Make It Sweet

He looked so miserable, so disappointed, that my heart gave a big thump.

“I’m not laughing either,” I said softly. Now that he’d admitted it, I could see the signs. Signs I had been too distracted by my own lusts and insecurities to notice. He was hurting again. Badly.

“Emma. Sweetheart. I don’t want you to see me weak.”

“Well, that’s good. Because all I see is strength.”

Lucian swallowed visibly, unable to form a reply. The stark lines of his face spoke of suffering, but he didn’t relent—stubborn to the core.

With easy movements, I closed the door and then proceeded to pull the heavy drapes around the little house, blocking out the brilliant sunlight and plunging us into cool, dim quiet.

Lucian stood like a statue, watching me. I walked up to him, noticing the way his big body seemed to sway with exhaustion.

“Get into bed, baby.”

A tremor went through his lips. “Baby?”

“As in honey, darling, dearest Lucian.”

“You’re going to make me blush.”

Stalling. As though I wouldn’t realize it. Foolish man.

“Good.” I took his unresisting hand and guided him toward the bed. The man was neat; I’d give him that. The bed was made, the linens fresh. “Into bed with you.”

He paused only for a moment, gaze moving between me and the bed. It finally seemed to seep through that thick stubborn wall of his that I wasn’t going to relent, either, and he gave me a weak smile.

“Yes, ma’am.”

With aching slowness, he stripped down to his boxer briefs and then crawled into the bed with a sigh that spoke volumes of pain. I covered him up, then caressed the stiff curve of his shoulder before heading to his bathroom to see if he had any medicine. I found far too many, including a prescription for migraines. It hit me again how much physical pain athletes had to deal with. That Lucian was all but weepy when his headaches hit told me how bad it was for him.

I gathered the rest of my supplies and went back to the bedroom. Lucian was already sprawled out, his arm clutching a pillow. “Lucian,” I whispered, and he stirred, one jade eye peeking up at me. I held out a pill. “Take this.”

With a grunt, he turned and raised up on one elbow to take the pill and the glass of iced tea I had for him.

“Drink it all,” I said.

“Yes, ma’am—” He cut short as I stripped out of my sundress. Glass halfway to his mouth, he tracked my movements with a narrowed contemplative gaze. “You’re beautiful.”

Pleasure flowed over me. But I gave him a prim look. “Now is not the time for compliments. Drink your tea.”

A tiny smile played around his lips, and he did as told, handing me the empty glass as soon as he was done. Far too conscious of being in my underwear and his eyes upon me, I grabbed the cool pack. “Where do you want this? Neck or forehead?”

Something moved through his eyes, an emotion I couldn’t pin, and his throat worked on a swallow. When he spoke, his voice was rusty. “Neck. Please.”

“All right, scoot over.”

Watchful yet quiet, he made room for me, and when I lay back against the pillows, Lucian shocked me by curling into my body, resting his head on the tops of my breasts. When I placed the cool pack on the back of his iron-hard neck, he sighed in contentment and wrapped his arm more securely around my waist.

Smiling to myself, I ran my fingers through his thick hair. I’d felt it last night, but that had been frantic and fraught with desire. Soothing him, I could let myself enjoy the simple sensation of those silky strands. His hair was exceptionally thick, with a wave to it. I envied it; my hair would be a big unwieldy pouf at this point.

Lucian groaned, as if the sound had been wrenched from him. The tops of his shoulders went rock hard. Glancing down, I found his expression drawn and pinched.

“It’s bad, isn’t it?” I whispered.

“Yes.” He breathed heavily through his nose, as though trying to manage the pain. I knew this level of migraine. It had teeth that dug in and wrenched you around like a rag doll. Getting out from under that type of pain was difficult and exhausting. But I knew one way.

“Lucian? Have you ever gotten a headache from sex?”

He stilled, a pulse of surprise going through his body and into mine. “Em . . . I really want to but . . .”

“No, I’m not asking for that.”

“Okay.” He sounded confused, his words heavy. “No, sex doesn’t give me headaches. When I’m better, I’ll be good to go. Promise.”

I had to smile. “I’m sure you will be.” Gently as possible, I detangled us and slid down to face him. His lids barely opened, and I stroked his cheek. “I want to try something to help make you feel good. Do you trust me?”