She stilled, and he saw her eyes flare. Fuck, that was mean. He was being downright mean. That wasn’t fair to her.
But before he could say another word, she snapped, “Sorry. You’re stuck with me for tonight.” She moved to the nightstand and opened the bottle of water.
As she poured some into a plastic cup, he watched her. Did she have to look so damn pretty? Half of him hated that she was there. The other half was so glad to see her, it bordered on ridiculous. They’d exchanged texts before he’d gone into the hospital on Wednesday morning, but he hadn’t seen her since Sunday night. Seeing her now made him acutely aware that he’d missed her. Her silky hair was pulled back in a ponytail, her baby blue T-shirt brought out her eyes, and her gray checked leggings showcased her legs, making him recall how fantastic they’d felt locked around his hips.
He’d missed her. Her presence was a balm even when he was furious.
“You’re not in scrubs,” he managed, every word making his head thump. “Thought you’re on duty.”
“I am, but I figured I could dress casual for this one. You gonna report me?”
“Hell no.”
She brought the cup over. “Drink some,” she commanded as she stood over him.
“Amanda,” he said, leaning up slowly on his elbows. “I’m sorry for being rude.”
She just pushed the cup at him.
He took a few sips, then fell back onto the pillows. “Listen. I know you’re a good nurse. I just . . . dammit, Amanda, I didn’t want you to do this. Anyone but you.”
She stiffened as she gazed down at him. “Well, then you’re shit outta luck, aren’t you.” A quick twist of a grin that didn’t reach her eyes, sharp and hollow, made him wince.
He was messing this up royally. If only his brain would stop trying to pound its way out of his skull . . . He reached out and grasped her hand, holding tight. “I just . . . ah, fuck!” He closed his eyes for a second against the fresh wave of pain in his head that brought some nausea along for the ride. He swallowed hard. “Nauseous,” he muttered.
“I’ll get the bowl so you don’t have to get up.” She pulled her hand free and left.
For about an hour, he lay as still as possible, trying not to vomit. She went to sit in the front room, leaving him in peace so he didn’t have to get madder at the idea of possibly puking in front of her, which he appreciated. He was miserable; that was for damn sure. But that didn’t give him the right to be such an asshole to her, and he stewed over it as he lay in the dark room. He tried to not think at all, just breathe.
After a while, the door opened, bringing cracks of light into his dim cave. Amanda approached the bed. “Bowl’s empty. That’s good.” She laid her hand against his forehead. “You’re a drop warm. I’m sorry, Nick, but I’m staying right here to keep an eye on you whether you like it or not. You spike a fever, that’s a different set of problems.”
“All right,” he murmured.
“How do you feel?”
“Like total shit.”
She only nodded as her eyes scoured his face.
“Go ahead,” he said.
Her brows furrowed. “Go ahead what?”
“Say ‘I told you so’,” he said. “You must be dying to. You warned me I’d need help after the surgery. I brushed you off. All of you.”
“Your discomfort doesn’t bring me pleasure,” she said, a hard edge to her voice.
“Not even now, when I’ve been such a dick since you got here?”
“Not even now.”
“Amanda . . .” He swallowed his pride and said gruffly, “I didn’t want you to see me this way. I didn’t want anyone to see me this way, but especially you. I didn’t want you to see me all weak and needy. Gross, pukey, and laid out. Didn’t want to . . . diminish myself in your eyes. Can you understand that?”
She stared at him and murmured, “I do now. I’m sorry you feel that way.”
“I’m sorry I’m a lousy patient and will probably be insufferable the next day or two,” he said. “Apparently pain, feeling powerless, and being hovered over make me a little mean.” He sighed as his head pounded away. “I didn’t want to look weak to you. My ego and pride can’t stand it. There, I said it.” He licked his dry lips as he met her eyes. “I also didn’t want to maybe be a dick to you and say or do something I couldn’t take back. You mean too much to me. Okay?”
She sat on the edge of the bed, next to him, her hip barely touching his good side. “You could’ve just told me all that the other day. Why didn’t you?”
“You didn’t exactly give me a chance to.”
She pressed her lips together into a hard line. “Maybe not.”
“I also didn’t say so because I’m not proud of it, Amanda. Because I’m too proud, I guess.”
“I am too. I felt slighted.”
“I know. And I’m really sorry for that. Can you forgive me?”
She gazed down at him for a long moment, then murmured, “Forgiven. But you need to work on your communication skills.”
“We both do. You shut me out and wouldn’t admit to it.”
“I was hurt,” she admitted in a whisper. “When I’m hurt, I . . . go inside myself. Like a turtle. I turtle up.”
“I’ll make sure to remember that in the future.” He reached for her hand, and she let him take it as their eyes met and held. “I really am sorry. I just . . .” His head pulsated, his hip throbbed, and his eyes squeezed shut as he drew a deep breath.
“Shhh.” She held his hand in both of hers and caressed it gently. It was so damn soothing; he bathed in her small but tender touch. “I know you’re really hurting right now, but it’ll be better tomorrow, and then even better the next day. Promise.”
“Okay,” he ground out. “This sucks. Can’t lie.”
“I know.” She kept caressing his hand. He held tight. She felt like a lifeline. It occurred to him she’d felt like one since he’d met her. Emotionally, physically. As a friend, as a sexy bed partner. In a short time, she’d come to mean a lot to him, dragging him out of emotional holes . . . a true lifeline. They sat in the dark, holding hands in comfortable silence, and damned if it didn’t make him feel a little better. Soothed.
Finally he said, “My head hurts like fucking hell, Amanda. It really does. The hip’s not as bad, but it’s sore as hell too and . . . I’m not good company. I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be sorry. Shhh.” She kept stroking the top of his hand, his fingers. He focused on her touch, trying to concentrate on that instead of how awful he felt. Then she added, “I’m not expecting you to be good company. It’d be nice if you’re not a dick, but if you are, I can take it. It’s part of my job, and I’m good at my job, Nick.”
“I know you are. I do, baby.”
“All right. So just let me take care of you, okay?”
“Okay.” His eyes slid closed. “Thank you.” He felt her lean in, felt her lips press ever so lightly against his cheek. His other hand lifted to stroke the back of her neck and hold her there. They stayed that way for a minute, a kind of half hug. His fingers twisted into her ponytail as he breathed her in. “You smell good,” he whispered.
“Flirting with your nurse?” she joked. “Jeez, you’re so the type.”
He laughed, but it made his head hurt and it turned into a groan as he finally fell asleep.
Chapter Twenty-One
Charles had only asked Amanda to stay until eleven o’clock, but no way was she leaving. Nick had a temperature. At nine o’clock, it’d only been 100.7; by eleven, it’d gone up to 101.6. She didn’t want him there alone, especially if his fever got any higher.
She sat by his side, too concerned to read the book she’d brought. She just sat and watched over him. He lay there quietly. He didn’t want to talk, and that was fine. But after a while, he reached out to hold her hand. He was still gruff, not an easy patient, but he clearly needed comfort, wanted it from her, and she gladly gave it. Around midnight, exhausted, Amanda decided to sleep right next
to him. The king-sized bed had more than enough room for her to do so without touching him; she wouldn’t bump his bandaged hip. Still, she slept lightly, part of her consciousness aware of him even then.
Most of the night, he tossed around, restless and slightly feverish, drifting in and out of sleep. Even half-asleep, she kept touching his forehead, his ears, checking on him. Close to dawn, when his body bucked hard beside her, her eyes opened instantly. Fat drops of sweat rolled from his hairline down his forehead and the sides of his face. His breathing was heavy, as if he’d snapped out of a trance.
“What the hell?” His voice was rough in the dark.
“I’m right here, Nick.” She gripped his hand with one of hers, felt his face with the other. He was pouring sweat, but his skin was cooler. Whatever fever had set in had broken as quickly as it’d arrived. “You’re okay. Let me get you a drink.”
He released her hand and she set into action. She checked his temperature. Back down to 98.9—that was good. She brought him a cup of Gatorade and more acetaminophen, then went to the bathroom to drench two washcloths in cool water and return to him. He was frowning, lying there in his damp sheets, hair mussed, a few days’ scruff covering his jaw. . . . He was a total mess, but he still appealed to her. He’d shoved the covers down to his waistline, and she couldn’t help letting her eyes travel over his sculpted body . . . the chiseled muscles in his shoulders, chest, arms, abs. He was a pain-in-the-ass patient, but he was one unbearably sexy, gorgeous man who rocked her socks, no denying it.
“This might get your pillows and bed a little wetter,” she said, “but they’re already drenched from you anyway.” She folded one of the wet cloths and draped it over his forehead; he exhaled a gentle sound of relief, almost childlike, making her heart twinge. “I’ll call housekeeping in a few and ask them to change the sheets, but this first.” She sat beside him and swept the other cool, wet cloth over his body, starting at the top of his chest. She moved it over his broad pecs, down his torso and up again. “Feel good?”
“Yes,” he said on a sigh. “Amazing, actually.”
“Don’t think you’re up to a shower right now,” she said, “so I thought this would help.”
“It does.” His dark eyes focused on her face. She liked seeing they were clear, not hazy with fever as they’d been last night. “I love when you touch me,” he said. “Keep doing it. Whatever you want.”
She held back a grin. That was the Nick she knew. “I’m only touching you as a nurse right now. I’m not trying to turn you on.”
“Then it’s wrong to tell you I’m getting hard?” He shifted a bit. “Because I am.”
She couldn’t help but laugh. “You’re shameless.”
“When it comes to you? A little.” The sides of his full mouth curved up. “Sorry. What can I say, your hands are on me. That’s all it takes. You turn me on like crazy.”
“You’re definitely feeling better,” she noted, pushing down the delight inside. She ran the damp cloth along his rock-solid arms, across the broad expanse of his chest, down over his carved abs, then back up his chest to the sides of his neck, secretly enjoying herself. He clearly enjoyed it too; his eyes drifted closed under her gentle ministrations. “There you go,” she said when she finished, folding up the cloth.
“How about a little lower?” he asked, shooting her a mischievous look. “You missed a few important spots.”
She snorted. “You’re passing shameless now, going straight for incorrigible.”
“Amanda . . .” He took the washcloth off his forehead and swiped it over his face before reaching for her hand. Looking at her earnestly, almost sheepishly, he said, “Thank you. This was a rotten fucking night, but thank you for being here. I know Charles paid you to be here, but I’m grateful. And I’m glad it was you. I mean—”
“Stop. You’re welcome. I’m glad I was here for you. And I’m relieved that fever broke. You had me worried.” Because I love you, you goddamn pain in the ass. “I’m just glad you’re better.”
He lifted her hand to his mouth and kissed the back of it.
* * *
When Nick’s eyes opened again, a woman with fiery red hair was sitting in the armchair in his bedroom. Her head was down as she stared at her cell phone. He cleared his throat and her head snapped up. “Hey,” she said with a grin, “you’re up. How do you feel?”
“Been worse.” His throat felt dry, and his voice came out gravelly. “Julia, right?”
“Yes. I know—we only met once and very briefly.” She smiled and rose from the chair, heading for his nightstand. “Want a drink?”
“Please.” Nick couldn’t help but look her over; her hourglass figure was insane, even in just a simple black top and olive pants. A beautiful face, with creamy skin, pouty lips, and big hazel eyes that shone with intelligence. Nick knew from his research that Dane’s wife was close to fifty, but hell, she looked maybe thirty-five. Her presence filled the room; the woman emanated waves of sex appeal and self-confidence. Damn, she was stunning. He sent silent kudos to his brother.
But even still, his thoughts went back to another woman, the one whose sexy ways appealed to him the most. Not even this sensuous woman could make him forget the only woman he wanted by his side. “Where’s Amanda?”
“Went home to shower and sleep. I made her promise me she would. She looked exhausted.” Julia poured a cup of Gatorade and gave it to him. “She’ll be back at five. She said you had a rough night. I’m supposed to watch for if the fever returns.”
“Yeah, it was a long night. It sucked.” He yawned and carefully stretched out his limbs. The answering throb in his hip wasn’t as searing as it’d been the day before, but it was still nasty. “Last thing I remember is her going to answer the knock on the door.”
“That was me. When we came in here, you were out cold again.”
He recalled Amanda getting him to the couch around 6 AM while housekeeping changed the sheets on the bed . . . her bringing a dry, clean T-shirt and underwear, helping him back into bed, and him pulling her down with him. He’d wrapped his arm around her and held her close against his good side, feeling more secure with her there. Comforted.
“What time is it?”
“Noon. You hungry?”
His stomach growled as if on cue. “Yeah, actually, I am.”
“That’s a good sign, right?” She went out to the front room, then came back with a shopping bag. “I brought heros. Dane thought a big, strapping guy like you would go for a sub. But I had no idea what you liked, so I brought four kinds. Turkey club, ham and cheese, meatball, and chicken cutlet. Take whatever you like.” She peered at him, those golden eyes studying him. “Can you sit up?”
She helped him maneuver into a sitting position. It wasn’t as bad as it’d been the day before, but his hip still throbbed. His headache was down to barely noticeable. He’d take it. “Do me a favor?”
“Sure, what?”
“Grab me a pair of shorts from the dresser? We’ll eat at the table. I have to get up—I’m getting stiff from all this lying around.”
It was painful, but he slowly made his way out to the front room without leaning on Julia. They ate lunch together and talked. While she told him a little about her standing singing gig at Dane’s upscale Manhattan hotel and how she and Dane had met, Nick inhaled his food, choosing half of the ham and cheese, half of the meatball, and half of the chicken cutlet. Julia had brought a Cobb salad for herself.
He liked her, felt a spark of immediate affinity that he hadn’t with his siblings. He figured it was because she was more like him. He remembered that from his info dig on the family: she was from a middle-class background, similar upbringing, similar lifestyle. Well, a similar lifestyle before she’d married a billionaire hotel mogul, anyway.
Nick was finishing up the chicken cutlet sub when she said, “My father was a cop, you know.”
He swallowed his mouthful first before saying, “No, I didn’t know. Was?” he added tentatively.
“Killed in the line of duty when I was ten,” she said. “Robbery at a bodega.”
Nick winced and said softly, “I’m very sorry to hear it. My deepest condolences.”
“Thanks.” She pushed her salad around with her fork. “It was a long time ago.”
“Must have been rough growing up without him,” he murmured.
“Yup. But I survived. I got my toughness from him.” She gave a proud little grin. “So, if you’re an investigator now, does that mean you’re off the street?”
“Pretty much. Certainly not like I was.”
“Good. Now that I’m going to know you, not having to worry as much will be nice.” She took a bite of her salad. “Your mother must not sleep well, you being a cop.”
“Well, my dad was a cop too. On the job twenty-five years before he retired. So unfortunately, I don’t think she’s ever slept well.”
“I bet.” Julia peered at him. “She did right by you, though.”
“Oh, yeah?” He took his last bite, then wiped his hands on a napkin.
“Yeah. She obviously raised you right. And away from here.” Julia sipped her water. “Can I tell you something? Strictly between us?”
Nick nodded, listening.
“Dane and your other siblings want you to be part of the family.” She folded her manicured hands on the tabletop and leaned in. “They can be a forceful, strong-willed bunch. But they’re not going to push you on anything, because they’re scared it’ll only push you away. They recognize you’re pretty strong-willed yourself. So . . . just know they care, they’d like you to be part of the clan somehow, and they’re trying.”
Nick met her direct gaze. “Why are you telling me this?”
“Because I love my husband and I always want him to be happy. You being in the family, in any way, would make him happy,” she said. “And I could be wrong, but I feel like . . . we get each other. I can be straight with you. You and me, we weren’t raised like them. We had normal lives.” Julia smirked as she added, “Well, for the most part, anyway.”
Nick smiled back.
“In spite of all the money, power, privilege, and their insane parents, those four are really good people with good hearts. They seek out goodness in others. They know what’s really important in life: family, friends, honor, compassion. They’re generous, loyal, and trustworthy. They have integrity, Nick.” She leaned in and touched his forearm, her gaze level. “I have a feeling you’re the same as them in all those aspects. So give them a chance. Get to know them. You’ll not only like them, but you might even be glad to be part of this family one day.”
It Might Be You Page 27
