t anything he’d ever found himself doing before and it probably took him a lot longer than it should have, but in the end, he was proud of the result. He turned down the covers and went back for Lia.
He was a little annoyed with himself for not being strong enough to lift her yet, because he really didn’t want to disturb her. But in the end, he had no other recourse than to gently shake her shoulder.
“Lia, time for bed,” he coaxed, and she sighed.
“I’m sleeping,” she said, her voice cranky while her eyes remained closed.
“I know, but you’ll be more comfortable in bed. Come on.” It took some doing, especially with her being irritable and reluctant to move, but he managed to get her to the bedroom. She was wearing thick, fleecy pajamas that he couldn’t imagine being very comfortable to sleep in, so he eased her out of them. He couldn’t find anything really appropriate-looking for her to sleep in. Just endless amounts of long, bridal-looking lacy nightgowns.
“Jesus, Lia,” he muttered beneath his breath. While he would love to see her in some of these overly feminine, almost Victorian nighties—just so that he could have the pleasure of peeling them off her—they didn’t look very practical. Surprising, considering what a practical soul Lia was. He shook his head and rummaged through his own bag before finding a well-worn, much-loved vintage X-Men T-shirt. He dragged it over her drooping head and fed her arms through the short sleeves before tucking her beneath the covers.
He did a quick security check around the house before brushing his teeth, stripping to his boxer briefs, and climbing into bed beside her. She was already asleep, which he was grateful for, since it curbed any pointless arguments about him sleeping with her.
He draped an arm around her waist and tugged her back until he was spooning behind her. Of course, they’d cuddled this way before, but this was different—she was asleep and it kicked his every protective instinct into hyperdrive. She was asleep and vulnerable, and it was his duty to keep her safe. He couldn’t imagine never doing this again, of leaving her to sleep on her own on Monday when he now knew how small and defenseless she was in her unconscious state.
