High-Risk Fever (11 page)

Dr. Lavogeaux stepped out of a black room down the hall. His eyes widened when he saw her standing with her arms around her chest, trembling and crying. “What’s wrong?” He hurried toward her. “The baby?”

Damn. So much for hiding
.

“No.” She sniffed, wiping her cheeks. “I’m just…uh…tired.”

“Hmm.” He stopped in front of her with a severe look, studying her. “I have good news for you. Your friend has a bad cough, but it’s not pneumonia.”

“It’s not?”

“No.”

“Oh, thank God.” Relief washed over her.

“I’ve given him medicine and told him to stay the night here. There’s a spare bedroom.”

“But—”

He eyed her. “You should sleep here, too.”

“But my husband—”

“I'm sorry, you're in no condition to drive. You look like....” He pressed his lips together.

A loud bang made them jump. The front door rattled on its hinges with unbelievable force, as if a mad troll had come out of the woods and pulled on the handle. Instinctively, she hunched her back, expecting the door to blow open at any moment. But it held.

Dr. Lavogeaux looked over her shoulder, wide-eyed. “I shouldn’t be going out either, but other patients are waiting.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.
A Dieux vat.
”

The wind whistled angrily in the treetops around the house, causing shivers to creep up her spine. She stared at him. The future was indeed in God’s hands. With a storm like that, it would be too dangerous to drive home. She had no choice but to sleep here, call Brian in the morning, and hope for improved weather tomorrow.

The doctor stepped past her, giving her arm a push. “
Au revoir, madame
.”

“Au revoir, docteur. And be careful.”

“Always.”

She turned to see him leave. When he pressed the handle, the door blew open so fast, it looked like he had yanked it open. Air gushed in with a
whoosh
, blowing into his face. He bent his head before stepping out into the night and forcing the door shut.

All muscles rigid with tension, she headed to the dark room he’d come out of, and peeked inside. The hall light revealed the contours of Mica’s body curled on a single-person bed. Despite the trembling of the window shutters, his torso heaved peacefully, as if he was unaware of the raging storm.

She stepped into the small room, took off her shoes, and on feet as light as cat paws, went to the other side of the bed. There wasn’t much space for two, but, overcome with exhaustion, she didn’t want to think about what their closeness might engender. She lay on top of the sheets with her back to him, though not so near their bodies touched.

Waiting for sleep to take over, she listened to his breathing and the furious gusts of wind outside.

She deplored not being able to notify Brian. Hopefully he would understand why she didn’t make it home tonight. She prayed he wouldn’t ask too many questions. At least she could tell him about the baby, and how she’d been allowed to take care of it.

Oh God
. She already missed holding that little bundle. Her chest constricted. Tears rushed again, so fast, so easily. She closed her eyes and barely held back a gasp.

She wanted to forget about this whole thing—Brian, the bicyclists, the storm, the baby, the…. It was too much. She didn’t know how to handle anything anymore. She was losing it, didn’t know who she was, or what she wanted, or the purpose of her life.

The mattress moved. Mica’s warm body snuggled against hers, molding to her back.

She froze, stopped breathing.

“Why you crying?” His warm breath brushed her neck. A hand sneaked between her arm and chest, wound around her stomach, and pressed them closer together. Long fingers moved to her lower stomach, spreading on the shirt.

A rush of lust charged through her like a bolt of lightning, merciless, searing, and all-consuming. She stiffened and held back a whimper. At the same time, his hoarse voice sent strange shivers down her spine, making her ache for something else. Warmth, perhaps. Comfort, reassurance.

He asked why she was crying. Was he to be considered a friend, someone in whom she could confide?

She wanted to turn around and touch him, smell his scent, taste his skin, dive into him as if he were liquid, and become one with him.

Sizzling with need, stiff and numbed by excitement, she rolled onto her back, eyes wide but barely noting details in the dimly lit bedroom’s ceiling. His hand slid to the other side of her waist, leaving his forearm to rest heavily on her tummy. She couldn’t help arching up as her pussy muscles contracted with desire. His warm, regular breaths brushed her ear, their calmness urging her on.

Again, she rolled, as if programmed to, until their knees and chests collided and her hand found his shoulder, nails digging into the woolly fabric of his pullover. Light from the hall behind him caressed the silhouette of his temple and cheeks, but rendered the rest of his face invisible in the shadow. Only his eyes glimmered from the low light that sneaked into the room. Soft breaths from his nostrils mingled with her own erratic, needy breathing.

While his arm slid farther around her waist, fingers pressing the small of her back—bringing them even closer, if that were possible—she brought her nose to his and sought his lips. It seemed the most natural and obvious thing, something they’d postponed for days.

He moved back with a faint chuckle. “No, don’t. I’m contagious.”

Oh, merde
. Her cheeks heated. In a moment of extreme fatigue and frustration, she had interpreted his closeness as an invitation. But he was ill, so ill they’d driven for help in the middle of the night, and the doctor deemed it necessary to give him medicine. How had she forgotten?

She was so tired and confused. Searing humiliation mixed with exhaustion. She bit her lip and closed her eyes while burning tears pressed behind her lids. She removed her hand and let it slide down between their stomachs, resting her palm on the mattress, creating distance.

His hand left her waist, and in the next moment, moved up to her face. Gentle fingers caressed her cheeks and forehead, brushing her trembling lips, wiping her wet eyes with unexpected tenderness. “Shhh.”

Filling with warmth, she turned to bury her face in the soft pillow and swallowed a painful gasp. Her tears soaked the fabric. The sheets smelled of apple, like those of her bed at home. She briefly thought of Brian, but pushed his image out of her mind.

Mica moved up on the mattress until his chin rested on top of her head, beard stubble grazing her scalp, and snuck his hand to her back, pressing her chest closer to his stomach. “Sleep, bella. I’m here in the morning, too, you know.”

She nodded and slid her arm around his waist again with a discreet sniff. Strange how the tables had turned. Instead of being the one seeking comfort, this sick man enveloped her with brotherly kindness and warmth, providing calmness in her moment of need.

She nuzzled her face into the crevice of his throat, lips pressing against the hard mounds of his upper ribs, breathing in the masculine scent. His tanned skin smelled a bit sharper and muskier than Brian’s pale, pinkish skin. He emanated an intense heat, as if a thousand furnaces glowed beneath his flesh, and tiny beads of sweat coated his skin. Had he been a child, the fever could potentially become life-threatening. Thank God it was only a cough! In a few days, he would be fine.

His low voice rumbled in his chest, resonating against her. “Tomorrow, you tell me. Okay?”

“Hmm.” Holding him harder, she slid a leg over his thigh and nuzzled closer, inhaling in time with his deep, labored breaths.

She didn’t know if she could confide her wish for a baby to him. He might be behaving like a friend, but the secrets she shared with Brian didn’t really concern anyone else.

Limbs entangled, they remained together in peaceful harmony. His warm hand stroked from the small of her back to her shoulder blades, following the contour of her spine. He cocooned her like a guardian until her mind, lulled by the regularity of his breathing, drifted away to nothingness.

She awoke several times in the night. Baby cries sounded from the bedroom down the hall, soon shushed by a cooing maternal voice. And Mica’s occasional coughing, so strong and scorching it made the mattress jerk and forced him to turn away to bury his face in the pillow, added to the interruptions.

When she opened her eyes for the ninth or tenth time, low daylight from two curtainless windows bathed the small guest room, casting silhouettes on the opposite wall. Horizontal rain prickled the glass panes, creating an ever-changing maze of tears as new drops joined. Noisy gusts of wind swept the clearing outside, bending the forest trees. Unfamiliar cracks sounded through the house.

Mica’s side of the bed was empty. She sat up and checked her watch: 7:34 a.m.

She should call Brian.

Brian! After what happened with Mica last night? Though they hadn’t exactly had
sex
, she’d been close to giving in to her lust. Thankfully, sleeping with her wasn’t on his mind. But, still, sex or not, she’d spent a few hours in the arms of another man.

Heavy-headed from the bad rest, she put on her shoes, stood, and silently opened the door before sneaking into the dim hall. The sound of water spraying on tiles drifted from the bathroom.

She tiptoed past Caroline’s closed bedroom to the main entrance.

Wind shook the door on its hinges. A cold draft crept in from under the pane like a snake.

She found the cell phone in her jacket. The battery had died.
Oh, no!
And without electricity outside of the house, Caroline’s stationary phone would never connect.

Caroline…. She probably owned a cell, too, but, no, Anne didn’t want to wake her.

So she couldn’t call Brian. At this hour, he must be up and preparing breakfast for the tenants—and worrying like hell about her. She could only hope Todd had awoken and told him she’d driven Mica to the doctor and that, despite the bad weather, they should be back soon.

Guilt weighed on her. She hated the idea of making Brian worry. His sad hazel eyes flashed in her mind, adding to her remorse.

Now what? Only one thing: drive back home.

The least she could do before leaving was make the bed. She went back through the hall. Steam poured out of the open bathroom door, giving her an idea of what—or who—waited in the guest room. Pulse beating faster, she peeked inside.

Sure enough, Mica stood in front of the bed with a white towel tied around his waist, long, wet hair hanging down his back, gazing at her. A smile widened across his gorgeous face.

She drew a breath. What a hunk, despite the feverish glow of sickness in his dark eyes and the slight hunch of his shoulders.

He winked. “Mmmm, feeling like a man again.”

A few sparse water drops glided from his muscular, tanned chest to his hairy navel. She almost stepped forward to catch them with a finger and taste the mix of shower water and sweat. Then place her tongue on his hot skin and—

Ah, she must be going insane.

Are you forgetting about Brian?

Renewed guilt sent a rush of cold to her head and shook her. She needed to focus on the right thing to do. No more missteps. “Have you taken your medicine?”

He nodded.

“Good.” Avoiding his glowing eyes, she moved to the other side of the bed and folded their ruffled sheets as neatly as possible on the mattress. To think they’d
almost
had sex….

The door closed, and she looked up. Mica stepped toward her with a grin. Before she could react, he stood near, large hands reaching out to her waist, and pulled her toward him with gentle but determined strength. Humid heat oozed off him, and a mix of musky scent and lavender lingered between them.

So near, so tempting
.

Her heartbeat sped up, and she took a deep breath, fixing her gaze on the pulsating vein in his throat. She imagined trailing her fingers down to his towel, pulling out his hard cock, and curling her tongue around its velvety head.

“Now, we can catch up.” His hot breaths brushed her forehead.

He slid a hand behind her ass while moving the other to her shoulder blades and pressing her breasts against his naked, sculpted torso. She gazed up, and his dark pupils met hers with deep scrutiny, as if seeking a way into her soul. Her inner thighs tingled with awoken need as he dipped his head and nibbled at the tender flesh of her lobe, wet teeth sending a sharp rush of heat to her womb.

Ouch
. Trapped in this man’s intoxicating embrace, she swayed and almost wrapped her arms around his neck, yet resisted and kept them at her sides. It would be so easy to accept the seduction, but Brian was waiting.

Brian
. The sound of his name echoed in her mind, giving her the strength to resist.

“No, Mica.” She breathed out, hard nipples pressing against his ribs. “I’m sorry. I can’t. I have to go back to my husband, and you have to go back to your lover. It’s the order of things.”

He straightened, a flash lighting his eyes. “What you saying?”

“I’m saying I’m married. I can’t—”

“No, you say my
lover
.” With a grunt, he removed his arms from her and stepped back.

Oh God
. Realizing her terrible mistake, Anne stared at him, her face heating like a furnace.

“How you know I have a lover?” His voice turned low, harsh, his pupils charcoal black.

She couldn’t move.

He pointed a finger at her and squinted. “No one knows, Anne. How you find out?” The finger pressed into her chest, digging in between her ribs. “Huh? How?”

She lowered her gaze, unable to reply. No way could she admit having spied on him and his boyfriend and witnessing their lovemaking.

“I can’t believe. You…you seen me with him.” He pushed her with his finger again then retreated.

Perfect silence lingered between them, yet her ears buzzed as if a bomb had exploded in the room.