He had a way of touching me that made me forget all about the outside world. All about how much he’d betrayed me, and how much I was supposed to hate him. I shouldn’t be here, eating his soup and using his bed. I shouldn’t be near him at all.
I still cared about him too much.
He looked at me out of the corner of his eye. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” I set down my bowl. “That was really good. Thanks.”
He finished his own bowl then set it next to mine. “It was my mom’s recipe. My dad gave it to me when I was old enough to cook it myself. It always made me feel better when I was sick, so it seemed appropriate.”
“Thank you,” I said softly, oddly moved that he’d made me the same soup his mother made him. I wanted to hug him. To take away the brief shadows of grief I saw before he looked away.
He tugged at his brown hair. “Don’t mention it. How about we get you back in bed now?”
I swallowed hard. Even the thought of crawling back into his bed sent shivers down my spine. The things we had done there… “I should go back to my dorm.”
“Why bother? You won’t get any sleep there with Marie. She has company.” He pinned me down with his stare, his bright blue eyes on me. “I promise I won’t touch you. You’ll be perfectly safe here.”
He didn’t need to touch me to make me want him. That was the scary part. “Still.”
“No.” He stood, his jaw ticking. “I tried this the nice way, but I’ll put it simply: You’re not leaving. End of story.”
Okay, that took away any lingering desire to kiss him. Then again, his arrogance usually did. “You don’t own me. You’re not my dad, and—”
“No, but I work for him, as you’ve reminded me every chance you get.” He picked up his phone and waved it in front of my eyes. “And I’m not afraid to call him and get him down here. I’ll tell him you’re refusing medical treatment from the hospital.”
I drew in a deep breath. “You wouldn’t.”
He raised a brow and started typing. I stood up and tried to snatch it out of his hands. My stomach protested the fast movement with a loud gurgle. “Stop it. Don’t you dare call him.”
“Then get in the f**king bed.” He narrowed his eyes at me. “I can tell you’re making yourself even sicker by arguing with me. Just lay down.”
“I’m fine.” My stomach twisted again, and I clutched it tight. Oh God, I was going to…
“Yeah. Sure you are,” he drawled. He picked me up, and I closed my eyes as the room spun. I should point out I could walk on my own, but I didn’t want to open my mouth right now. “Bathroom or bed?”
“Bathroom,” I gasped, the vomit trying to escape even with the single word. “And leave me alone this time. I don’t want you to see—” I broke off and covered my mouth.
He made it to the toilet in record time. “Not leaving.”
I opened my mouth to argue, but the torrential vomiting pouring out of my system swallowed up the words. By the time I was finished, I felt more like the stuff floating in the toilet than a person. I hadn’t even realized Finn held my hair until he released it, heading for the washcloths again.
Why was he being so…nice? So darn courteous and thoughtful and perfect? He needed to open his mouth and say something annoying really quickly before I fell for him all over again. He returned with a wet washcloth. He looked sweaty and a little pale himself. What was wrong with him?
“Here,” he murmured, wiping my face down as he did last time.
I closed my eyes, tears threatening to escape me at his tender touch. “Why are you being so nice to me? And why are you shaking?”
“Because I care, even if it hurts.” He tossed the washcloth aside and rose to his feet. “Do you want to shower?”
“Yes.” I opened my eyes. He was leaning against the sink clutching his stomach. As soon as he saw I watched him, he straightened and headed for the faucet. “Are you okay?”
“I’m fine,” he said dismissively. “Just worry about yourself.”
I frowned. “Are you sick too?”
“No.” The shower turned on, and he stuck his hand under the stream of water. Seemingly satisfied with the temperature, he went back to the sink and pulled out a light blue toothbrush. He opened the case and set it down on the sink. “Here. Use this.”
I stood up and he grabbed my elbow. As if he was ready to catch me if I fell. But that was his job, wasn’t it? I couldn’t read anything more into it than that. “I don’t have any clothes to change into.”
He hesitated. “I don’t want to leave you here alone to go get some.”
“I’ll be fine alone.”
“I’m not leaving you.”
I sighed, but inwardly I smiled. He seemed so worried about me, and it was hard not to be affected by his concern. No matter how stupid that made me. “I’ll wear these again.” I looked down at the dirty, wrinkled clothes. The ones that probably smelled worse than I did. “It’s not a big deal.”
“No, you won’t.” He let go of me. “I’ll go get a T-shirt and a pair of boxers for you to wear. They’ll be big, but it’s better than what you’ve got on.”
Wear his clothes? Somehow that didn’t seem like a grand idea. His scent was already ingrained in my memory. Did I really need to wear it too? “But—”
“No buts.” He headed for the door. “Just get in the shower. I’ll push the clothes in through the door once you’re in.”
The door shut in my face, making me flinch. I took off my clothes and stepped into the water. Closing my eyes, I took a long breath. This is exactly what I’d needed—a fresh shower. A clean start. Hopefully the puking portion of my illness would be over now, and I could actually sleep.
I turned to search for the shampoo, but stopped mid-reach. Next to his manly shampoo he had apologized for last time I’d been here rested a fruity, girly shampoo and conditioner. When had he put that in there? Back when we were “dating”? Or was it for another girl? Even as I thought it, my heart screamed no. I didn’t think he was seeing anyone else. He’d never given me a reason to believe he was. For all intents and purposes, the only woman he ever talked to was me. Just me.
But only because he has to, my inner voice so rudely reminded me.