by Lori Foster
Sometime later, more sluggish than ever, she woke to whispering and realized Armie was back. While trying to orient herself, she heard a low, angry conversation on relatives.
If anything, she felt worse now, bad enough that she didn’t even care what they talked about. Pulling the covers over her head, she groaned, “Thanks Armie. Now go away please.”
He didn’t leave, of course. In fact, she sensed when both men came to loom over her. The testosterone ramped up enough to strangle her.
Armie crouched down by her shrouded head. “How you feelin’, doll?”
She curled a little tighter to ensure he wouldn’t unwrap her. “Bad enough I don’t want anyone to see me.”
A big, warm hand settled on her shoulder—Armie.
She was still adjusting to the impact of that when another hand settled on her hip—Denver.
Good Lord.
Her heart almost stopped. Were they trying to kill her with their combined machismo?
One large, hunky guy focused on her was enough. The two combined left her shivering with awareness. Though she wanted only Denver, they were both studs and she wasn’t used to anything even close to this. Beneath the concealing covers, she squeezed her eyes shut—and since she had no idea what to do, she played possum.
Until both men’s hands sympathetically squeezed, rubbed...
Surprise wrought a groan that ended in a rasping cough.
“Move,” she heard Denver say, and a second later he’d pulled the covers to her waist, leaving her hideous hair and smudged makeup exposed. At least they’d kept the lights low, giving her shadows to hide in.
Denver helped her to sit up while giving her a drink of cold juice.
She needed the drink—but he’d pulled the sheet so low that snatching it back up seemed her first priority. Once she’d preserved her modesty, she accepted the drink.
So very aware of Armie standing there, taking it all in, seeing her in such a mess, she wanted to wither. But the juice eased the pain of her throat so she ignored her awful embarrassment and drank it all.
When she’d finished, Denver smoothed down her hair. “Let’s get you started on some meds.”
She seriously hated being babied so much. Never, ever, had she been the center of so much attention. “I can do it. You should go home with Armie.”
Grinning at her, Armie said, “Damn, Cherry, way to insult a guy.”
Tone level but uncompromising, Denver said, “I’m not going anywhere.” He opened two different pill bottles and some cough medicine.
“You don’t need to be stuck here.”
This time Armie shook his head and, deliberately provoking, said to Denver, “Women.”
“We already settled this,” Denver said as he handed the pills to Cherry. “Can you swallow them?”
“Yes.” But man, it hurt getting them down. Soon as she finished, he held up the tiny medicine cup of cough liquid.
That went down easier and didn’t even taste too awful. Pulling the covers tight around herself again, her vision a little muzzy, she asked, “What time is it?”
“It’ll be dawn soon,” Denver told her.
“I was gone an hour,” Armie told her. “Sorry about that. The store wasn’t quite as close as I’d figured.”
“Thanks.” She started to recline again.
Denver caught her shoulders. “I want to take your temperature.”
“Can she hold the thermometer in her mouth?” Armie asked.
Denver grinned, but Cherry choked on a gasp then coughed hard enough that she dropped the sheet and covered her mouth.
And still she tried to curse Armie, assuring him that there was no way—
“He’s teasing, girl. Calm down.”
“Not funny,” she managed to croak around broken breaths and a lot of glassy-eyed glaring.
Concern brought Armie’s brows together. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to cause all that.”
She wiped her watering eyes and concentrated on carefully catching her breath.
Coming closer, Armie stepped around Denver and felt her head again. “You sure she doesn’t have pneumonia?”
This was all too weird. No one would ever mistake Denver Lewis or Armie Jacobson for nurses. Big, muscular, macho guys should never tend the sick, especially not in freaking pairs.
Having them both try to pamper her at the same time was like an overdose of fantasy—only she’d never even dared fantasize anything that unreal.
How was she supposed to deal with it?
When Armie’s warm palm remained on her forehead, Cherry leaned out of his reach. He looked surprised until he took in her expression, then he grinned and winked at her, all in all being far too familiar when she looked and felt as she did and clearly wasn’t up to bantering with him.
Shaking the thermometer, Denver said, “Can’t know for sure but I doubt it. You know something’s been making the rounds.” He turned, waited for Cherry to open, and slipped the thermometer under her tongue. “If her fever gets too high, I’ll run her to the hospital to be safe.”
How dare they make plans without her input? Around the thermometer she said, “No hospital.”
“Not yet anyway,” Denver agreed, tapping the bottom of her chin as a reminder to keep her lips closed.
“Somehow,” Armie remarked, “it doesn’t seem as bad when it’s a dude who’s sick.”
“I know.”
“Sexist,” she muttered, then slumped against the headboard.
While waiting the requisite time to get a temperature reading, they both watched her far too closely, making her almost squirm. She wore only a T-shirt and panties, in a bed, in a hotel room—and she had two megahunks focused on her.
The upside to this whole awful scenario would be telling her girlfriends, Yvette, Rissy, Harper and Vanity about it. She just knew they’d love the details and would embellish some for laughs.
They might even envy her...since they didn’t actually have to suffer it.
Finally Denver deemed it time to take the thermometer from her mouth, and she collapsed back in the bed, pulling the sheet to her chin. He held it under the bedside lamp to read it, then with a frown told Armie, “A little over 101.”
Well. No wonder she felt like crap.
“Damn.” Armie checked the time. “I’d give it an hour and check again. If the meds haven’t brought it down by then—”
“Yeah.” Denver glanced at her, but said in an aside to Armie, “I’ll take care of it.”
Pigheaded men. She could damn well decide if she needed the hospital. Right now, though, all she wanted to do was hide, so she pulled the blankets over her head.
She heard Denver say low, “She’s going to suffocate herself. You better go.”
“You don’t need anything else?”
“Got it covered.”
“All right, then.” Voices dropped more, moved farther away, and Armie said quietly, “You’ll let me know if anything else happens?”
“Yeah. But I’ll keep a close eye out, so don’t sweat it.”
A close eye out for what? Cherry lowered the sheet enough to see both men standing by the open door.
Armie half stepped out. “Think you’ll be back at the rec center tomorrow?”
“Depends on how she feels in the morning.” When Denver glanced back at her, she quickly closed her eyes, and he said to Armie, “I’ll call in and let you know.”
“I hate for her to go through that long drive home if she’s not up to it.”
If she’d had the strength, Cherry would have set Armie straight. She wasn’t a frail little girl—but at the moment, she sure felt like one.
“I know,” Denver agreed. “If it is the current bug, she should feel a little better tomorrow. Not as feverish anyway.”
“But still wiped out.” Armie hesitated before saying, “You had, what? A kids’ class and then your turn at the self-defense for women?”
“Intermediates at five-thirty, then the women at seven-thirty.”
Oh wow, Cherry thought. He wasn’t getting any sleep, and then he’d have all that way to drive, his own workout to do, then two classes... Guilt made her feel even lower. All the guys pitched in at the rec center. It was sort of a tradeoff for getting to use the place, being able to mix and mingle with the better established fighters that visited Cannon on occasion, but also because they were close friends with Cannon and enjoyed pitching in.
Armie said, “Why don’t I just cover for you?”
“You’re coming off a tourney,” Denver reminded him.
“So?”
“You sure you’re up for it?”
“Now you’re just trying to piss me off.”
Denver laughed. “All right, sure. Thanks.”
More was said, but Cherry couldn’t hear it all, and then the door lock clicked and she knew Denver was returning to her. Curious as to what he’d do, she opened her eyes and watched him.
“Medicine kicking in yet?”
She took stock of her body, realized she wasn’t trembling as badly, and nodded. “I think so.”
He smiled down at her. “You look drowsy.”
She knew how she looked and she didn’t want to talk about it. “Will you come back to bed?”
“Yeah. We both need some sleep.”
Without a single care, he stripped off his clothes, even taking off his boxers.
Watching him, her eyes went wide, then wider still when he turned to fold everything on a chair. Figured he’d sleep naked, which added to her torment since she wasn’t up to taking advantage of that hot bod. His muscled butt was a thing of beauty. And his wide, strong back and shoulders made her sigh.
Apparently he heard her wistful sigh because he glanced back at her. “No coughing. That’s good.”
She just might be too stunned by his nudity to cough.
Turning to face her, Denver said, “You don’t mind?”
Seeing him in the raw? Heck no. She shook her head while letting her gaze track all over him.
“Give me five minutes and I’ll join you.” He picked up his overnight bag and disappeared into the bathroom. She heard running water and the sounds of him brushing his teeth.
That made her feel extra funky, and as soon as he finished she dragged herself out of the bed. Even knowing she walked like an ancient zombie, she couldn’t move any faster.
Denver took her arm and helped her to the small john. He tipped up her chin. “If you need me, let me know.”
“Thanks.” She closed the door on him. It took the last of her reserves but she washed off her destroyed makeup, brushed her teeth, used the john, and knew she had no energy left for dealing with the impossible mess of her hair.
Denver was right there when she opened the door and he scooped her up and carried her to the bed. Once he had her tucked in, he turned out the lights and scooted in behind her, drawing her close. He slid one arm under her head, the other around her, under her T-shirt and over one breast. “Okay?”
His massive fists had knockout power, but right now his open palm and long fingers were so gentle it left her awed. “Yes.”
He kissed her shoulder. “Sleep. I’ll wake you when you need to take more meds.”
Relishing his nearness, she closed her eyes and faded away.
CHAPTER FIVE
DENVER HELD HER as she slept restlessly until bright sunshine shone through the curtains. An hour or so ago, he’d gotten up to cool her down again, to give her meds and get her to drink. He knew she needed time, rest and meds more than anything, and somehow he’d see that she got it.
He hadn’t slept much, but then, she was so sick, and he felt so damn guilty, it was a wonder he could relax at all. Thanks to his colossal ego, and yeah, pent-up lust for her, he’d pushed her hard, making her come again and again. That hadn’t helped her.
It definitely hadn’t helped him any, because now that he knew the feel of her, the sounds she made in her pleasure, how she clenched all around him, he couldn’t stop thinking about doing it all again.
He rubbed a hand over his face, then got himself together.
She was with him, thank God, not alone. When he considered his own stubbornness, how he’d almost let her go back to her room alone, it made him want to kick his own ass. Right now she needed someone.
He wanted that someone to be him.
Luckily he had time to spare, and though he hated to see her feeling so poorly and would have spared her if he could, he’d enjoy caring for her.
First thing was cancelling their checkout.
He slipped from the bed without disturbing her, then just stood there looking down at her.
During the night when her fever had broken, she’d turned to her back, one hand up above her head, the other resting over her middle.
The sheet and blanket were now down to her knees.
Torture.
She had the sweetest, curviest little body he’d ever seen.
And those panties... They were mostly a strip of lace over the front, a thong in the back, and they made him hazy with churning lust.
Making himself turn away, Denver picked up his clothes and slipped into the bathroom to dress and shave. Shaving was a concession for her delicate skin. He rarely bothered anymore, except when meeting with clients through his work as an accountant. But since making the SBC, he’d cut way back on that—and on shaving. Now he only had a few longtime clients he continued to work with.
After brushing his teeth, he finger-combed his long hair and stepped out again.
Cherry hadn’t stirred. Her badly mussed blond curls spilled out over the pillow. Sunlight cut across her face and even sick and without makeup, she looked beautiful, her skin creamy, her lips full and soft.
If he didn’t have a fight rolling up, he wouldn’t mind spending an entire week at the hotel with her.
Just the two of them.
Most of their time spent in bed. Or the shower. Hell, he’d enjoy bending her over the desk so he could appreciate that spectacular ass even more.
But he would never shirk his training, so a week was out.
They’d have most of today, but she wouldn’t be up for any of the things he burned to do to her.
Looking away from temptation, he put his wallet in his pocket and picked up the room key card, then slipped out without making a sound.
At the front desk, he checked out of his own room and extended her stay, explaining that she was sick. There was a good chance that once awake, she’d feel up to the ride home later. But he didn’t want her rushed.
With that done, he visited the hotel restaurant and grabbed an assortment of food for himself, drinks for her. Carrying his haul, he headed for the elevator...until he felt eyes on him. Pausing with a frown, he glanced over his shoulder.
From across the lobby two men tracked his every move. Being unshaven, rough and in sloppy clothes didn’t conceal their bulky shoulders and probable strength.
Or their aura of danger.
Suspicion sharpened, while priorities left Denver divided.
He needed to get back to Cherry. But what if these two were part of the trio Armie had mentioned? They could be a threat to her.
Decision made, Denver turned and, never once breaking eye contact with the biggest guy, headed toward them.
Clearly that surprised them because the big guy lost the challenge in his gaze, straightening with new awareness. The smaller man—which didn’t make him small by any stretch—said something to the other and... Damn it.
Denver watched them go through the rotating doors and disappear. His jaw ticked. Should he go after them? In his experience, men only ran if they had a reason.
So hell yes, he needed to go after them.
He saw a couple of female fight fans eyeing him and, ready to take advantage, gave them a smile. “Could I ask a favor?”
A slim brunette returned his smile. “Sure.”
“Watch my food for a minute?”
“Oh...um...”
In a rush, he set everything
on the top of her rolling suitcase. “Swear I’ll only be a couple of minutes.” He hoped.
A more petite blonde next to her bobbed her head. “Okay. Sure.”
“Thanks.” Jogging, he went out the same doors, looked left, turned right—and saw the two men duck around the side of the building.
He stalked forward and rounded the corner cautiously. Three hulking men now stood together, all openly belligerent. Idiots. Did they think being together somehow gave them an advantage?
And why would they need an advantage anyway? What were they up to?
If they were in any way related to Cherry, it didn’t show. Though two of them wore hats, Denver could see they were dark-haired, muscular but with signs of dissipation, eyes reddened from drugs or alcohol, maybe both.
The third guy had a close-cropped Mohawk with the side of his head tattooed.
Taking his time, Denver looked over each of them, then raised a brow. “You ran from me.”
One man spit tobacco that came entirely too damn close to Denver’s foot. He waited without moving.
“Wasn’t running.”
“Looked like it to me.” They had their backs to a long, narrow alleyway that opened to a cross street behind the hotel. If he had to chase them, he’d catch at least one, probably two, no problem. “Why were you staring at me?”
“Check your ego, man. I wasn’t.”
Smiling, Denver took another step forward, ready to provoke if that’d get him some straight answers. “That’s a lie.”
The big guy—who, as Armie had said, was taller than Denver’s six-two—bunched up.
The one who had spit now laughed. “Chill, okay? We were jus’ tryin’ to figure out if you’re with Cherry Peyton. We heard she’s hangin’ with a fighter, and last night a different fighter caused a scene—”
“Which one of you got it in the balls?”
None of them were amused. Denver knew one of them had pulled a knife. He almost wished the chickenshits would try that now.
Pulling off a trucker’s cap, running a hand through his hair and then sticking the hat on his head again, the spitter glanced at the quietest of the three.
Taking that as his cue, the Mohawk wearer stepped forward. “That was Gene.” He gestured at the spitter.
