An Ounce of Hope (A Pound of Flesh #2)(83)

“It’ll feel colder than it is because you’re so hot. Jesus, Grace, you’re shaking, why the hell didn’t you call?”

She didn’t know. The last thing she remembered was getting home last night from DC feeling more tired than usual, with a splitting headache, and crawling into bed. Then her dinner had made a reappearance and everything went tits up.

“I’m gonna sit you down. Hold on to me.”

Grace’s backside hit something cool and she tilted sideways, caught by Max’s hand on her shoulder. She didn’t have the strength to hold on to him. Her fingers just wouldn’t work.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she muttered back. “It hurts, Max. Can you—”

“Can you do me a favor?

A favor! Was he nuts? She could barely sit up. She opened her eyes to see Max crouching in front of her, his handsome face serious. They were in the bathroom. She was sitting on the toilet seat. He had a cell phone to his ear. What the hell was going on?

“I’m at Grace’s. I found her in bed. She’s running a really high fever . . . no, she’s not really with it.” His hands found her face again. “She can’t hold herself up— No, she’s not. Yeah, she’s definitely puked. I was going to put her in the shower, try and cool her down . . . okay. I don’t have the number. Can you call him? Thanks.”

“I’m sorry,” she whispered as he slipped his cell back into the pocket of his shorts, the urge to cry again scratching her throat.

“For being ill?” he asked, standing up in front of her. “Don’t be dumb. Lift your arms for me.”

She did as he asked without question and hissed when the frigid air of the bathroom hit her skin. “Please, Max.” She shivered. “I need my sweater.”

“After you’ve showered with me. Lift up so I can pull off your sweats.” She wobbled when she stood and he held her upright. “You should be ecstatic,” he added from her feet. “You told me you wanted me to have you in the shower.”

She closed her eyes and groaned as her stomach rolled and the room swam. “Max, you’re very pretty, but I don’t think we can have sex right now.”

His laugh was beautiful but it hurt her ears and made her head pulse. She closed her eyes.

“Don’t worry, Gracie, I just want to help make you feel better.”

His nickname for her made her smile. He lifted her again, his body like ice against hers, and moved them both into the shower. She whimpered and clutched on to him as he turned the water on and the spray caught her foot like a rush of Arctic Ocean. She cried out, the sensation like a fierce slap against her skin.

“Max, please,” she begged into his shoulder, trying her best to climb up him and away from the water.

“Hang on. It’ll only be for a minute. I’ll do it quickly. You need to cool down, sweetheart. You’re far too hot.” His lips pressed against her temple. “Hold me.”

She cried out again when he lifted the showerhead and moved it hastily over her body, keeping it for long moments on the back of her neck and her scalp. It hurt. It hurt and made her bones vibrate, but she knew somewhere in the back of her heat-addled mind that it was for her own good. She sniffled and whimpered into Max’s neck, hearing him turn off the water and step out of the shower. She was still in his arms and, when she opened her eyes, she could see goose bumps running across his shoulder.

“Ar-are you c-cold?” she stammered against her chattering teeth.

“I’m fine. Don’t worry about me.”

She couldn’t help it, though. She cared for him, a whole lot, so worrying was part of the deal.

“Is that so?”

She nuzzled his neck, pretending she had not just said that aloud. Shit. A towel was swiftly wrapped around her and he placed her carefully on the circular love seat she had in her bedroom next to the large window he’d opened. She shook.

“Stay here while I change your bed, okay?”

“Sheets in th-the clos-set.”

“I know,” he whispered, his lips near her cheek.

She wished he’d kiss her. She wished he’d just stay and hold her. She wished she could appreciate seeing him wet from the shower. Wait. Was he naked? She tried to open her eyes, but they wouldn’t cooperate. Instead, she snuggled against the cushions of the love seat and pulled the towel closer, trying to keep warm.

Max rolled over and was greeted with a fist smacking hard into his cheek. “Ow. Jeez!” He cursed and grumbled, grimacing as he clutched his face. “Shit, Grace.”

From her side of her bed, Grace blinked up at him in surprise, her eyes tired and her hair a fuzzy disaster.

“I just slept here to make sure you were all right,” he explained. “No need to beat me up.”

She blinked at him again, seemingly lost and trying to piece together the last thirty-six hours. Max watched her carefully as he sat up against the wrought-iron headboard. At least she’d regained a little more color than she had had the day before. If it hadn’t been for all the shivering and shaking and grumbling nonsense, Max would have thought she was dead when he found her. Damn woman had given him a heart attack.

Grace rubbed a hand down her face and shifted heavily so she, too, was sitting up. “Oh. Oh dear. I feel like crap.”

“You look it,” Max commented honestly.