Crossing the room, Dee looked down to where Ryder groggily looked up at her.
“Dee?” he queried.
“Yep. Feel up to a bit of soup?”
“Yeah. I guess.” He blinked, reached for a tissue.
“I’ll be right back.”
Returning with a mug of soup, she sat beside his knees on the bed as he struggled to an upright position, leaning his back against the headboard.
Hmmm, if any of his female flings could see him now. Red nose, bleary eyes, nasally, chin all stubbly…and still too damned roguishly handsome for someone who should look as crappy as they sounded.
“Thanks.” Taking the mug from her, he took a sip. “It’s nice.”
“Mum’s recipe. Vermicelli soup, nice and fine so you can drink it easily.”
He took a few more mouthfuls, glanced around. “Why am I in the spare room?”
“You don’t remember?”
“Not really.”
“Ah. Well, you were hot and sweaty so you had a shower but I didn’t have time to change your bed linen, so I dumped you in here.”
“Oh. Okay.” He grinned a little. “One bed’s as good as another.”
“You should know. You’ve tested enough of them.”
He coughed, the mug tilting dangerously in his grip. Hastily, Dee placed her hand over his, the fingertips of her other hand coming under the mug to steady it.
“Ta.” He took another sip. “You always could make a beaut soup.” He looked at the bedside drawers. “Where’s my water bottle?”
“Drinking from one of those when you’re sick is a sure way to keep recycling germs.” Leaning forward, she tapped the clean glass filled with water. “Clean glass every time this is emptied.”
For several seconds he looked at the glass before returning his gaze to her. “Okay.”
Man, he must be sick not to argue. Agreeable Ryder wasn’t the norm.
“So, who’s the pregnant cat?”
He rolled his head to the side to look at the cat blinking sweetly up at him. “That’s Jezebel.”
Good grief. Dee started laughing.
Puzzled, he switched his attention back to her. “What?”
“Jezebel.”
He looked blank.
“Seriously, Ryder? You don’t get it?”
He shook his head.
“You’re the Casanova of Gully’s Fall and your pregnant cat is called Jezebel. Tell me you don’t see the similarities.”
It took him several seconds of thought for it to sink into his flu-muddled mind. “Oh.” He grinned a little. “Okay.”
“Man, you really are sick. Drink your soup and go back to sleep. However, before you do, I’ll be right back.” A quick trip to the kitchen to retrieve the bottle of cough syrup and measuring cup, and she returned to his bedside.
Measuring out the required amount, she set it on top of the bedside drawers.
Ryder looked at it.
She watched him.
He looked up at her.
“You’re taking it,” she told him.
For a second she thought he was going to argue, but then he sighed, drained the last of the soup from the mug, handed it back to her, tossed the contents of the measuring cup down his throat, dropped the cup into the mug and flopped back down in the bed, gazing up at her with a resigned expression.
“Okay,” she said, “you just shocked the shit out of me.”
“I know when I’m beat. I’m too sick to fight you.”
Dee smiled. “Yes. Yes, you are.”
“But I will get better.”
“Yep, that’s what the medicine will help you do.”
Rolling onto his side, he tucked his arm under his head in a pose that should have looked sweet but instead was wholly masculine. It made his biceps bulge impressively. His eyes started to flutter shut.
Aw, poor bugger. He looked a little helpless. Refraining from her first instinct to push the rebellious lock of dark hair back from his brow, she picked up the mug and started from the room.
“Babe.”
Pausing in the doorway, she glanced back at him. “Yeah, Ryder?”
His eyes remained shut. “I won’t be sick forever.”
“No.”
“I won’t forget you caught me at a weak moment.”
For a horrible instance she thought he meant having him naked in the shower. Uh oh. Maybe he remembered it after all.
“Dee?”
“Yeah?” She almost croaked it.
“Revenge is sweet.”
Oh, thank God. Her shoulders sagged. “Right.”
“I mean it.”
Relieved that he didn’t remember the shower scene, she straightened her shoulders. “Promises, promises. I’m so scared.”
“You ought to be, babe.”
Before returning to the kitchen, she glanced back at him. His eyes were shut, his chest moving as he breathed deeply, a slight cough making him shake a little, but there was a definite small quirk of his lips.
Smiling, she walked away.
~*~
So the slut looked like she was staying the night, playing the concerned friend, the caring nurse. Using people to get what she wanted.
The engine started, the ute pulling onto the road and driving away as the blinds were drawn down behind the house windows to hide the lights that came on in the kitchen and lounge.
~*~
Staggering to the bathroom, Ryder looked into the mirror. Man, he looked like shit. Puffy eyes, red nose. Not a good look. But at least his nose wasn’t running as much, no doubt due to the night time cold and flu tablets Dee had made him take.
Grabbing his toothbrush, he scrubbed his teeth, washing the sour taste from his mouth before splashing water on his face. Straightening, he dried his face and dropped the towel onto the basin.
Didn’t look any better, didn’t really feel any better.
Staggering into the kitchen, he took a fresh glass from the cupboard and poured icy water into it, downing it in several gulps before rinsing the glass and leaving it upside down on the draining board.
Heading back to the spare room, he glanced into the lounge, doing a double-take when he saw the mound on the sofa.
Jesus, surely that wasn’t Dee sleeping on the sofa?
Turning into the lounge, he crossed to the sofa to see her lying on it, her head pillowed on a cushion. She was fast asleep, the small lamp on the table still burning, casting shadows in the room. A book she’d been reading had slid to the floor. Her shoes lay discarded under the coffee table, but she remained fully dressed.
He’d thought she’d left long ago, he’d never expected her to stay.
Shit, she’d stayed to look after him. It hadn’t been a simple come in, make some soup, change his bed linen and then go home. She’d actually stayed to look after him.
His heart did a strange little flip. Even as flu-grogged as he was, he couldn’t help but feel warmth slide through him at her caring. Dee Miller might be all caustic tongue and attitude, but she was also known for her kindness. He’d seen it first hand - the way she made soup for the sick, checked on the elderly in their homes with a phone call when she knew their families were away, and made sure old Vince got a daily newspaper even though he never paid for it because he often forgot and she didn’t have the heart to either give him the bill or remind him repeatedly that he owed her money for the paper.
His gaze slid over her face, the small, stubborn chin, the little straight nose, the thick lashes lying so still against her pale cheeks, and soft, plump lips.
Remembering their last argument, he couldn’t help but wonder suddenly who had kissed her, who had pressed their mouth to hers, what man had tasted her.
Unbidden, his gaze slid over her figure, the generous swell of her breasts, the indent of her waist, the equally generous curve of her hips. Dee had the figure of an overblown hourglass, all curves and sweet dips.
What man had sampled those curves? Who had laid their hands on her and trac
ed those curves, explored the dips? How far had the unknown man gone?
Or men.
That thought didn’t sit well, Ryder’s gaze flying up to her face searchingly. Even as he brushed the back of one hand against the tip of his nose, a small frown creased his brow, a little flare of anger flickering inside him.
Goddamn it, what had she done with another man? How far had she gone? Lying on his sofa she looked soft, almost innocent. Had she lain on another man’s sofa while he explored her? While she explored him?
Ryder looked to where one of her hands rested on the gentle swell of her belly. Her palms had several calluses, she wasn’t a woman who shirked hard work. Small hands, capable, a little work-roughened. Had they slid over a man’s back as he rose above her, had they dug into his skin in pleasure as he-
Abruptly, Ryder swung around. Jesus, what was wrong with him? The flu was messing with his head, he must be running a fever again. Thoughts of Dee with another man made him protective, sure, but what he was feeling - anger, a sudden intense urge to find the man - was wholly unexpected.
As unexpected as the anger that flared at the thought of another man touching Dee, exploring her lush body, tasting her…
He strode from the room impatiently, only to stop beside his bed and look at Jezebel where she was snuggled under the sheet.
Thrusting one hand through his hair, Ryder took a deep breath before going into the hallway and retrieving a light blanket from the cupboard. Returning to the lounge, he draped it carefully over Dee before gently touching her forehead with his fingertips.
At her murmurer, he straightened and left quietly, glancing back over his shoulder to see her settle back down, pulling the blanket over her shoulders.
Woman had a good plan. Go to sleep, which was what he intended to do. Go back to sleep and let the flu work its way through him and finally go, leaving him back in his right mind. His muddled thoughts would be back in order and the world would once more make sense.
Sliding in beside Jezebel, he looked at her.
She peeked coyly up at him from the tops of her eyes.
With a smile, he ruffled her ears before closing his eyes.
Good plans aside, the dreams that filled his night was a fever-induced mix of himself pushing through a fog, calling for a woman whom he should have known but couldn’t seem to remember, the urgency filling him, making him search more desperately, calling out.
Calling out and struggling, flinging out his hand, searching so very desperately-
“Easy, baby,” a soothing voice slid through him, bringing him back to fevered awareness.
Opening his eyes, he saw Dee leaning over him, her gaze so calm, so reassuring.
“Can’t find her,” he muttered. “I called but…”
“I’m here.” She placed something cool on his forehead, wiped it gently across his face, neck and shoulders.
So cool, so good. Through half closed eyes he watched as she dipped the face washer in a bowl of water, wrung it out and repeated the movements on his hot skin.
Slowly he settled, relaxed under her administrations, her motions lulling him in a cradle of contentment.
He was almost asleep when he felt her arm go under his shoulders, heard her urge him up. He obeyed, obediently opening his mouth and taking the medicine, swallowing the tablets with the cold water.
When she started to lower him back to the bed he grabbed her arm, fearful she’d disappear and he wouldn’t be able to find her again. “Don’t go.”
“I won’t.” She settled beside him, her back against the headboard, her legs up on the bed and stretched out, crossing her ankles.
So good. So very good.
He settled beside her, his head resting against the side of her breast, her arm around the back of his neck as she smoothed her fingers along his temple and through his hair in a light, hypnotic movement.
Her scent filled him, her cool fingers lulled him, her steady breathing soothed him, and Ryder closed his eyes and slid back into sleep, this time dreamless.
Chapter 5
Listening to the shower running, Dee looked at Jezebel. “Looks like I’ll be going very shortly.”
Jezebel blinked coyly at her.
“Yeah, that look doesn’t work on me like it does Ryder. He’ll be looking after you from now on.”
Sliding around Dee’s ankles, Jezebel purred.
“You won’t be the only one purring at that news. There are a few women waiting for him to stick his nose outside that door.”
They also knew he was a lot better, that was evidence by the messages she’d taken for him. There was an impressive little stack of messages by the phone, not to mention the basket of homemade biscuits from Rachel, a box of cupcakes that looked to be made by the bakery but were delivered by Yvonne, a casserole in the ‘fridge sent by Beth, and assorted dishes and cakes and anything else to tempt a handsome paramedic’s belly from other women in Gully’s Fall - some friends, others wishing they were more, and some who had definitely been more than friends.
That was in addition to the various goodies sent by Del, Molly and Ash. Simon had delivered a stack of motorbike magazines and stayed to chat with Ryder several times. Scott and Kirk had rung numerous times to talk to him when he was able, and to check on his well-being with Dee. Moira had called in but apart from saying hello to Ryder while standing at the bedroom door with a handkerchief over her nose, she hadn’t ventured any further into the germ-ridden room. No way did she want to catch any wog. However, she quite happily made trips to the chemist and bought whatever Dee needed for him. It was just sickness she didn’t handle well.
Sheets flapped on the line along with freshly washed boxers, the sheets she’d used in the other spare room after Ryder growled at her for sleeping on the sofa, both their towels and some tea towels. Her own dirty clothes were in a bag ready for her to take home and wash.
Thankfully, Del had brought around a bag of Dee’s clothes and her toilet bag after the first night she’d spent at Ryder’s. Pete had quite happily worked in the newsagent for the four days that she was away and would cover the rest of the day as well.
Washing the dishes, she looked out the kitchen window. The garden was neatly tended but she was certain that had more to do with Ryder’s Mum. The man just wasn’t that domesticated. He’d water the lawn and run a lawnmower over it, but weeding wasn’t something he regarded as a necessity of life. Nor were the upkeep of flowerbeds, but his garden-nut mother wouldn’t mind keeping the garden ship-shape.
“Hey.” Ryder walked into the room.
Picking up the tea towel, Dee looked at him. Not a sign of the illness lingered, not even paleness. Dressed in an old t-shirt that hugged his broad shoulders and a pair of boardies, his feet bare, he looked the picture of health. “Looking heaps better.” As in drop-dead gorgeous. As usual.
“I always look good.” He flashed her a grin as he opened the ‘fridge and inspected the contents. “Ooohhh, did you make casserole?”
“That’s Beth’s. She brought it over for you.” Dee pointed at the baskets and box on the kitchen bench. “Those are other offerings from your girlfriends.”
“I don’t have a girlfriend.” He poured a generous amount of iced coffee into a tall glass. “You want one, babe?”
“Thanks, but I don’t swing that way.”
He cast her a wry look. “I mean drink.”
“No thanks.” She gestured to the tin of Diet Coke she’d left on the table.
Crossing to stand beside her, he looked out the window. “Something interesting out there?”
“Not really.”
He stood beside her, sipping from the glass. Close beside her. So close, in fact, that her shoulder almost brushed his arm.
Man, he smelled good. Her heart rate kicked up a notch. Wiping the plate, Dee inhaled. Clean, fresh, masculine, all Ryder. She remembered that soap, and not only from when he’d showered, which he’d done alone since the first time as he’d been stronger than when she’d had to
help.
Sliding her gaze sideways, she watched the bulge of his biceps as he raised the glass, drank, and lowered it again. Those muscles had bulged when he’d leaned against the shower wall, the shift and bunch of the heavy swells as he’d moved. The tight clench of his backside, the heaviness of his thighs, the - forget it!
Not going to happen, not now she’d seen him in all his naked glory. Not that he’d ever know, he’d been so far gone in fever he’d never remember it. She was safe. But still, oh man, this was doing her head in. Standing beside her, his warmth seeping into her. He’d been sick, needing her help, and she’d been just fine with giving it, liking being with him, talking to him, reassuring him, nursing him through the fever, making him take the medicine.
Now here he was standing beside her, strong, healthy, not needing her.
That thought bit deep, made her flinch.
“You okay, babe?”
Glancing up, she saw him watching her questioningly. Sure.” She flipped the tea towel onto the bench. “You’re all better now, Aunt Rose’s poor little Ryder.”
“I’m surprised she didn’t come and look after me.”
“She was sick.”
“Maybe she should have had you look after her as well.”
“She had your Uncle.”
“Like I said, maybe she should have had you as well.”
“Come on, Mr Waverton isn’t that bad.”
Ryder’s teeth flashed. “He isn’t that good, either.”
“There’s no funeral notice in the paper, so she obviously made it through with his ministrations.”
“Did you check the notices carefully?”
“So how much will you pay me not to repeat that to your Uncle?”
“He has no illusions. He knows he does a shit job.”
“So maybe I’ll just tell your Aunt.”
“She’d agree with you.”
Laughing, Dee flicked him across the backside with the tea towel as she shifted away, moving to the table to pick up the tin of Diet Coke and take a mouthful.
Noticing how quiet he was, she looked around to see him studying her. Quietly. Intently.
Wondering if she had something on her, she glanced down at her t-shirt, but no, it was clean. Looking back at him, she raised one eyebrow. “Something wrong?”
Lie to Me Page 12
