Enticing Iris

by Cherrie Lynn

  “Sure.” He released her and pulled his arm under the covers again. Her heart settled into its normal rhythm, one that maybe wasn’t as likely to kill her.

  Nineteen

  At around two o’clock that morning, her incubation period came to an abrupt and violent end. Eli found her when they pulled up to a hotel the next morning, huddled in the corner of the bathroom, shivering.

  “Jesus Christ,” he cursed as she buried her face in her arms, which were crossed over her knees. “Iris, you should have woke me up.”

  “I’m surprised I didn’t.”

  “That show did me in and I slept like the fuckin’ dead, but I feel better today.”

  Good for him. Her stomach roiled. Even the slightest movement made her cringe, and she’d felt every single bump in the road. “I’m glad,” she managed weakly. Get out of here before I projectile vomit on you.

  “Hey, we’re here. Do you think you can get up and dressed? We’ll get you to a room and you can spend all day in bed.”

  “Just . . . give me time.”

  “Tell me what you need.”

  Get out get out get out— “Leave!” she cried, hurling herself to the toilet again. At some point she was certain he took her advice, because when she was finally able to look up, he was gone. But a moment later he was back carrying a pile of her clothes and shoes.

  “Come on,” he said gently, gathering her up to her feet. Iris was too miserable to even enjoy his touch or worry about how she looked, letting herself hang loosely and depending on his strength while he pulled a shirt over her head and helped her step into a pair of jeans, covering the cami and sleep shorts she had worn to bed. “You’re burning up,” he said once he was done, sliding a hand across her forehead. She leaned into him, unable to stop herself, his skin much cooler now than hers felt. He led her shuffling to the front, where he sat her down and slid her shoes onto her feet, then went to get the boys up and ready as she leaned over and put her head between her knees.

  Dylan, who seemed much better now himself, fawned over her. Seger helped carry her things, and Elijah helped carry her. Hot, brutal sunlight hit Iris square in the face when she stepped off the bus with his strong arm around her, supporting her. She turned her face into his shoulder and distantly heard Talia squeal in terror at the spectacle they surely made. Elijah chuckled.

  “Don’t let anyone see me,” Iris pleaded.

  “Too late for that, honey. We have an audience.” She would have groaned, but decided to expend the effort trying to put one foot in front of the other, leaning heavily on Eli. “Need a fucking wheelchair for your ass,” he commented.

  “Shut up.”

  “Are you always like this when you’re sick?”

  His mimicking her tone right now was too much. “Shut. Up.”

  She managed to stand on her own when he got her into the elevator, but all the lurching around . . .

  When Eli unlocked the suite, she flew past him, barely making it to the bathroom. Afterward, weak and exhausted, she stripped down to her jammies again, left her clothes piled on the floor, and crawled into bed.

  She might have dozed for a while; she wasn’t sure for how long. She only came to herself again when sudden darkness crossed her face, and she opened her eyes to Eli pulling the drapes closed, shutting out the sun. For no reason she could discern, her eyes filled with tears. She hated their presence, though she was somewhat grateful she had any fluids to spare.

  He turned to look at her and, afraid he would see her silently leaking eyes, she quickly rolled away. But it was too late. “Are you crying?”

  “No.”

  “You are.”

  “I hate being sick.”

  “All that tough talk.” She heard him set something on the night stand at her back. “No one exactly likes it, you know. Sorry, but there’s not much you can do except ride this one out. Here’s some water.”

  “I have so much to do.”

  “You don’t have to do anything, love. I’ve got the boys. We’re good now. Stay here and rest.”

  She barely heard a word he said after love. Had that been real, or was she delirious? She must be. Elijah Vance would never call her love. He probably wasn’t really saying any of this. She was still asleep and dreaming.

  Suddenly, humiliatingly, her stomach lurched and she almost tripped over her shoe in her haste to make it to the bathroom.

  “Are you dying?” he called after her. “Don’t die on me, Iris. It’ll be tough to explain that.”

  “Shut up,” she moaned between retching, praying to God he would stay in the bedroom. She’d endured enough mortification for one day. “Go away.”

  “You didn’t leave me alone, so I’m not leaving you.”

  Great. She flushed the toilet and fell back on the cold tiles of the bathroom floor, eyes closed, deep breathing. “Just bring me a pillow and the duvet. I can’t get up.”

  “Fuck that,” she heard him mutter, his dark-clad figure appearing in the doorway. She rolled away with a little shriek. “Why do you keep doing that?” Then, to her absolute and utter horror, strong hands slid under her body and the floor dropped out from under her as he lifted, cradling her easily against his chest. Weakly, she tried to push away, but to no avail. He carried her back to the bed and set her down gently, pulling the covers up around her. “You won’t get any rest on the floor,” he scolded. “Stay here in bed. I’ll be in the next room if you need anything.”

  He stood there looking down at her for a long time. She knew, because she felt the weight of his perusal even if she refused to look back at him, even if she kept an arm thrown across her eyes because she hated him seeing her like this, flat on her back and nearly too weak to move.

  “Why?” she asked, flinging the words at him, anger at her own helplessness eating at her. “This is your chance. You wanted to get rid of me, you hate me, so take the kids and run. Go. Maybe I can catch up and maybe I can’t, but say the word and I’m sure your people wouldn’t let me anywhere near you.”

  “That’s been true this entire time. My people aren’t on Heidi’s payroll, and they don’t give a fuck who she wants around. If I said the word at any time, you’d be history.”

  Oh.

  “Iris.” That voice, that deep, musical voice saying her name only brought fresh tears to her eyes, hidden from him by her own forearm. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”

  “Well, why not?”

  “I don’t hate you. That isn’t even possible. Even if I did? I wouldn’t leave you here alone to fight this off by yourself. I know how this shit felt and it was awful. You took care of the boys and tried to take care of me and I appreciate it. Returning the favor is the least I can do.”

  Feeling like he was in her debt wasn’t exactly the same as giving a crap about her health, but she supposed she should be grateful for that much. It was progress. The man who’d first confronted her in Heidi’s study wouldn’t have spit on her if she were on fire. “Look,” he went on, “you’re tired and you’re sick. Rest, for fuck’s sake. Don’t worry about anything. If you’re on my same timeline, you’ll probably feel better by the time we pull out tomorrow, but even if you don’t, I’ll roll your ass out of here on a gurney if I have to.”

  Maybe it was the mental image, maybe it was the sudden burst of the knot of tension that had burned in her chest ever since she’d been on this tour, but whatever the reason was, she laughed. A real laugh. It felt good, even through her misery. Surprising that she found enough energy to do it. When she finally let herself look up at Elijah, she saw he was grinning too, dimples out in full force.

  Oh, he shouldn’t do that. Those things were lethal. But it didn’t matter, anyway, did it? She probably looked like something a cat had coughed up, so certainly it wasn’t as if he was trying to work any sort of charm on her.

  Even if he did it without the least amount of effort.

  “Thank you,” she whispered, her voice small as she wiped at her eyes with the sheet.

  “S
ure thing. Do you need anything? Phone, tablet?”

  “Yes, please. Should be in my bag.”

  He brought her the entire purse, which she had dropped during her dash to the bathroom upon first getting here, and left it on the mattress beside her. “Yell if you need me. Or just text if you want. I’ll never be far.”

  “Okay.” She watched him walk out and close the door gently behind him, the ache in the pit of her stomach having little to do with her nausea.

  Somehow, she fell into a fitful sleep.

  WHEN HEIDI HAD BEEN pregnant with Seger, she’d had horrible morning sickness. Then it turned into all-day sickness and lasted for months, well beyond the end of her first trimester when her doctor had predicted it would ease up. She’d almost been hospitalized for it, but Eli managed to keep her hydrated enough despite her protests every time he practically poured liquid down her throat. Iris wasn’t aware of how pushy he could be when he gave a shit.

  Despite himself, he gave a shit now. If she thought he was going to let her lie in there and waste away after the way she’d stepped up for his kids and him, she was nuts.

  And damn, was she beautiful.

  Something about the shadows under her eyes and the paleness of her cheeks beneath the flush of her fever had only heightened her fragile beauty. The wild tumble of her hair only made her seem more insubstantial. He couldn’t lie to himself; he’d wanted to crawl into that fucking bed with her, take care of her. As if he didn’t have enough to deal with already, he was apparently losing his mind.

  He tried not to think about it. “We’re going to crash here tonight,” he informed the boys, absently watching their bout of Super Smash Bros. play out on the TV. “In case Iris needs anything.”

  “Is she okay?” Dylan asked worriedly.

  “Aside from feeling like we did, she’s okay.”

  “If she feels like I did, she’s not okay,” Seger said. He was still a little pale himself.

  “She’ll be okay once she gets through the worst of it. But that’s why we’re staying.”

  “Can I FaceTime Mom?” Dylan wanted to know.

  “Yeah.”

  Seger gave an exasperated sigh. “Finish the game first, dummy.”

  “I will, loser,” Dylan fired back, his Bowser unleashing a flurry of combo moves on his brother’s Kirby.

  “Stop it, you entire butt cheek.”

  Eli had to smirk, even if their bickering bugged him. Having grown up with no brothers or sisters, and often wishing he had, he didn’t like to hear the boys argue or name call. “Cut that out.”

  “When will we get to Grandma and Grandpa’s?”

  “Not for another week.” Eli’s parents lived in Indianapolis, and the plan was to let the boys have a few days’ visit while the band went through there, Chicago, and Detroit. He would swing back through and pick them up on the way down to Nashville. Iris would get a few days off; she would be able to go back home. And . . . he wouldn’t examine why that bothered him right now. “Why, sick of me already?”

  “I’m not sick of you, Dad,” Dylan said, the emphasis implying that Seger might very well be. If that were the case, Eli couldn’t say he blamed him. He got sick of himself sometimes.

  They ordered room service some time later, going somewhat stir crazy trapped in the hotel, but a promise was a promise. With Iris out of commission, he didn’t have her as a buffer between himself and Heidi, so he was forced to grit his teeth and call her from his own phone so the kids could talk to her. But first he slipped into the bedroom away from the boys. Things tended to get heated whenever they had to speak.

  Of course, seeing his number, she didn’t answer. She had that fucking asshole do it.

  “Hello.”

  “Go get her,” Eli grumbled, forgoing a greeting and getting to the point. “The kids want to talk to her.”

  “She’s in the shower.” Bullshit.

  “Then have her call when she gets out.”

  “I’ll have her call Iris.”

  “Iris is puking her fucking guts out, so leave her alone. Heidi can call me like an adult or she can miss talking to them today. Her choice.” With that, he hung up. Nic Steele. Supercilious fucking scumbag.

  His blood throbbed in his ears as he sat on the side of the bed, staring at the bland art on the wall across from him. Maybe one day he would be able to deal with the guy without this soul-gnawing disgust, but it was not this day. The prick always had an attitude toward him, and what for? Nic was the one with her now. Congratulations, motherfucker. Job well done.

  Dylan materialized beside him, having entered the room silently while Eli brooded. “Mom?” he asked, eyes heartbreakingly hopeful.

  “I told Nic to have her call, okay?” He reached over and rumpled the boy’s hair.

  “She won’t though, will she?”

  “Why do you say that, buddy?”

  Dylan shrugged his narrow shoulders, not elaborating. Eli gently took his arm and guided him to sit. “Are you homesick?”

  “A little. I wish Iris was better.”

  “I know. Me too. She makes you feel better, huh?”

  Dylan nodded. Elijah would’ve expected that confession to make him feel slightly jealous, but it didn’t. Iris had said it in the very beginning: she was a fixture in the boys’ lives. She was something familiar, something from home. Of course Dylan would cling to that. It was as it should be.

  He hugged Dylan to his side. Poor kid didn’t deserve this shit. “Is there anything you want to do? Anything at all?”

  “I wanna go play laser tag.”

  Eli laughed. Ah, the simplicity of youth, that a game of laser tag would make it all better. “Tell you what, we should hang out with Iris today in case she needs us. But when we get to Gran and Gramp’s house, we’ll go. So be preparing your strategy to take your brother out. Deal?”

  Dylan sat up and thrust both arms in the air. “YES! I’m on it. Thanks, Dad!” He threw himself in for another hug, then scampered out of the room, his day made. And as Eli watched him go, he realized his bitterness of a few minutes ago was gone, lost in the innocent joy of a little boy’s smile.

  Twenty

  He held her close, his lips near her ear, whispering shocking things, dirty things, his hands in places they shouldn’t be, and she should stop him, tell him no, tell him it was wrong, but it felt so, so right. Too right. She was hot and wild, weak and dizzy, arching up for more of him, all of him, sweat plastering her hair to her skin, his skin, his mouth scalding her flesh. Iris moaned, sobbed, pleaded, pleasure building, sweet and awful at once because it was so good but so very bad—

  His hand grasped her shoulder, warm and real. Too real. It shook her, tearing her away from everything else he was doing. Iris didn’t want that, wanted him to not stop, never stop. He looked down at her, eyes heated, and she waited for the next delightfully dirty words to come from his mouth . . .

  “Hey. Iris. Wake up.”

  Her eyes popped open, her lungs sucking air. Dream Elijah disappeared. The real one stood over her, frowning down at her. “Huh?”

  “You were moaning in your sleep. Are you all right?”

  Moaning in her sleep? Oh God. What else had she been saying or doing? Heat roared into her cheeks. The room was dim, no light shining around the edges of the drapes. Had she slept the whole day? She was drenched in sweat. “I think so.”

  He leaned down and placed his hand to her forehead. Given everything he’d been doing to her in her dream only a couple of minutes ago, she felt that touch everywhere. “I think your fever broke. You’re soaking wet.”

  If only he knew. Her fever had only collected below her waist. “I, um . . . feel a little better, I think.”

  He stood straight again. “Do you want to eat anything?”

  Slowly, she was getting her bearings, catching her breath. “Not that much better. Thanks, though.”

  Silently, he watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, and she wondered if somehow he knew. Even if she hadn’t moaned any
thing incriminating out loud, she was zinging with sexual heat, a raw energy that had to be coming off her in waves. She could smell her own arousal. Could he?

  “We’re just hanging out watching movies,” he said, a huskiness to his voice that belied the casual tone. “If you feel better, you should come join us.”

  “I might do that.”

  He turned and left, bare feet silent on the carpet. Iris closed her eyes, covering her face with her hands. How embarrassing. Even worse, the heat between her legs didn’t dissipate with his departure. It continued to demand attention.

  A shower. Yes, that was the cure-all, wasn’t it? A cold shower. She needed one anyway. She was sweat-soaked and gross.

  Iris pushed the covers back and climbed unsteadily to her feet. A little weakness still plagued her, and her stomach felt hollow, but it no longer seemed intent on trying to kill her.

  She nearly recoiled in horror at the sight of her reflection when she flipped on the bathroom light. The chalkiness of her skin was only marred by the dark smudges under her eyes. Her lips were chapped. Her hair was plastered to her skull with sweat on one side and unruly on the other. Iris uttered a silent prayer of thanks for the dimness in the bedroom so Eli hadn’t seen her looking like this.

  Not that she should care how she looked to him.

  Cranking on the shower and waiting for the water to warm, she tried not to reflect on her dreams, but it was impossible given the dull ache still throbbing in her core. Ignore it, Iris. Ignore it!

  She couldn’t. The more she tried, the hotter it pulsed. Exasperated, she turned the cold water on full blast and stepped under the spray, almost crying out as iciness scoured her flesh. Shivering violently, she forced herself to stand there, suffering, trying to wash away every lascivious thought she’d had about Elijah Vance.

  It didn’t work. The cold shower thing was a crock of crap. But this had to stop. What was she going to do?