‘Ana?’ Seb’s hand clasped round her upper arm as she swayed.
‘I’m OK.’
‘No, you’re—’ His curses made her head hurt more.
‘Migraine. I’ve just got a migraine.’ The pain intensified in seconds, ratcheting up to unbearable. ‘Let’s go. I want to go.’
Blindly she turned, screwing up her eyes to block the vicious light. His other arm was at her waist, she felt him guide her, push her into the car and felt him reach across to do up her belt.
‘I’m sorry.’
‘Don’t be silly.’ He shut her door. In seconds he was in his seat; the engine purred as he got them away. But the waves of agonising pain worsened. She couldn’t get air into her lungs. She breathed harder, faster, but still it wouldn’t work. Panicked, she felt the pain in her head pulse with increasing fervour. Her mouth filled with poisonous-tasting spit.
‘Seb!’ She warned him just in time.
He pulled over and she got the door open and leaned into the gutter. The sickness was violent and hideous.
She groaned, embarrassment adding to her overall vile feeling as she felt his hand rubbing gentle circles over her back. But then the pounding in her head resumed so badly she no longer cared.
‘There are wet wipes in my bag,’ she muttered. ‘A little packet.’
‘Wet wipes.’ She heard the smile in his voice, then the rustling like grenades detonating in her ears. Then she felt the coolness on her brow.
‘I can do that.’ She moved too fast and winced.
He pushed her hand away.
‘Seb,’ she whispered, now mortified.
Gently he turned her head towards him and smoothed the wipe over her forehead and down. She opened her eyes, wanting to apologise, but his expression was too tender for her to bear. She closed her eyes once more.
He reached across and redid her belt. She leant her head against the seat, unable to move at all. Even a fraction caused such throbbing pain.
It felt like for ever that they were driving but finally he switched off the engine. She opened her eyes and looked.
His house. Not Phil’s.
‘Come on, honey.’ He had her door open, scooped her into his arms.
‘Seb, you’ll break your back.’
‘Shut up.’
She did, burrowing her head into his broad chest, too sore to love the fact that she was actually being carried like some feather-light feminine princess. Mercifully soon they were on the second floor and in a big bedroom and then into a room off that. He lowered her onto a chair. She heard his footsteps sound on the tiles, a drawer slide open and then close again.
‘Ana.’ He handed her a new toothbrush and a travelsized pack of toothpaste and left her alone. He was always prepared for an overnight guest, huh? But her head already hurt too much for her to add that to it. And honestly she was just so grateful to be able to brush her teeth.
After she’d freshened up she slowly went back into the bedroom. He met her halfway across the floor. Carefully he slipped the shirt over her head, smoothly got rid of her trousers. The covering on the bed was already pulled back and the curtains drawn. The sheets were cool, the room dark. Shivering, she rolled onto her side, burying the blinding side of her head into the pillow. The mattress depressed further. She exhaled as he took the space beside her. But he said nothing, didn’t move more other than to put a gentle arm over her hip and cradle her back against him. Slowly his warmth seeped into her. She felt sleep start to claim her. The relief was immense.
When she woke she turned her head experimentally, felt the rush of relief as she realised that the headache had gone. But even better than that, he was curled around her—arms about her, his legs entwined, keeping her warm with skin on skin. He was naked—and hiding nothing, certainly not his hardness.
‘Better?’ His whisper was sweet in her ear.
‘Yes.’
He rolled her to face him. She looked into his allserious eyes.
‘We’re not stopping,’ he said quietly. ‘Not yet.’
She tried to turn away, to slip from the bed, but he stopped her with the weight of his body and a kiss that stole her breath.
‘Your migraine yesterday proves it,’ he said when he finally lifted his head.
Yesterday? She’d slept through a whole night? ‘Proves what?’
‘That you’re not ready to walk away just yet. That you’re stressed about it.’
Of course she was stressed. And that was exactly why it had to stop. But he didn’t give her the chance to say it—his mouth caught hers again, silencing them both for long moments.
‘Listen to me,’ he muttered. ‘Look at me.’ His hands moved, tormenting with their slow caresses. ‘If you don’t look at me, I’ll stop.’