Hannah’s eyes slowly open, and she seems confused for a minute. Pulling back the covers, I help her sit up on the edge of the couch before moving the coffee table a little closer to her.
“You good?” I ask as she takes the spoon in hand and hunches over the bowl.
“Yeah,” she croaks, dipping the spoon into the bowl. “Thanks.”
Taking a seat on a chair she has opposite the couch, I watch as she takes a hesitant sip. I can tell it’s painful for her to swallow, and I’m thinking she should really let me take her to the doctor.
Hannah sort of freezes with the spoon halfway back to the bowl, looking at me curiously. “You can leave. You don’t need to stay.”
I should take the opportunity she’s presenting me and hightail it out of here. I’m sure as shit not getting laid.
Instead, I glare at her. “Shut up and eat.”
Hannah shrugs, then takes another delicate sip of soup. I watch her in silence as she eats, not wanting to dissuade her with conversation.
She manages to eat half the bowl before pushing it away, and I nod toward the water. “Drink up.”
I get an eyeroll, but she uncaps the bottle and takes a few sips before settling back onto the couch. She folds her legs Indian-style, pulls the blanket over her lap, and asks pointedly, “Why are you here? You should be in Florida.”
My shrug is casual. “Meetings got done early so I headed back.”
“I guess I should feel flattered you came by then,” she says, then has a coughing fit that concerns me. I start to rise from my chair, but she waves me back down.
After another sip of water, she gives me a lukewarm smile. “I’m fine. And seriously… you should go home.”
I ignore her. “If you’re not better in the morning, you need to see a doctor.”
I think she may argue, because she’s got that stubborn little set to her jaw that turns me on when I see it. But then she just flops over on her side with a sigh of resignation as she pulls the covers over her shoulders. “Fine.”
“Why don’t we put you in bed?” I suggest as I stand up from the chair.
Groaning, she starts to push off the couch. “I have to change the sheets. I moved out here a few hours ago because I was sweating so badly.”
I hold a hand up. “Lay back down. I’ll handle it.”
I have no clue where this instinct to step in and handle her comes from, but I go with it. After Hannah tells me where her sheets are, I manage to get the linens changed. Admittedly, it’s been a long fucking time since I’ve done something like this myself. I’ve always had the maids do it.
When I’m done, I come back out to the living room to find her dozing. I shake her awake, then help her stand up. She’s a little wobbly so I keep ahold of her as we walk down the hallway.
“I’d kill for a shower,” she grumbles. “I bet I smell like a dirty sock or something.”
“I’ll help you take one,” I offer. I’d prefer she take a bath because she can barely stand up, but her little hovel of a house only has a small standup shower. I can squeeze in with her to hold her up, and I know this because I managed to fuck her in it last week.
It takes a good half hour to manage her shower. I’m proud of myself that I didn’t even get hard while standing in there with her naked. I can’t say it was because she was sick and ragged looking, because truly… even on her worst day, Hannah is hot as hell. But the entire experience wasn’t appealing to my sexual nature at all. Instead, I found a small measure of enjoyment in helping her wash her hair and body, while also keeping my arm around her for support.
I feel… accomplished, and it’s more than surprising to me that I like that feeling.
After her shower, she lets me dry her hair while she sits on the edge of her bed and then I dress her in a pair of her pajamas.
She’s yawning heavily by the time I’m tucking her in.
“Thanks for coming by,” she says quietly, then tries to level a joke my way. “I’ll see you on Monday if I don’t die before then.”
“You’re adorable. But I’m staying the night to see how you are in the morning. If you’re not better, I’m taking you to the doctor.”
She watches as I round the bed to climb in on the other side. I’d not bothered getting dressed again after the shower other than putting on my briefs. I’d normally take them off, but why bother? Sex isn’t on the table tonight or in the morning.
When I’m settled in beside her, she reaches over and turns off her bedside light, casting the room into darkness. I can feel her shift, turning on her side to face me, which is how we go to sleep together.
“Thanks again,” she says.
“No problem,” I say, reaching blindly across the bed to touch her face. It’s cooler, which is reassuring.
There’s silence as I withdraw, so I close my eyes to go to sleep.
♦
Awakening the next morning to an empty bed, I roll off the mattress and head to the bathroom for a morning piss before finding Hannah in the kitchen.
She’s sitting at the two-person table with a cup of tea in front of her, surfing her phone. There’s an empty plate with breadcrumbs on it. I’m assuming it held toast.
“How do you feel?” I ask as I walk toward her. Reaching out, I touch her forehead and find it to be completely cool. Her eyes seem a little brighter this morning as well.
“Much better,” she says, her voice still coarse but stronger sounding. “I’m going to pick up Hope around noon.”
“That’s great,” I reply, moving over to her Keurig. Hannah is a coffee drinker like me, so the fact she’s drinking tea tells me she’s still a little shaky. But since she’s cool to the touch and determined to see her daughter today—which is no surprise at all—I don’t feel the need to badger her to go to the doctor.
I make a cup of coffee and take it back to the table, sitting in the chair across from her. Stretching my legs out, I brush up against hers, marveling at how good she feels just from that simple touch. I’m in no way thinking about sex with her, but fuck if just our legs touching isn’t like grabbing hold of a live wire.
I take a sip of my coffee and set the cup down. “Listen… I talked to my lawyer about your situation with Hope.”
“Oh,” she says, her eyes widening with interest as she leans forward, crossing her arms on the table. I can tell she completely forgot about it.
“My attorney will jump right on this. File a motion Monday morning.”
“But I already have an attorney,” she points out.
“One who won’t return your calls,” I counter. “I guarantee you that my attorney will call you back the same day if you have a question.”
And I know that because he knows I’d fire his ass if he didn’t.
“But I already paid a five-thousand-dollar retainer to the other attorney.”
“You can get that back, Hannah.”
She chews on her lower lip. It makes me want to kiss her. I wonder if she’s contagious.
Her tone is still dubious. “But my attorney said I need a longer work history to show the court I’m stable.”
“My attorney says not to worry about that at all,” I tell her.
Which is sort of true, but sort of not true. He said work history is important, and he readily accepted it as the truth when I told him Hannah had been working for me for three months as an executive assistant.
I’m struck almost stupid when she levels a blinding smile at me, and I realize I’ve never seen her this genuinely excited about something before. “Okay… I’ll use your attorney. And I’ve still got most of the bonus you gave me, which I can use to pay him.”
“Don’t worry about that.” I wave my hand. “He’s on a permanent retainer with me so he can jump on this Monday. You and I will settle later. Besides… I’d rather you take that money and move into a safer neighborhood.”
“If I get Hope back,” she murmurs, her gaze dropping to her cup of tea.
“You will,” I say confidently.
My attorney truly did feel good about this case after he’d had a chance to investigate it this week. He looked up the file at the courthouse, and he’s of the belief Hannah totally got cooked by the judge because of his friendship with her ex.
“Thank you,” Hannah says with a smile, bumping her leg against mine. “I hate to say it, but breaking that Chihuly vase of yours changed my life for the better.”
It’s a sweet sentiment, and one that wouldn’t normally affect me.
But it does now, in the most uncomfortable of ways, and all I can think is that my life has changed, too.
CHAPTER 18
Stepping into Asher’s bedroom, I take a moment to study him as he sleeps. I never realized what a fierce expression he always kept on his face but now that he’s relaxed and not aware of anyone watching him, he almost looks vulnerable.
Which is not a word I’d ever use to describe Asher Knight. And if I did, he’d take great offense to it. In the past month, I’ve come to understand some important truths about him.
He’s bossy, arrogant, and a control freak. He’s strong and determined. The vibe around him is always one of authority, and when he wants something, he takes it.
I also found out just a few days ago that he has an incredibly surprising softer side, as evidenced by the way he took care of me Friday night when I was sick. I didn’t think he had something like that in him, and it absolutely goes against everything that our relationship stands for. He went one step further by helping to push my case forward to get Hope back. True to his word, his attorney is filing the motion today. It will be served upon Nelson and his attorney, and I’ve been tense all morning waiting for a phone call from him.
I woke up feeling so much better on Saturday morning, which was a relief, because that meant I would get my time with Hope. But I was feeling a tad guilty when I noticed that Asher had a bit of a cough as he was leaving.
“I hope you didn’t get sick from me,” I’d told him from the doorway as he walked down my porch.
He waved me off. “Just a tickle in my throat. I’m fine.”
When I came into work this Monday morning, I found Asher in bed with a fever, sweats, and a deep congestive cough. I immediately hooked him up with some tea. Because he had no cold medications in his apartment, I ran out to the pharmacy to grab the necessities.
I dosed him up and ordered him to sleep, which is really the best sort of medicine. His body was fighting off some nasty stuff because he didn’t even try to argue with me.
But now it’s close to lunchtime, and he needs to eat and hydrate. I carry a tray stacked with chicken noodle soup, crackers, and some Gatorade. It’s time for him to take more Tylenol, too, if he’s still hot.
I set the tray on the side table and turn to the bed. I can’t help but stare just a moment more because in sleep, he looks boyishly handsome. And even though he’s sick, he’s incredibly hot. He’s kicked off all the covers, wearing only a pair of briefs that make me drool.
Touching a hand to his forehead first, I note it’s cooler to the touch. He doesn’t stir so I gently shake him by the shoulder. “Asher… wake up.”
His eyes flutter open slowly. Dazed, he looks at me. “Hey.”
“I want you to try to eat something, and you also need to also drink some Gatorade.”
“Not hungry,” he says with the same froggy-sounding voice I had a few days ago. Yup… fairly sure I got him sick, and it was probably because he held me through the night. It’s an odd feeling but one I don’t hate. While he shows me no other physical affection except when we’re having sex, I can’t help but think it must mean something, right?
I have no intention of coddling him through his illness. Instead, I intend for him to follow my directions to get better quicker. Due to my compromised immune system, I’ve unfortunately had too many of these illnesses the last few years, I know the best way to knock them out.
Grabbing his pillow, I give it a little jerk as I order him, “Sit up so I can put this tray on your lap.”
“Rather have you on my lap,” he croaks, but there’s no power or punch in his words. This cold is whipping his butt. It’s not a serious offer.
Pity. I do miss sex with him.
Thankfully, he doesn’t fight me and manages to haul himself up to lean against the headboard. I put the tray on his lap, then open the Gatorade bottle while he picks up the spoon and pokes around at some of the noodles.
“What time is it?” he asks.
Turning to his table, I start picking up discarded tissues, an empty glass that had had ginger ale in it from earlier this morning, and a box of Nyquil gel caps. “Almost noon.”
“I need to get into the office,” he mutters, then has a coughing fit.
“I’d advise against it.”
He glances from me to his soup, dipping his spoon in before guiding it to his mouth. When he swallows, he points the spoon at me. “You’re awful bossy. I think it’s because you know I’m too sick to spank you.”
God… he spanks so well.
“Tell you what,” I suggest. “You eat your soup, drink all the Gatorade, and then promise me you’ll close your eyes and lay there for fifteen minutes afterward. If you’re still awake, you can go to the office. My bet is you’re going to fall back asleep.”
Asher nods, a small tell that he agrees with me. He gamely tries another spoonful of the soup.
I turn for the door. “Call me if you need anything.”
“Thank you, Hannah,” he says roughly.
I glance at him over my shoulder, smiling at the expression on his face. He hates being helpless and yeah… I do feel a bit powerful right now. “Repaying the favor,” I say.
Closing the door, I head into the kitchen. My goal today is to clean all the windows in the apartment and dust the baseboards. I started coming up with projects like this to fill my time, as keeping his place clean and doing some errands for him doesn’t always keep me busy. I know our sexual escapades together are considered “work time” for me, but I never want to be looked at as someone who doesn’t work hard.
I’m startled when I enter the kitchen to find Asher’s sister standing at the big center island. Christina is just setting down her purse and keys there, so it’s obvious she just arrived.
“Hey,” I say with a warm flush rushing over my face. I feel like I’ve been caught doing something naughty, having just left Asher mostly naked in his room, despite my noble actions of caring for him when he’s sick. Probably latent guilt for having been ogling the sick man just moment ago.
“Hey,” Christina says with a smile that is etched with worry. “I tried to call Asher this morning, but he didn’t return my call. I called his office and they said he was home sick, so I just came by to check on him.”
I throw my thumb over my shoulder toward his room. “He’s in bed. I just gave him some soup and Gatorade.”
“Well, that’s sweet of you,” she replies. “Thank goodness you were here to see to him.”
“It’s my job,” I murmur with a small bob of my head. I move around the island, then squat in front of the sink cabinet where the glass cleaning supplies will be.
It’s silent so I dare to peek up at Christina, who is now smiling down at me with what I would describe as a “knowing” look.
Oh my God. Does she know I was just ogling her almost naked brother?
My cheeks heat a little more and I open the cabinet, sticking my head inside to root around.
“I’ll just pop in to see if there’s anything I can do for him, but it looks like he’s well-tended here.”
“Uh-huh,” I reply vaguely, keeping my head inside the cabinet so I don’t have to converse with her.
I hear Christina move out of the kitchen, assume she’s into the hallway, and I pull back with glass cleaner in one hand and paper towels in the other.
I’m not sure why I want to hide the nature of my relationship with her brother, but I never wanted to be the maid or secretary the boss banged. It seems seedy.
/> An unbidden laugh wells up inside of me as I realize how ludicrous it is to feel that way, given the fact I actually am banging him and I’ve been paid money to do it, too, which is far worse.
I make it no further than finishing the first full window in Asher’s living room, when Christina comes back in.
Instead of going toward her purse in the kitchen, though, she heads my way. To my horror, she plops down on the couch. She even curls her feet up under her as if she’s settling in for a good long while.
“He’s almost done eating,” Christina informs me as I turn to spray cleaner on the next window.
“That’s great,” I mutter in reply, but offer no more.
“He said you ordered him to take a nap after.”
“Um… yeah,” I admit, using paper towels to wipe the windows down.
“No one,” Christina says in a voice that’s tinged with awe, “and I mean no one, orders Asher to do anything.”
My entire body goes warm. I realize Christina has guessed far more about our relationship than I could have ever given her credit for.
I slowly turn around to face her, prepared to lie and deny.
When I meet her gaze, I’m stunned to see pure joy reflected at me.
“This is great,” she says in a conspiratorial whisper as she leans forward on the couch.
“What’s great?” I ask quietly, glancing to the hallway that leads to Asher’s room, then back to his sister. Can he hear us?
I take a step closer to her just so we can keep the conversation on the down low.
“You and Asher,” she says smugly.
I shake my head and hold my hands out, one still clutching paper towels. “No, no, no, no. You’ve got the wrong idea.”
“I don’t,” she says with a tip of her chin upward. “You’re taking care of my sick brother, who is half naked in his room, and you’re ordering him around, which can only mean you have him by the short hairs. I know my brother, and he would never, ever let anyone cater to him like this.”
The deer-in-the-headlights look is all I can manage in return.
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