The Wrong Man (Alpha Men 3)

He sighed and buried his face in her hair; it smelled hot and sweaty, with lingering traces of her shampoo still present. As he felt himself start to drift toward sleep, he found himself acknowledging that Lia was right—sleeping with someone was different. It was intimate.

It meant more.

The urgent buzzing of his phone jarred him awake just an hour later. Sam turned his head and glared at the lit-up phone as it vibrated on the nightstand. He reluctantly lifted his arm from around Lia’s waist to reach for it. Colby’s name was on the screen, and he swore beneath his breath.

“Brand!” he snapped.

“Boss, we have a problem,” Colby said in greeting, without any of the usual pleasantries. Brand only half heard her, because Lia stirred and then coughed. The sound was harsh and grating and made him wince.

Fuck! That didn’t sound good at all.

“Colby, as you so succinctly informed me the other day, I pay you to solve problems. So fucking deal with it! I have more important things to worry about at the moment,” he whispered.

“But—” Lia’s coughing was getting worse, and he disconnected the call before Colby could complete her sentence. He switched off the phone and tossed it aside before easing his arm under Lia’s back and helping her to sit up.

“Deep breaths, sunshine,” he instructed, keeping his voice calm. “I’ll get you some water and some of that cough syrup, okay?”

She groaned in response, the coughing relentless. He rushed to get her water and her medication. Anxiously watching while she swallowed everything down and then curled up into a miserable ball as the violent paroxysm of coughing continued. He wrapped himself around her, gently stroking her back and murmuring comforting little words that made no sense into her hair. Eventually the coughing fit subsided, and he reached for a tissue to dab the tears from her face and then gave her another one for her streaming nose.

“Not a pretty sight, I’m sure,” she croaked. Her throat sounded absolutely lacerated, and he gave her another sip of water. Her eyes were red rimmed and the tip of her runny nose was pink in her pale face, her full lips dry and chapped. Not her finest hour, to be sure, but all Sam saw was his adorable Miss Priss.

“You’re always gorgeous and you know it,” he responded, and she half coughed, half laughed in response.

“You’re such a liar. You’re finally getting your way, aren’t you?”

“How so?” he asked.

“Sleeping over. Is it everything you dreamed it would be?”

“Well, there’s more wheezing and snoring than I anticipated, but it’s right up there with my first kiss”—with you—“and the first time I had sex”—with you.

Because, while he hadn’t known it at the time, both of those moments had irrevocably changed his life. He wasn’t entirely sure how yet, but he definitely wasn’t the same man he had been a mere seven months ago.

“I don’t snore,” she protested weakly, and he grinned.

“Sure you don’t. Now get back under the covers and try to get back to sleep.” She curled up on her side without protest, and he slid in behind her to spoon her again.

“What am I wearing?” she asked drowsily.

“My favorite T-shirt. You’re welcome. And no, you can’t have it.”

“I have nightgowns,” she pointed out.

“You have nightgowns straight out of Downton Abbey. They don’t look comfortable at all.”

“You watched Downton Abbey?”

“It was inescapable. Stop talking, your voice is making my eyes water.”

“Not sexy?”

“Sure it is, if you find frogs sexy.” Her breath hitched in her throat, and a tiny, delightful sneeze escaped on the exhale. It was followed by two more.

“What the fuck was that?” he asked, and she reached for another tissue to noisily blow her nose.

“I sneezed. It’s polite to say ‘gesundheit’ or ‘bless you,’” she informed him, sounding like her old self, despite the exhausted slur in her hoarse voice.

“It sounded like fairy farts, I wasn’t sure what I was hearing,” he teased.

“Shut up,” she said grumpily.

“How rude, Miss Priss, your manners are slipping,” he goaded, dropping a kiss on her temple.

“Sam?”

“Yes?”

“Thank you. For being here.”

“No place I’d rather be, sunshine.”

And wasn’t that the absolute truth?

Lia felt marginally better the following morning when Sam set her laptop up on the coffee table. He placed a box of tissues on the easily accessible side table and a bottle of water and a roll of throat lozenges on the table beside the laptop.

After that he retreated to the kitchen to do some tidying up, and Lia settled in to watch Daff try on dresses.

The video image was thankfully clear, and Lia grinned when she saw the four faces pop up on her screen.

“Hi, Lia!” they all squealed in unison, and she grinned, waving excitedly in reply. Her voice wasn’t great after her constant coughing the night before. She had woken up coughing at least three times during the night, and Sam had patiently helped and comforted her through each horrible convulsive attack.