“I’m not in the mood.”
She took comfort from the fact he still had a sense of humor. If he were dying of something serious, he wouldn’t be laughing, would he?
She glanced at the snug fit of his jeans and felt her color rise. “Can you at least undo them?”
He moved his hands slowly and then let them fall away to his sides. “No.”
Rolling her eyes, Harriet took over.
It took her two attempts to unbutton his jeans, her fingers fumbling and inept as she tried to subdue her mind’s sudden determination to take her imagination to places she definitely didn’t want to go.
Thankfully he seemed pretty out of it so he wasn’t likely to remember her struggles to undress him.
Clenching her jaw, she pulled at his jeans, each tug revealing a little more masculinity. Taut, muscular abs, the light shadow of hair across his chest and on his thighs.
She averted her eyes from his black boxer shorts.
He was the most gorgeous man she’d ever laid eyes on. Not that she’d laid eyes on that many. Her love life had been as small and cautious as the rest of her life.
Boring, some would say and she wouldn’t have argued with that.
She turned away and folded his jeans.
She was fantasizing over a half-dead guy. What was wrong with her? But she knew the answer to that, of course. Right now he was vulnerable rather than intimidating. And even half-dead, Ethan Black was sexier than any guy she’d ever met.
“Stay there and don’t move. I’m going to fetch you a drink.”
“Whiskey.”
“Not that sort of drink. And we should try and cool you down. I’m going to turn up the air-conditioning. Do you have any Tylenol? Ibuprofen?” She felt a flash of exasperation as she saw him shake his head. “What sort of a doctor are you?”
“The sort who lives at the hospital.” He coughed again and she winced.
“I can’t believe you don’t even have Tylenol.” She walked into his bathroom and wet a towel. “Here. Try this.” She wiped it across his forehead and he shuddered.
“F-freezing.”
“I’m the one who is supposed to stammer. This is role reversal.”
“You’re intimidating when you’re in charge.”
She ignored that. “Stay there. And if you try and get out of bed, I’ll give you something to stammer about.”
His eyes stayed closed. “You’re only this brave because you know I’m too weak to resist.”
It was true.
She went into her own bedroom and removed Tylenol and ibuprofen from her packing.
Then she went downstairs and filled a jug with water.
She added ice, thinking that the evening was less stressful than dinner would have been. If they’d had dinner, he would have been the one in charge. The one with the experience and the expertise. Right now, she had the upper hand.
He was easier to handle when he was sick. He’d lost some of the cool authority that made her feel a little inadequate and him seem unapproachable.
On the other hand that wasn’t a good sign.
Maybe she should do an internet search on “raging flu symptoms that come on in a matter of hours.” What if it wasn’t the flu? Should she call someone?