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Authors: Tracey Garvis Graves
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possessed any vulnerability at all. Very few men wanted to get involved with a woman only to watch her return to her old boyfriend because she still harbored feelings for him.
“Yes, Ian Smith. I can assure you that I am.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Someone was banging on the door. Kate buried her head under the pile of blankets on the couch and prayed they’d go away. She’d started feeling sick after she got home from the food pantry on Thursday and had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening on the couch coughing. Things had taken a decidedly worse turn overnight, and she’d been awake—and miserable—since around three that morning. In an attempt to ease the tightness in her lungs, she’d taken a long, steamy shower at four, but it hadn’t helped much.
The knocking became banging. Slowly she made her way toward the door, zigzagging dizzily across the room. “What?” she croaked.
“It’s Ian. Open up.”
She managed to get the door open but felt light-headed and reached for the doorjamb to steady herself. She missed it completely and pitched forward into the hallway. Ian caught her with a soft oomph, swung her up in his arms, and kicked the door shut with his foot. She laid her cheek against his chest.
“You’re sizzling, sweetness. I can feel the heat through my shirt. When’s the last time you took something for that fever?” He laid her down gently on the couch.
“What time is it?”
“A little after nine.”
“Five maybe? I’ve been counting the minutes until I could take more Motrin. I think I can have another dose now.”
She started to sit up, but Ian gently eased her back down. “I’ll get it. You stay here.”
That sounded like a fabulous idea to Kate. Horizontal felt marginally less wretched than vertical. “It’s on the kitchen counter.”
Ian returned with a tall glass of ice water and some Motrin. Kate was suddenly thirstier than she could remember being in a very long time. Ian put his arm behind her shoulders and helped her rise to a sitting position. After she swallowed the pills, she drained the glass and said, “I’m a level-five biohazard. You should get out now while you still can.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’m impervious to germs. I rarely get sick.”
“No kissing,” she said as she fired off three giant sneezes that made her eyes water and her nose run. “I’m a mess, and I do not feel pretty.”
He plucked a Kleenex from the box on the coffee table and handed it to her. “Fair enough.”
“Why are you here? Our date wasn’t until this evening.” Because she had no way to get ahold of him, she’d planned on canceling when he showed up at her door and witnessed for himself the condition she was in.
“I went to the food pantry to make sure we were still on for tonight, and Helena told me you called in sick.”
“If we communicated by phone like normal people, you could have saved yourself a trip,” she said and then became engulfed by a coughing attack so violent it sent daggers of pain shooting through her chest and head.
“This is not a wasted trip. Tell me what you need.”
In addition to the pile of blankets she’d wrapped herself in, Kate was wearing the flannel pajamas Ian had bought her and a pair of slippers, but she still couldn’t get warm. “I’m freezing. Can you get the comforter from my bed?”
Ian retrieved the comforter and tucked it around her shoulders and under her legs. Then he sat down next to her. “Lay your head in my lap.”
Kate did as he said. She didn’t care that she wasn’t wearing makeup or that her hair was still damp from her shower and drying in a mess of tangles. She was more miserable than she could remember being in a long time.
She closed her eyes as Ian lightly stroked her head. “That feels good.”
When the Motrin kicked in, her shivering subsided, but she felt weary clear down to her bones.
“Sleep, Katie,” Ian said, and there was nothing Kate wanted to do more.
When she
“Yes, Ian Smith. I can assure you that I am.”
CHAPTER EIGHT
Someone was banging on the door. Kate buried her head under the pile of blankets on the couch and prayed they’d go away. She’d started feeling sick after she got home from the food pantry on Thursday and had spent the rest of the afternoon and evening on the couch coughing. Things had taken a decidedly worse turn overnight, and she’d been awake—and miserable—since around three that morning. In an attempt to ease the tightness in her lungs, she’d taken a long, steamy shower at four, but it hadn’t helped much.
The knocking became banging. Slowly she made her way toward the door, zigzagging dizzily across the room. “What?” she croaked.
“It’s Ian. Open up.”
She managed to get the door open but felt light-headed and reached for the doorjamb to steady herself. She missed it completely and pitched forward into the hallway. Ian caught her with a soft oomph, swung her up in his arms, and kicked the door shut with his foot. She laid her cheek against his chest.
“You’re sizzling, sweetness. I can feel the heat through my shirt. When’s the last time you took something for that fever?” He laid her down gently on the couch.
“What time is it?”
“A little after nine.”
“Five maybe? I’ve been counting the minutes until I could take more Motrin. I think I can have another dose now.”
She started to sit up, but Ian gently eased her back down. “I’ll get it. You stay here.”
That sounded like a fabulous idea to Kate. Horizontal felt marginally less wretched than vertical. “It’s on the kitchen counter.”
Ian returned with a tall glass of ice water and some Motrin. Kate was suddenly thirstier than she could remember being in a very long time. Ian put his arm behind her shoulders and helped her rise to a sitting position. After she swallowed the pills, she drained the glass and said, “I’m a level-five biohazard. You should get out now while you still can.”
“That’s ridiculous,” he said. “I’m impervious to germs. I rarely get sick.”
“No kissing,” she said as she fired off three giant sneezes that made her eyes water and her nose run. “I’m a mess, and I do not feel pretty.”
He plucked a Kleenex from the box on the coffee table and handed it to her. “Fair enough.”
“Why are you here? Our date wasn’t until this evening.” Because she had no way to get ahold of him, she’d planned on canceling when he showed up at her door and witnessed for himself the condition she was in.
“I went to the food pantry to make sure we were still on for tonight, and Helena told me you called in sick.”
“If we communicated by phone like normal people, you could have saved yourself a trip,” she said and then became engulfed by a coughing attack so violent it sent daggers of pain shooting through her chest and head.
“This is not a wasted trip. Tell me what you need.”
In addition to the pile of blankets she’d wrapped herself in, Kate was wearing the flannel pajamas Ian had bought her and a pair of slippers, but she still couldn’t get warm. “I’m freezing. Can you get the comforter from my bed?”
Ian retrieved the comforter and tucked it around her shoulders and under her legs. Then he sat down next to her. “Lay your head in my lap.”
Kate did as he said. She didn’t care that she wasn’t wearing makeup or that her hair was still damp from her shower and drying in a mess of tangles. She was more miserable than she could remember being in a long time.
She closed her eyes as Ian lightly stroked her head. “That feels good.”
When the Motrin kicked in, her shivering subsided, but she felt weary clear down to her bones.
“Sleep, Katie,” Ian said, and there was nothing Kate wanted to do more.
When she
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