“Liz?”
“Yes. I have flu meds. You interested?”
“God, yes.”
“Great. Sit up.”
She poured one dose of the flu meds into the little plastic cup and held it out to him. He swallowed the thick syrup and handed the cup back before lying down again.
As she took the medicine to the bathroom, a bubble of fear rose up in her. Caring for him had the potential to go so wrong. Not because she worried that they’d get involved again. Tomorrow, she would forget all about this, if only because even pondering being involved with him would bring back painful memories.
But she knew Cain. He hated owing people, and if she stayed too long or did too much, he’d think he owed her. When he believed he owed somebody he could be like a dog with a bone. Being beholden made him feel weak. He was never weak. Which made her caring for him when he was sick a double threat. Not only had he been weak, but she’d seen him weak. He’d have to make this up to her.
Of course, with him as sick as he was, she could hope he wouldn’t remember most of this in the morning.
Everything would be fine.
With a peek at the bed to be sure he was asleep, she left the room and went to the Happy Maids car. In the trunk, she found a pair of sweatpants and a tank top. She changed out of her yellow maid uniform in one of the downstairs bathrooms then she took her book and a glass of orange juice into the study. Reclining on the sofa, she made herself comfortable to read.
She checked on him every hour or so. Finding him sleeping soundly every time, she slid out of the room and returned to the study. But just as she was pulling the door closed behind her on the fourth trip, he called out to her.
“Where are you going?”
She eased the door open again and walked over to the bed. “Cain? Are you okay?”
“I’m fine.” He sat up. “Come back to bed.”
Realizing the fever had him hallucinating or mixing up the past and present, she smiled and went into the bathroom to get him some water. She pressed the glass to his lips. “Sip.”
As she held the glass to his mouth, he lifted his hand to the back of her thigh and possessively slid it up to her bottom.
Shock nearly caused her to spill water all over him. She hadn’t even dated since she left him, and the feeling of a man’s hand on her behind was equal parts startling and wonderful.
He smiled up at her. “I’m better.”
Ignoring the enticing warmth spiraling through her, she tried to sound like an impartial nurse when she said, “You’re hallucinating.”
His hand lovingly roamed her bottom as his fever-glazed eyes gazed up at her longingly. “Please. I seriously feel better. Come back to bed.”
His last words were a hoarse whisper that tiptoed into the silent room, the yearning in them like a living thing. She reminded herself that this wasn’t Cain. The Cain she’d married was a cold, distant man. But a little part of her couldn’t help admitting that this was the man she’d always wished he would be. Loving. Eager for her. Happy to be with her.
Which scared her more than the hand on her bottom. Wishing and hoping were what had gotten her into trouble in the first place—why she’d married him that impulsive day in Vegas. On that trip, he’d been so loving, so sweet, so happy that she’d stupidly believed that if they were married, if she didn’t live a thousand miles away, they wouldn’t have to spend the first day of each of their trips getting reacquainted. He’d be comfortable with her. Happy.
And for three weeks they had been. Then his brother had died, forcing him to help his dad run the family business in Kansas through e-mails and teleconference calls, as he also ran Nestor Construction. Their marriage had become one more thing in his life that he had to do. A burden to him.
That’s what she had to remember. She’d become a burden to him.
She pulled away, straightening her shoulders. She wasn’t anybody’s burden. Not ever.
“Go back to sleep.”
She returned to the study and her book, but realized that in her eagerness to get out of the room she’d forgotten to give him another dose of medicine. So she returned to his room and found him sleeping peacefully. Not wanting to disturb him, she took a seat on the chair by the window. The next time he stirred, she’d be there to give him the meds. She opened her book and began to read in the pale light of the lamp behind her.
Cain awakened from what had been the worst night of his life. Spasms of shivers had overtaken him in between bouts of heat so intense his pillow was wet with sweat. He’d thrown up. All his muscles ached. But that wasn’t the half of it. He’d dreamed Liz had taken his temperature, given him medicine and walked him to and from the bathroom.
With a groan, he tossed off the covers and sat up in bed. He didn’t want to remember the feeling of her palm on his forehead, the scent of her that lingered when she had hovered over him or the wave of longing that swept through him just imagining that she was back in his life. He pulled in a breath. How could he dream about a woman who’d left him without a word of explanation? A woman who was in his bed one day and gone without a word the next?
Because he’d been a fool. That’s how. He’d lost her because he was always working, never had time for her, and grieving his brother. No matter how she’d left, he couldn’t blame her. She was innocent of any wrongdoing…and that was why he still wanted her.
As his eyes adjusted, he noticed soft light spilling toward him from across the room. He must have left the bathroom light on. He looked to the left and saw Liz watching him from his reading chair.
He licked his dry lips. She was so beautiful. Silhouetted in the pale light from the bathroom, she looked ethereal. Her long black hair floated around her, accenting her smooth, perfect alabaster skin. She wore sweatpants and a tank top, and he realized she’d turned off the air-conditioning. Probably because of his shivering.
Still, her being in his bedroom didn’t make sense. They’d divorced three years ago.
“Why are you here?” he demanded. “How are you here?”
“I’m your maid, remember?”
“My maid?”
“Your assistant hired Happy Maids to clean your house once a week—”
He closed his eyes and lay down again, as it all came back to him. “Yeah. I remember.”
“You were pretty sick when I got here Friday morning.”
“Friday morning?” He sat up again and then groaned when his stiff muscles protested. “What day is it?”
“Relax. It’s early Saturday morning.”
He peered over. “You’ve been here all night?”
She inclined her head. “You were very sick. I didn’t feel comfortable leaving you.”
He fell back to the pillow. “Honest Liz.”
“That’s why hundreds of people let me and my company into their homes every week to clean. My reputation precedes me.”
He could hear the smile in her voice and fought a wave of nostalgia. “I guess thanks are in order.”
“You’re welcome.”
“And I probably owe you an apology for fondling your butt.”
“Oh, so you remember that?”
This time she laughed. The soft sound drifted to him, smoothed over him, made him long for everything he’d had and lost.
Which made him feel foolish, stupid, weak.