Jahleel (22 page)

“Yes.” I emphatically nodded, “I want to.”

“Okay,” he breathed out again, snuggling further under the blanket, his eyelids lowering down. “Just gonna take a nap.”

Then I panicked. What if he took a nap and never woke up? Maybe I was being dramatic, but still.

“No, babe,” I whispered. “Don’t go to sleep just yet, okay? I’ll be quick with the soup.”

No answer. I jumped up in dismay and switched on the television, thanking God when I saw he had Netflix. Moving at super speed, I looked for a movie he would love and settled on that suck-arse movie
The Green Hornet
, remembering he wanted to watch it the other night.

By the time I turned back to him, he’d already dozed off.

“Look, JK,” I said, shaking his shoulder and waking him up. “The Green Hornet is starting.”

I knew I sounded pathetic, like a mother trying to coax her children into eating their vegetables, but for some reason, I was afraid of him falling asleep, because he looked God awful for having just the flu. I had no knowledge of how long it’s been since he’d eaten, but it was apparent he’d mixed or taken too much medication in the hopes of getting better quickly.

His eyes flickered open and he looked up at the sixty inches of television screen in the wall. “Thought you said they were idiots.”

“They are.” I smiled. “That’s why
you’ll
be watching them, while I cook.”

When I saw the movie had stolen his interest, I stood and headed for the kitchen.

“Raisins,” he croaked out, as I stepped into the hall.

“Okay.”

After searching all the cupboards in the kitchen for raisins, I found a 10kg cardboard box with Sun Maid Raisins written on the side.
Bingo
. Except it was empty.

Someone was out of raisins.

When I relayed the bad news, he groaned out, “Oh. God. Now I’m
really
gonna die.”

Biting my lip to hold back a laugh, I went back into the kitchen, called Thomas and asked him to pick up a restock of raisins, a couple of
Haliborange
Vitamin C tablets and a gallon bottle of Orange Juice.

Slinging off my messenger bag, I tossed it on a nearby stool and set about preparing soup for Mortal Jahleel, all the while thinking I would do just about anything to get A-hole Jahleel back.

Thankfully, Jahleel was lost in the movie and hadn’t fallen asleep by the time I got done with the soup. Knowing he hadn’t eaten anything but pills and cough medicine for…who knows how long, I made the soup substantial with Irish potatoes, leeks, chunks of chicken breasts, carrots, string beans and okra. On the side of the tray, I put two warm, buttered slices of garlic bread, and a small box of raisins.

“Can you sit up?” I asked him as I set the tray down on the now cleared coffee table.

I had multi-tasked and cleaned up the living area while the soup simmered.

“I’m not fuckin’ cripple, Sassy,” he muttered grumpily as he struggled to sit up, which he barely managed to do.

Men and their stupid egos.

When he was in a semi-upright position, I set the tray across his lap and left him to it, turning to tolerate this crap of a movie.

At the sound of a weak harrumph, I looked around and found Jahleel staring at me expectantly, food untouched. “You’re not goin’ to feed me?”

I made a face. This man was so confusing. “You just said you’re not cripple, yeah?”

“Can’t lift my hands…” he said, staring at my lips. Because he was so pale and bleary, I couldn’t tell if he was messing with me or being serious.

My initial plan was to feed him, of course, but then he’d snapped at me, so I aborted the idea. Even infirmed, he was a pain in the backside. Turning to face him, I sidled closer and took up the spoon.

“Raisins,” he whispered.

“You want raisins in your soup?” I looked at him in utter disgust.

When he nodded, I shrugged and tossed the raisins in and stirred the soup before lifting a spoonful to his mouth. He cooperated throughout the feeding process and ate more than I expected him to. I fed him the garlic bread, and he ate both slices like it was nothing. Just how long has it been since he’d eaten?

“Either I’m really, really hungry,” he mumbled around a mouthful of garlic bread, sounding more lively, “or that was the best soup I’ve ever tasted.”

Lifting the tray off his lap, I placed it on the table. “I think it’s the raisins.”

When he was done and settled back down under his blanket, eyes instantly drooping, I finally asked, “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

He took forever to answer, but he did. “Two days.”

Christ.
He’d laid here on the couch for two days, sick to death, and called no one for a hand? What the hell was this man’s problem?

“Where’s Krissy?”

The sigh that came was deep and solemn, “She’s never here anymore.”

“Did you try calling her?” I asked, not too sure how I felt about scratching into his Krissy wound. “I’m sure she’d drop whatever she’s doing if she knew you were ill, JK. You want me to call her?”

“No.” He shook his head and closed his eyes. “Doesn’t matter. She’ll choose him.”

I didn’t know how to respond to that, except, at least he knew what it felt like to be rejected. However, I couldn’t imagine his sister not caring that her brother was lying near dead in a dark house alone and helpless.

“Even if you’re sick, half-dead?”

“Yes. You don’t know her.”

Wow, if that’s the case, I hope someone runs her over with a bulldozer
. “And your parents?”

“Africa.”

“What about Chad? You called him?”

“Russia.”

Without a doubt in my mind, I was positive Jahleel had a ton of people he could call but chose not to. He had a business that required him being there in the flesh daily to train and choreograph people. I knew he talked to his workers there to let them know he would be out and assigned someone to be in charge—or else they would’ve come searching out of worry.

Plus, though he didn’t answer my phone calls, he messaged me back perfectly well, so he could’ve messaged someone for help if he needed to. But no, he was playing Macho Man, thinking he could chew down a mixture of pills each day and get better all on his own. He was now worse and so infirmed he was stuck on the couch and couldn’t get up even for a drink of water.

Who does that?

Jahleel was off to sleep before I could say another word. Hearty soups could be somniferous.

I went about cleaning up.

By the time I was done, the crash of my London trip sank in and my lids started closing down on me. I turned the lock on the front door, switch off the hall and kitchen lights, and went back into the living room. I collapsed on the twin red couch opposite Jahleel’s.

Reaching for the remote, I switched off the television, and before I knew it, I was out.

Chapter Thirteen

A
deep moan formed in my throat as I neared the edge. His fingers were inside me, his lips were on me, his teeth nipped me, his tongue licked me. His body heat seeped through my hungry pores, and I was tipping on the edge.

“Oh, JK, make me come,” I begged with a voice thick with desire.

In response, he sucked my nipple into his mouth and pressed his fingers deeper inside me.
His
fingers,
JK’s
fingers, were inside
me
.

The thought alone…Oh, yes…Just as I was about to explode, I woke up.

Gah! I effing hate when that happens!

Sure, waking up at the climax of a dream works well when you’re about to die, or falling off a cliff. But it’s not pleasant to wake up at the climax when you’re about to
climax
!

Keeping my eyes closed, I tried forcing myself back to sleep, back to the dream, but failed miserably. When I opened them, I was on my back with my right hand buried down my knickers, stroking over my wet, sensitive folds.

Disgusted with myself, I removed my hand and looked up at the ceiling and sighed. How ridiculously pathetic was my life? How desperate for an orgasm does one—

Wait, this ceiling with grey crown mouldings wasn’t mine… The events of the night before registered in that moment and I remembered where I was.

In slow motion, I turned my head to the side and met Jahleel’s golden gaze, watching me. The flickering heat of his gaze caused a flush to crawl up my neck and settle into my cheeks, stinging me there.

Despite the heat of his eyes, he was shivering under his thick red blanket, and I could tell he was hugging himself to feel warmer. Panicking, I was on my feet in a nanosecond, almost tripping as I crossed the room towards him.

“Bloody hell,” I swore, tucking the blanket tighter around him. I wasn’t exactly sure what to do. The place was hot, I was hot, and he was shivering. “Are you okay?”

Jahleel gave me a look, which proved not even illness could abate his arsehole-ism. He would die being an arse. “D-D-Do I look ok-k-kay?”

“Okay, um…” I trailed off, looking around for….what? I wasn’t a damn doctor!

Espying his cellphone, I snatched it up. “I need to call your doc for instructions on what to do. What’s his name stored as?”

“S-steve Hopk-k-kins.”

“Password?” I asked when I tried using the phone and found it locked.

Aiming to control his shivering, his eyes flicked up to mine and remained there as he spelled the code out, “G-R-A-Y.”

Gray?
His password was gray?
Weird.

Tapping in the password, I located his doc’s number and dialled as I jogged off into the kitchen to set the kettle on the stove.

When I finally got through to Dr. Hopkins, he assured me the shivering was nothing to panic about, as it was brought on by high fever and would subside soon. He began barking over the phone in sheer frustration about instructing Jahleel not take any other medication than what he’d prescribed…and on and on he went.

Keeping the phone a distance from my ear, I located Jahleel’s bedroom. There was a guest bedroom at one end of the second hall, and the Master bedroom was at the other end.

I pushed open the master bedroom door and was taken aback at its vastness, tuning out Dr. Hopkins. The room was so neat and spotless, I was afraid to touch anything.

His bed was as big as mine, and my bed was custom built. The headboard was covered in blood-red suede material, the furniture being polished cherry-wood. An ivory chaise sat at the foot of the bed, and the floor was carpeted in a fluffy cream, looking so comfortable, I wanted to lie down on the floor and fall asleep.

Not a thing was out of place. What a neat freak.

Remembering my purpose for entering the room as the doctor’s voice droned on about the temperatures of the body, I searched for a closet door and saw none. There was a bathroom door though, and when I opened it, I spotted another door, like a Jack and Jill, but this other door led into a closet.

A massive closet.

Finding what I was searching for, I picked up one of the many red blankets stacked on a shelf, and returned to the kitchen.

The kettle was whistling, the doctor was
still
talking and Jahleel was probably still shivering. I turned off the stove first. Then said goodbye to the good doctor, keeping the most important points in mind: keep him warm, give him lots of fluids, no more meds for 36 hours, and most of all,
don’t
bundle him up in blankets—lucky I heard that bit, because bundling him up in blankets was my initial plan.