Authors: Chantilly White
Well. He cleared his throat. She needed help, and he was
going to help her, so he took a deep breath and got down on the floor beside
her. Her eyelids were half-closed, and she only moaned when he explained what
he wanted to do.
Slowly, carefully, he reached around her to unzip the dress.
It had some sort of complicated button thing at the top above a hole that left
her skin bare, which took him a few extra moments to figure out, but finally it
all came apart and he was able to peel the sleeves down her arms.
Now the hard part.
Lifting her against him, he dragged the dress the rest of
the way off, leaving her in her bra and panties and sheer black stockings.
Her underthings framed her body like a work of art. Matching
black lace scraps cupped her breasts, barely hiding her feminine secrets. She
was so small. Fragile, for all she was a tall woman, her curves and long limbs
a delicate delight.
If only she wasn't shuddering, wracked with fever.
The stockings tore when he tried to remove them, so he
stripped them the rest of the way off, ignoring the silky expanse of her skin
now covered in goose bumps, and tossed them in the trash. Unhooking her bra, he
averted his gaze as he removed it, then carefully helped her into her
nightgown.
Once she was covered again, he took another deep breath,
congratulated himself on not being an utterly despicable pervert, and brought
her a cup of water to help her rinse her mouth. He didn't think she was stable
enough to stand and brush her teeth just yet. She was barely conscious.
Lifting her from the floor, he carried her back to her bed
and tucked her under the covers, making sure the bucket was close. He got a
fresh washcloth damp and placed it across her forehead, then took her
temperature with the ear thermometer. One-hundred-point-five.
He frowned. That seemed pretty high. Sally had freaked out
any time her girls' fevers had gotten over one hundred, but they'd been babies.
Was it the same for adults? He'd have to Google it later. Hoping she was as
comfortable as she could be, he went out to the family room and hauled back a
recliner, muscling it through the door. He placed it as close to her bed as he
could, so he could watch her through the night.
Allison had burrowed into the covers, a heavy frown creasing
her brow and feverish color on her pale cheeks. Her breathing was shallow but
steady. She was asleep.
Hoping she'd stay that way until he got back, Ben grabbed
her keys, locked her front door and ran down the street to Sally's.
"Ben?" Sally called when he burst through the
front door. "What's going on?"
He explained as he went, hustling to his room to toss a
small suitcase together. He grabbed his new laptop, kissed Sally on the cheek,
and was back at Allison's side within twenty minutes, Sally's recommendations
to keep her hydrated and call her doctor if she got worse ringing in his ears.
Dropping into the recliner, relieved to find her still
sleeping, he kicked back and booted up the computer. After just a few minutes'
searching, he had his answer as to the fever level to watch for, and a pretty
good idea she was suffering from food poisoning. It made sense, given she'd
been on a date that likely included dinner.
Ben closed the laptop and stared at Allison's sleeping face,
wondering who she'd been out with and where they'd gone. He'd seen the guy
drive off when he got home, but hadn't been able to see inside the dark car
windows. He'd seen lots of guys drive off over the past week.
The twinge of jealousy made him frown. What had he expected?
She was an attractive, social woman. They hadn't made any plans, any promises.
Of course she was still dating other people. He should have called her, but
he'd had some stupid ideas about not appearing too eager and wanting her to
come to him. He'd also had a full slate of things to handle.
Chief among them, he'd found his new home. It was an older
house, but maintained in immaculate condition, in a great neighborhood—as
in, there were neighbors, but also plenty of space between houses. It stood
directly above the water, just steps from the beach in Corona Del Mar. He could
hardly wait to move in. It was spacious without being too grand, and the view
of the Pacific was spectacular. Best of all, with its extra-high ceilings and
taller-than-average doors, he wouldn't have to duck his head every time he
entered or exited a room.
Since he was paying cash, he'd move in within just a few
weeks.
Then there would be furnishing it and settling in, making it
into a genuine home, but finalizing the deal was first. He'd wanted that detail
handled before he turned his attentions to Allison, because he suspected once
he did, he wouldn't have much of a mind for anything else.
In the few short days since he'd seen her, he'd also taken
the initial steps to developing his business plans. There was so much he wanted
to accomplish, improving the lives of the people he'd met along his travels. He
didn't want to just throw money at the problems they faced, he wanted to make a
real difference. That would take time, though he'd implement as much as he
could as fast as possible. But he'd contacted the people best suited to helping
him achieve that dream, and they'd had some preliminary meetings. Most had
signed on immediately, which had both pleased and humbled him. They were
trusting him with their time and money. He vowed not to let them down, nor the
people he wanted to serve.
Now, though. . . Now there was a desperately ill Allison to
care for. He brushed his hand against her forehead again, frowning when he
registered the heat. He turned the washcloth so the cool side was against her
skin. Sleep was the best thing for her at the moment, but he knew he also
needed to get some fluids into her. Setting an internal alarm clock, he made
himself comfortable in the chair and, using a trick he'd developed in the army,
dropped immediately into sleep.
The next twenty-four hours were a nightmare for Allison.
Sick in every way a person could be sick, she couldn't seem to keep anything
down. Chills rocked her body like earthquakes, but the fever burned away any
drop of moisture. Her lips cracked and bled, and still she was sick, over and
over. Her stomach hurt so much she wanted to scream, but her throat hurt too much
for that. All she could do was cry, the tears sliding down her face in helpless
rivers. Her head ached abominably and even the dimmest light sent an ice pick
of pain stabbing into her skull.
Through it all, Ben was there, comforting her, washing her
face and hands, emptying the bucket, bringing her water and crackers and
medicine, all of which she promptly tossed back up. When she was restless, he
read to her, though she listened to his gentle cadence more than the words. His
voice was an inner-tube ride down a warm, lazy river in high summer, soothing
her to sleep, into the calm before the white-capped waters of the poison in her
system tumbled her closer once more to the deadly falls and jagged rocks of
illness.
When she could stand to be touched, he stroked her forehead,
and when that was agony, he simply sat beside her, a silent presence reassuring
her she wasn't alone, even when she wished he'd leave her to die in peace.
Sometimes she dreamed, but they were fever dreams, scary and
nonsensical, and Ben would wake her gently, then coax her to sip more water.
Always the water. Water she wanted with every fiber in her being, but only ice
chips and tiny drips of water at a time would stay down. The taste in her mouth
was vile.
He took her temperature regularly, frowning every time. She
knew he worried, but she couldn't stir herself to care, even when he threatened
to take her to the hospital.
Finally, on the second day, she woke, rubbing her bleary
eyes with a weak fist, to find the light less painful. Every inch of her body
ached like she'd been beaten with a club, but for the first time since getting
sick, she didn't feel chilled or as if she were burning from the inside out.
Beside her bed, Ben slept in the recliner he'd moved into
the room, his huge, hard body making the chair look like a toy, his mouth
slightly parted. Dark circles ringed his eyes, making guilt crawl up her spine.
The past hours were a blur. She couldn't think about all the
things he'd done for her or she'd never be able to look him in the eyes again.
She built a concrete wall around the memories and locked them and the rampant
humiliation away. Thankfully, she couldn't remember all of it, but the bits and
pieces were bad enough.
God.
No one, aside from her parents, had ever cared for her the
way he had. Maybe not even her parents. She couldn't remember ever being so
sick.
Trying not to disturb him, she pushed herself to a sitting
position, then had to drop back against the headboard, panting from exertion.
Head spinning, muscles whimpering, she waited for the room to settle back into
place around her. She'd never been this weak, either.
Allison gathered herself and swung her legs slowly off the
side of the bed, then sat still again, waiting for the dizziness to pass. Next
to her, Ben stirred.
"Hey, there," he said, keeping his voice low and
smooth. He placed a hand to her forehead, as he'd done every time she woke.
"How're you feeling?"
"Better, I think," she said, shocked by the
gravelly sound of her voice. "Could I have some water?"
"Of course."
Leaping up, Ben held the water bottle to her lips and cupped
the back of her head, helping her drink. The liquid was room temperature, but
possibly the sweetest thing she'd ever tasted.
"Not too much, now," Ben said. "Let's make
sure you keep it down."
Nodding, she allowed him to set the bottle down.
"Do you know where my cell phone is?" she asked.
"I should check in with a few people."
"Your mom called this morning," he said, retaking
his seat, reaching out and rubbing a hand over her knee. "She sounded
pretty worried on your machine, so I talked to her. Everyone else can wait
until you get your strength back."
But Allison's eyes had flown wide. "What? My
mother?" Dropping her forehead into her hands, she groaned. "Oh,
no."
"She was worried," Ben said, "I didn't think
you'd mind me talking to her."
"No, it's not that, it's—"
At that moment, her front door burst open and rebounded
against the entryway wall, the sound echoing down the hallway.
Jeff Denton's voice hollering, "Where the hell is
she?" made her groan again.
She said, "Brace yourself," to Ben, just before
her bedroom door flew wide, and Jeff barreled inside.
Green eyes wild, Jeff flung out a manicured hand to point
like a laser at Ben, and his voice, when he spoke, was feral. "Who the
fuck
are you, and what the devil are you doing
here?"
Allison said, "Jeff, please," in her raspy voice,
but Ben had already risen from his chair.
The two of them stood, sizing each other up like a couple of
massive bucks about to lock horns over a doe. Which, given Jeff's sexual
orientation, was ridiculous, but he'd always been protective.
Before either of them could move, three more people shoved
into her small room. Greg latched onto Jeff's arm, while Mia dashed around the
men to sit beside Allison and pull her into a careful hug.
"How are you, sweetie?" Mia asked, while in the
doorway, Derrick surveyed the scene, a heavy frown on his brow.
With a frown of his own, Ben crossed his arms over his chest
and said, "Who are you people?"
"'You people,'" Jeff mocked in his highest diva
voice. "I'm the one asking questions here,
boyo
, so—"
"Jeff," Mia hissed.
He stabbed a finger beneath Mia's nose and said, "Hush,
you," to which Derrick said, "Hey."
Rubbing her temples with both hands, Allison gritted her
teeth. Bracing herself, she put her fingers between her lips and whistled
shrilly.
All eyes on her, she said, "Now that I have your
attention," in her sick-froggy voice. "Ben, these are my friends,
Mia, Derrick, Jeff and Greg. Guys, this is Ben. My—uh. . ." Looking
to Ben, she broke off. What was he to her? At this point, she didn't know. She
settled for, "Neighbor."
"Boyfriend," Ben corrected with a frown for her
this time, the word making her heart skip.
Boyfriend.
She didn't know if enforced intimacy of a medical
nature qualified as a relationship, but. . .
They'd come back to that when she was stronger. For now she
looked to Jeff—the one most likely to cause trouble—and ignored the
wide-eyed looks passing between Mia, Derrick and Greg. "You saw him at the
party on New Year's."
Drawing himself up, Jeff scanned Ben from the top of his
disheveled hair to the bottom of his big bare feet. "Huh," he said.
"I most certainly did not." Then, taking in Ben's size and shape,
recognition dawned in his eyes. "Wait. The Hagrid wannabe?"
Allison rolled her eyes, and Ben's jaw visibly clenched, but
he didn't rise to the bait. Mia hurried into the tense silence, probably to
keep Jeff from speaking further.
"Alli, what happened?" she asked, worry crinkling
her forehead.
Explaining made her tired, and thirsty, but she got through
it. Derrick and Greg shook hands with Ben, and Mia hugged him tightly, though
Jeff remained aloof. Once the initial tension eased, Allison was able to
breathe more fully.
"What are you guys doing here?" she asked, even
though she thought she knew.
Mia confirmed her suspicions. "Your mom called Jeff,
who called me all in a dither, saying you were on your death bed and some
strange man was staying with you. I tried to explain, but he hung up on me, so
Derrick and I raced over here to keep him from ripping Ben's head off."
She cast an apologetic glance at Ben before continuing. "It's nice to
finally meet you, by the way." Facing Allison again, she said, "I do
want to know why none of us even knew you were sick, but luckily, we all got
here at the same time. Crisis averted."