The Disobedient Virgin

“What, sweetheart?”

“I said,” she told him as he eased the thing from her shoulders, “I know how horrible this robe looks, but I kept it ’cause—”

“Ah. I understand. You made it yourself.”

“Yes. And it always made me feel better when I was sick, or when I was unhappy.” She made a little sound that was more a sob than a laugh. “Silly, huh?”

Jake’s throat tightened. “Not silly at all,” he said, picturing her in that convent school, alone and desperate and wrapped in the next best thing to a horse blanket for comfort.

She swayed unsteadily as the robe fell away. He swept one arm around her; she sighed, leaned forward and slumped against him. She was wearing a flannel nightgown under the robe. The gown was damp. He could feel each soft curve of her body as she rested in his embrace.

“Honey.” He cleared his throat. “You need to get out of this gown and into a dry one.”

“’kay.”

He looked down at her. Some color had come back to her face but her eyes were closed.

“Shall I—shall I help you?”

“Umm.”

He took a deep breath. “Lift your arms, sweetheart. That’s my girl. A little higher. Good. Great.”

Great? The hell it was. He did the best he could, kept his eyes fixed on a point in space, but he had to glance at her to get the fresh gown over her head, to get her arms through the sleeves. And God, dear God, she was beautiful, so beautiful, so delicately boned and sweetly fleshed. But he didn’t feel passion or desire as he looked at his Cat.

He felt—he felt…

Jake swallowed hard. “Okay,” he said briskly. “Time to get into bed.”

Cat slumped down on the foot of the mattress. Jake lifted her in his arms, carried her to the side of the bed and drew back the covers. He started to lay her down, then thought better of it. The sheets and pillowcases were probably damp.

“Honey?”

“Hmm?”

“Can you stay awake long enough for me to change the linens?”

“Mmm.”

“All you have to do is sit here. I’ll come right back with fresh ones, and with that drink that’ll make you feel better.”

“Mmm.”

“Cat?”

“Mmm,” she whispered, and buried her face against his throat as she linked her heads behind his head.

Jake froze. She felt so right in his arms. So fragile. So vulnerable. He turned his face, touched his lips to her hair and closed his eyes.

“This is all my fault,” he murmured. “I’m sorry, sweetheart. I should never have abandoned you.”

She sighed again. One last soft brush of his mouth and then he’d put her down…Except she wouldn’t be able to sit here while he went to the linen closet for sheets, to his kitchen for ingredients for the concoction he recalled from his college days.

She could sleep in his bed.

He could sleep on the lounge in his dressing room.

She’d be warm and safe, and he wouldn’t have to worry about her getting up during the night and being sick again without him to take care of her.