Surrender (A Dangerous Man 4)

As soon as I move closer and reach for his tie, his hands shoots up and grips mine, pulling me down until I’m sitting on his lap.

“What happened to not touching?” he asks roughly, his hands moving to my waist, holding me still so I can’t get up. “Or are the rules different for you?”

“You looked uncomfortable.” I explain, trying to stay calm, to ignore the raging tumult in my mind at the sudden, unexpected contact. “I was only going to loosen your tie.”

He releases me with a sigh, and I get up quickly. His eyes follow the scent of food to the dining area and he grimaces. I watch as he gets ups, shrugging off his jacket and pulling at his tie as he walks over to the table. For a moment, he stares suspiciously at the food, as if he suspects me of trying to poison him. Then he sits and starts to eat, slowly, without any appetite. It’s so unlike him that I’m tempted to call a doctor.

“Aren’t you going to join me?” he asks.

I’m more interested in watching him, but I pick up a fork and take a few bites. I’ve missed Mrs. Daniel’s cooking I realize, savoring the taste of the home cooked meal.

He pushes his plate away after a while and leans back in the chair.

“Maybe you should go lie down.” I suggest.

“I thought you wanted to talk.” He says. “Don’t worry about my feelings, Sophie. I can take whatever it is you want to say.”

What does he think I want to talk about? I frown. “It’s not important.” For now, I’m more concerned about his present state than whether he meant what he said last night “We’ll talk some other time.”

He doesn’t argue. He sways a little as he gets up but waves me away when I try to help him. After he goes inside, I busy myself with cleaning up, unsure of what to do. I don’t want to leave him while he’s in such a state.

After I finish with the washing up, I go into the bedroom to find him. I can’t help being assaulted by the memories as I walk along the familiar hallway and open the door to the room where we spent so much time making love.

David is lying across the bed, still clothed. He didn’t even bother to remove his shoes. Worried, I hurry towards him. He is already asleep, but still sweating profusely. I touch his forehead and my fingers recoil in shock. His skin is burning.

I try to remember what I know of caring with someone with the flu or flu like symptoms. It’s not very much. I take off his shoes and start on the rest of his clothes.

“Go away.” he mutters.

“You’re ill.” I reply firmly.

“For God’s sake just leave me alone.” He mumbles, before drifting off again.

I try to make him as comfortable as I can before I search his emergency contact list for his doctor’s number.

“I think it might be the flu that’s been going around.” The doctor says, when I describe the symptoms. “I’ll be over shortly. If you can, just try to keep the fever down.”

I ignore David’s mutterings as much as I can while I mop the sweat off his forehead and neck with a damp cloth. I can’t hear everything he’s saying, but I hear stubborn and woman so many times that I’m sure he’s talking about me.

When the doctor arrives, he confirms what he’s already said over the phone. “Make sure he has lots of fluids,” He advises, “and he should be fine in a day or two. Call me if he has difficulty breathing, starts to vomit…” I listen as he reels off a list of symptoms.

After he leaves, I watch David sleep. He’s tossing and turning, restless. I find myself wishing that there was more I could do for him. It surprises me, this urge to nurture, but maybe it shouldn’t. I already know that I love him. It’s only natural that I would want to take care of him.

I spend all night trying to keep the fever down, and it’s almost morning before I fall into an exhausted sleep on one of the armchairs in the room.

When I wake up, I look around, disoriented for a moment before I remember where I am. My neck is aching cruelly from being cramped in the chair while I slept. I get up and stretch, realizing that it’s already light outside and that David is no longer on the bed. I only wonder where he is for a moment before he emerges from the door that leads to the bathroom.

Naked. He’s totally, completely, and perfectly naked.

I gulp, trying not to stare as my eyes rush up his body, past his perfectly sculpted muscles and all the way to his face, the only safe place to look. He still looks tired, less ill than yesterday, but nevertheless, devastatingly attractive.

“You look tired.” He tells me.

I shrug. “I am, a little.”

“Maybe you should rest,” he mutters, walking over to sit at the edge of the bed, “I’m just going to lie down for a minute.”

“Don’t worry about me.” I tell him, but he’s already lying down again and falling asleep almost immediately. I look at my watch. It’s only past seven. I should call his office and tell them not to expect him. I should call the store too and tell them that I won’t be coming in. There’s no way I can leave him like this.