‘I ate earlier,’ he replied, settling down on the end of the bed.
She couldn’t manage to eat it all, but when she finally sat back she felt a million times better. He smiled at her. She wished he wouldn’t; every time he did her resolve disappeared another inch—make that mile.
‘Now you need these.’ He shook a pill bottle at her.
She frowned.
‘Antibiotics,’ he explained. ‘You have a chest infection as well as the flu. The doctor prescribed these to clear it. So far you’ve been good about taking them.’
‘Doctor? What doctor?’
He grinned at her. ‘One of my mates is a GP. He came round after work yesterday and gave you the once-over.’
That explained the man from the Spanish Inquisition.
‘You were that worried about me?’ She took the dose and washed it down with the remainder of the pineapple juice.
‘I was.’ He smiled, the warmth lightening the atmosphere. ‘Want to stretch your legs?’
She did. She definitely did—stretch them all the way home, or so she ought.
‘Do you have something that I can put over the top of…um…’ Her voice trailed away and she gestured towards her breast with her hand. She saw the flare in his eyes as he followed the movement of her hands and hurriedly put her arms in front of her breasts to try to hide the all too pleasurable reaction there.
‘There was a matching robe.’ He stood and went to the chest of drawers, pulling a long cream-coloured silk robe off the top. ‘I’ll see you in the lounge. You can’t get lost.’ And he swiftly exited the room.
Bit late for modesty now, she thought ruefully as she swung her legs out of the bed. Still, who was she to be concerned about modesty? If she remembered right she was the one who had been on the desk, begging him to screw her in the middle of the office when people had been due back any minute. Had she no shame? Nope, she realised. Not when it came to Rory.
She sat on the bed for a few seconds, making sure she had her strength together before standing. She was still weak and, underneath it all, still tired. But she didn’t want to be lying in bed with Rory lounging on the end of it. That was just too much in the way of temptation.
She pulled the robe around her and glanced in the mirror hanging on the far wall. Her pallor surprised her. And her hair was a mess. She grimaced. What she really needed was a shower. Leaving the room, she discovered Rory was right; she couldn’t get lost. Following the sounds of activity, she passed another door—open, showing the bathroom—and another closed; she guessed it must be his bedroom. She quelled the desire to open it and take a peek.
He was in the kitchen, holding two large towels in his hand. The guy really was a mind-reader. ‘Want to have a shower? You’ll feel better.’
She stopped in front of him and stared. He really did look incredible in those close-fitting jeans and tee shirt. His chest just about took up all her vision, it was so broad. Two towels—one each? Where had her self-control gone?
‘Thank you.’ Her voice was husky. Her body was starting to feel all sensitive again and this time it wasn’t because of the fever.
Slowly he held them out to her, his eyes fixed on hers. Her heart thudded faster. She reached out and took them and looked away from him in a hurry. She had to get out of here or there would be no stopping things. ‘I should go home after. Could you give me a lift?’
‘You’re not going home tonight.’
She’d known he was going to say that. She was also aware she wasn’t going to fight him. Much. ‘Why not?’
‘It’s getting late. You’re still weak. That flat of yours is freezing.’ He’d obviously been storing up a few reasons.
‘I forgot to switch on the radiator,’ she broke in.
‘You’re staying here.’ They stared at each other. His mouth curved into a wry smile and his eyes twinkled. ‘Don’t worry. You’ll be quite safe.’
Yeah, right. It wasn’t him she was worried about. It was her own weak, needy self.
‘I’ll get that other negligee for you,’ he said quietly. ‘I’ll leave it in your room. I grabbed your toiletries bag from your flat; hopefully it has everything you need in it. It’s in the bathroom. I didn’t want to pry so I got a toothbrush and comb from the shop just in case.’
‘Gee, you’ve thought of everything,’ she said sarcastically, still fidgeting with the belt on the robe. ‘Do you do this often?’
He laughed, that open, warm sound that had had her melting on the night she’d first met him. ‘No. Pretty much everything with you is a first.’
She wondered what he meant by that.
She headed for the bathroom pronto.
Just as he’d said, her toiletries bag sat on the vanity. She peered inside it. She always had it pretty well packed—just in case she was hit by a sudden urge to take a weekend mini-break. Just beneath her body spray rested her pill packet. She picked it up. She didn’t take them for contraceptive purposes, having not been involved with anyone since Grant. The little plastic bubble marked Saturday was full. It was still Saturday. She popped it from the foil and quickly swallowed it. A girl could never be too careful.
Stepping into the shower she turned the taps on hot. The pressure was marvellous and she couldn’t resist standing there for long moments letting the water pound on her head and body. It felt so good to get rid of the sweat. She tried not to think about him. Tried to ignore the desire swirling in her belly. It was like trying to stop a tidal wave with a flannel. They were alone. The outside world had disappeared at the door. Just her and Rory. Out of the office and in his home. And she knew and she wanted it to be just so, just for now. She reached for the shower gel—the packaging advertised its therapeutic powers—‘invigorate’. She flipped the lid and caught a whiff of the lemony citrus flavour that she associated with him. The gel lacked the underlying masculine tang that was pure Rory but it was close enough. She closed her eyes as she washed indulging in the feeling she was being enveloped by his presence.
He knocked softly on the door as she towelled dry. ‘Lissa, are you OK?’
‘Fine, I’ll be out in a tick.’
Clad in the second negligee—the same as the first only in a pretty pastel blue—and the robe, she padded back out to the lounge. The flat was marvellously warm. Even her feet, which were usually like blocks of ice, were cosy despite being bare.
He knelt, fiddling with the gas fire. ‘Sorry,’ he said, obviously hearing her arrival. ‘You were a while and I was worried maybe you’d collapsed in the shower or something.’
‘No.’ She grinned. ‘It’s a girl thing. We take our time in the shower. You guys are all the same. Turn it on, jump in, jump out, get dressed without drying properly and it’s all over.’
‘Really?’ He raised his brows. ‘And how do you know so much about it?’
‘Flatmates arguing over the power bill.’ She smiled teasingly and pulled the robe tighter. She had to admit she loved the silky feel against her skin. Smooth and sensual. Its simple design clung to her; she liked the soft rustle as she moved. She knew it had probably been outrageously expensive. It made her feel sexy. She couldn’t help but have sex on her mind. She realised she’d been staring at his jeans-clad thighs. The denim showed off their strong, muscular outline better than his suit trousers. She looked up with a start. She was so aware of him.
‘Could I get that comb? I didn’t have one in my bag.’ Her voice wobbled a bit.
‘Sure. I’ll go get it.’
She expelled the