More Than Need You (More Than Words 2)

settling her knees over my other forearm. She shrieks as I nestle her against my chest. To keep her balance, she tosses her hand around my neck. Her body feels like a blast furnace. No doubt, she has a raging fever.

“Put me down,” she protests. “I can walk.”

“But you don’t have to. Relax, angel. I’ve got you.”

I start walking down the hall with her in my arms before she can renew her protests. “Which room is yours?”

“The room I stored the chairs in.” She refuses to meet my gaze.

In other words, the room in which I kissed her and tossed her down to the bed and touched her. “You don’t sleep in the master?”

She shakes her head. “It’s on the other side of the house. Too far away from Jamie. He sometimes has nightmares and…”

“Needs you at all hours?” I scowl. How like Britta to give up her comfort for those she loves. Her health simply won’t allow for that now.

After an about-face, I head down the hall again and across the living room, where I spot a closed door on the far side.

Britta sees my destination and starts wriggling with what little energy she has. “I can’t sleep there.”

“You have to. Listen to me. I’ve got this.”

“You’re not sleeping in my bedroom!”

“Is Makaio coming back tonight?” I hate that thought, but I have to be practical at the moment.

“No,” she croaks. “He has a big presentation on Friday. He can’t afford to get sick.”

So he left Britta and Jamie to fend for themselves because he’s not man enough to handle a cough or a sniffle? Fucking uptight dick. It probably wasn’t “logical” to get sick when he could prevent it. But he’d leave a kid who’s not even three alone with a contagious mother who has a blazing fever? I’m not an experienced parent, but even I know that’s moronic.

“Then I’m sleeping in your room and taking care of Jamie tonight.”

She pushes at my chest. “You can’t. He might be upset if he has a nightmare and wakes to find you. When he’s afraid, he wants me and—”

“I’ll handle it, Britta. Don’t be stubborn now. You can’t get better if you don’t rest.”

After a pause, she sighs. “I guess you’re right.”

I am. She simply doesn’t like it.

I give her a nod, then shoulder my way into the master. There’s a king-size bed. The decor is somewhere between nonexistent and masculine. Everything is brown and bland and barely used. It looks like someplace Makaio would enjoy.

Gritting my teeth, I set Britta on her feet gently and yank down the comforter to find cool white sheets. I help her into bed and tuck the blankets around her. “Let me see to Jamie. I’ll be back in ten.”

“Don’t worry about me,” she calls weakly to my retreating back.

Ridiculous. Of course I’m going to worry about her.

In the kitchen, I set Jamie on the counter and look at him eye to eye. “I’m Griff.”

He thumps at his chest. “Jamie.”

I teach him how to shake hands, then we make a game out of washing up, stopping just shy of a suds fight—mostly because I don’t want his giggling to keep Britta awake.

Then I explain to him that I’ll be taking care of him while Mommy is sick before I set a peanut butter sandwich in front of him. He grunts and points at the refrigerator urgently until I realize he’s demanding grape jelly with it. Once I slap that on, too, I grab the yogurt and a spoon, then pluck a banana from the basket on the counter and chop it up. A glass of milk follows.

In ten minutes, he’s demolished everything on his plate and is looking at me as if to ask where’s the rest?

Wow, Britta wasn’t kidding. He’s a great eater.

“What else do you want?”

“Ice cream!”

Of course. One of my favorites, too. I shouldn’t be surprised.

I prowl through Britta’s freezer, but it’s empty of anything that looks like dessert. I sigh. Plan B. I have to feed Britta anyway.

After rinsing Jamie’s plate and milk cup, I put both in the dishwasher and pause. The food wasn’t fancy…but I just fed my son for the first time. I don’t know if he feels like it was a bonding experience. Probably not. But I’m moved and oddly struck by how satisfying it was to take care of him.

After wiping his hands and face clean, I lift him from his booster, then cart him through the front room and into the entry way. I spy Britta’s car keys on a foyer table and swipe them. “Want a little adventure?”

When Jamie bobs his head excitedly, I smile at his infectious grin. I’ll bet he thinks we’re going to do something physical and maybe a little bit crazy. Britta will definitely need my help raising him from here on out.

Silently, we sidle out the front door. I lock up behind me and head to Britta’s car. I would take mine, but a car seat in a Porsche convertible just doesn’t make much safety sense to me. So I press the button on her car fob, unlock the door, secure Jamie in his place, and head to town.

We’re gone about twenty minutes. I make a special trip through the McDonald’s drive-thru for some ice cream for Jamie, then we’re back at Britta’s place with melting soft-serve and one of her favorites.

As soon as I open the door, she’s standing in the foyer, looking as if she’s barely upright.

“You had no right to take him—”

“Angel, come sit before you fall down.” I shut the door behind me and let go of Jamie’s hand so I can help Britta to the sofa. I have our bags of goodies in the other.

Thankfully, she doesn’t really have the energy to resist.

“I was worried,” she says wearily as she sinks onto the nearest cushion.

I grab a blanket from the back of the sofa and toss it over her lap. “I wanted to get something for us to eat and I didn’t want you to exert yourself with Jamie. Now give me one second. Our boy had a request…”

She groans. “He conned you out of ice cream?”

I pause. “Is this a regular occurrence?”

“Almost daily.” She lays her head against the back of the sofa with a sigh and closes her eyes. “He’s good at getting what he wants from me, just like his father.”

I send her a faint smile. She can’t see me. Hell, she’s half-asleep, and I wonder if she even knows what she said. It doesn’t matter. I know. And she has no idea yet how right I’m going to prove her.

Eyeing Jamie’s bib, I hesitate. I already know he’s not great with a spoon. The yogurt was a valuable lesson in toddler messes, so I can’t leave him alone entirely with a cup of soft-serve. But I need to get Britta settled. She’s grown even paler in the last half hour, and I’m really worried.

For lack of anything better to do, I rip a giant plastic trash bag in half and settle it on the kitchen floor. I strip Jamie down to his Pull-Up and set him in the middle with a plastic spoon and a warning to eat where he’s sitting and not to move. He gives me an absent nod before digging in.