***
I’m already winded from carrying two sleeping five-year-olds up the stairs and tucking them into bed, but getting a grown man out of a car, into the house, and up the stairs is a workout.
Apparently, I should be doing more cardio.
Pausing at Finn’s closed bedroom door, I peek up at him. His eyes are shut, but I know he’s slightly coherent because he’s been helping me get him up the stairs.
I scan his dark lashes resting against his flushed cheeks. He’s stunning, even in sickness.
“Can I open your bedroom door?” I whisper, trying not to startle him with too many loud noises.
“Always,” he breathes, and it sounds rough with meaning.
I slowly turn the handle and enter his dark bedroom, where only an outline of the bed is visible. I make my way there, nudging him to sit on the side. With asnick-click, I turn on a lamp on the nightstand, bathing the room in a dim golden light. It illuminates the space enough to see the room is painted dark green, with warm wood tones in the furniture, and a crisp green duvet across the bed.
My fantasy about life with Finn is still fresh in my mind days later, and being in this room with him makes my ache for that dream burn a little hotter. I’m slightly devastated I can’t just slide into bed with him right now, because I’m exhausted.
Careful not to startle him, I pull his glasses off and leave them folded on his nightstand. The act feels surprisingly intimate in the privacy of his room. Much more intimate than coworkers should be.
“Not how I wanted to bring you to my room for the first time,” he mutters, tilting to the side.
“Wait. Hold on. Stand up one more time so we can get you under the covers, okay?” I wrap my arms around his waist to pull him up. Once he’s standing, I keep an arm in place and tug the covers over.
But when I try to sit him back down, he plants his feet and stands solid. He blankets his arms around me until we’re in a secure hug. His chin drops to the top of my head, and for the first time, I’m completely embraced in his arms.
“Millie.” He breathes out a sigh and hums contentedly as his body relaxes into me, and all my worries evaporate for a moment.
I fit perfectly here, in this place I’ve dreamed about. Like this spot was made for me. He’s so warm, and I know part of that is his fever, but I have a feeling his arms would be this cozy and secure anyway.
How could I not come back to this now that I know how right it feels?
His arms tighten around me before his legs give. I reluctantly sit him on the sheet and steady his shoulders. Once he’s holding himself up, I kneel to remove his shoes.
A miserable groan bleeds from his chest. “Not how I wanted you on your knees for me either.” Heat flashes up my spine in a fiery wave, and my fingers still over his laces like they’ve forgotten how to move. My head snaps up, but his eyes are closed, his face etched with pain. Willing all my focus back to his shoes, I force my fingers into movement and work as quickly as I can. I’ll analyze what his words are doing to me later.
I slip the shoes off his feet and stand between his knees. With his eyes still shut tight, he reaches up to undo the top button of his shirt. He gets the first one open but fumbles on the second, so I nudge his hands away and undo it myself.
Never in the plans for my day did I think I’d be undressing Finn Ashford in his bedroom, but here I am. I get the first few undone with a clinical focus on my movements, but the lower my hands get, the more his breathing picks up. I can’t stop my gaze from wandering to his bare skin and the muscles I’m revealing on my path. My fingers accidentally brush the hot skin on his stomach, and he hisses.
“I’m sorry,” I say, trying not to touch him again.
“Don’t... be sorry,” he grinds through clenched teeth.
As I get the final button undone, Finn leans his brow against my collarbone. I slide my hands across the scorching skin at his shoulders to slip the shirt down his arms. His warm breath coasts over the swell of my breasts, making me lose track of what I’m supposed to be doing.
He’s weak with sickness, and he needs my help. But his gravelly voice and exposed skin are muddling my thoughts and sending heat rushing through my veins.
Mustering every ounce of my willpower, I drag myself away and lean him over on his pillow. I’m not emotionally prepared for removing pants, so he’s going to stay in those. Lifting his legs onto the bed, I get him settled and tuck the blanket over him.
His eyes open briefly, hazy and cloudy as they focus on me. Helifts his hand to rest against my cheek, and the wonder in his eyes unravels something tight in my chest. He looks like he’s not sure if the fever fog is making him hallucinate me.
“Grazie, stella mia,” he whispers as his eyes drift shut and his hand drops to the bed.
***
Oaks Folks
Millie:Can anybody send me Dad’s chicken and rice soup recipe?
