Big Shot(44)
A while later, a loud knock sounded at her door, followed by her cell phone buzzing with a text. She read the incoming message first, which was from Wes.
Let me in. I’m here to take care of you.
Natalie rolled to her back and groaned. As thoughtful as the gesture was, she really wasn’t in the mood for company. She was in her rattiest pair of sweat pants and an old cotton T-shirt, and her hair was pulled back into a ponytail because she didn’t want it getting in the way of her bending over the toilet earlier. She’d only recently had the energy to brush her teeth, but that didn’t make up for her ghastly appearance. She couldn’t remember looking or feel worse than she did today, and this flu’s dreadful aftermath was not an impression she wanted to leave in Wes’s head.
Don’t bother ignoring me. I’m not going away. And if you don’t open the door in two minutes, I’m calling Connor to come over with his key to make sure you’re still alive in there, and then you’ll have two of us to deal with.
“Goddamn it,” she muttered to herself. He’d actually pulled the brother card. No way did she want Connor here, too.
Come on, Minx. I even brought you your favorite Ben & Jerry’s for when you feel better later. Chocolate Fudge Brownie.
The man was resorting to bribery, and despite herself, she smiled. Okay. Fine. But I’m only opening the door because you have B&J’s. It had nothing to do with the man himself, she thought, trying to convince herself of the lie.
Getting out of bed, she shuffled through the living room in her fuzzy socks and made her way to the door. She checked the peephole and saw him grinning on the other side, looking so hot and sexy and full of himself, and damn if just seeing him didn’t lift her spirits and make butterflies take flight in her stomach—and yes, they were butterflies. After today, she had intimate knowledge of the difference between a fluttering sensation and intestinal pain.
She opened the door, speaking before he could. “You really didn’t have to do this.”
“I know. I really wanted to,” he teased right back, but then grew serious as his dark blue eyes searched her face. “I wanted to see for myself that you’re okay.”
She swallowed hard, so not used to this kind, caring side to Wes when they’d spent so many years butting heads and antagonizing one another—and most recently, the past eleven days getting naked as much as possible, in an attempt to f*ck their attraction out of their systems. Unfortunately, for her, Wes was even more entrenched in her heart than he’d been before.
“I told you I was going to be fine,” she said, suddenly self-conscious as she played with the hem of her faded T-shirt. “I look and feel gross, and I wasn’t expecting company.”
“You don’t look that bad,” he said, and grinned. “Not even close to roadkill.”
She rolled her eyes. “You’re such a liar, but I appreciate you sugarcoating the truth.”
“I wasn’t. You always look beautiful to me.” And to prove his point, he leaned toward her and placed a soft, achingly sweet kiss on her cheek, as if she hadn’t spent the day hurling up her toenails.
Her throat closed up with emotion, and because she wasn’t able to talk past that knot in her vocal chords, she stepped back and opened the door wider for him to enter. He was holding two plastic grocery bags, one in each hand, and he took them into the kitchen with her following.
He started unloading the items onto the counter . . . canned soup, crackers, applesauce, Gatorade, a small pack of chamomile tea bags, and as promised, a pint of her favorite Ben & Jerry’s ice cream. She wasn’t quite ready to indulge in the latter, but the soup was beginning to sound really good.
“What can I do to help?” she asked automatically.
He started searching through cupboards, found a small pan, and set it on her stovetop. “You can go prop yourself up in bed with some pillows, make yourself comfortable, and wait for me to bring you your dinner. Oh, and you can get started on drinking this Gatorade to make sure you’re hydrated.” He pressed a chilled bottle of the drink into her hand.
It felt weird being doted on, and he must have seen the indecision on her expression because he pointed a finger toward her bedroom door and gave her a strict order. “Go. Now.”
Knowing what he was capable of when he was in one of his bossy moods, she did as she was told. In her bedroom, she fluffed the bigger pillows up against the headboard, settled onto the mattress with the covers pulled up to her lap, and took a few sips of her drink.
By the time she’d finished watching the episode of Friends she’d paused when she went to answer her door, Wes walked in with a steaming bowl of the chicken soup and a plate of crackers. He gave her a dishtowel to hold beneath the hot bowl so she didn’t burn her hands and placed the saltines on the nightstand next to her Gatorade. Then he walked around the bed to the other side, toed off his shoes, and made himself comfortable beside her with the extra pillows stacked behind him. She’d never seen him fully clothed in her bed before, and oddly enough, it seemed more intimate than him being completely naked.
She swallowed a spoonful of the delicious soup, then glanced at him, her face warming when she caught him looking right back at her. “Wes . . . thank you for the food, but you don’t have to stay.” She was sure he had things he’d rather be doing than tending to her.