“It’s okay,” I tell her. “I’ll bring you some medicine. But for now, you need to get some rest, and if you’re really worried we can talk more in the morning, okay?”
She nibbles at her lip.
But eventually she nods, whispers, “Okay.”
“I’ll be back.” I slip from the room, carrying Chloe over to hers, tucking her—and the kittens—in then closing her door.
Hurrying, I stride into my bedroom—well, stridethroughit—not stopping until I’m in the bathroom and surveying the contents of my medicine cabinet.
I grab some overnight cold relief tablets, make a pitstop in the kitchen for a couple of saltines and a glass of water then make my way back into Finn’s bedroom.
She’s slumped down, eyes closed, her head on the pillows, her cheeks flushed with fever.
Damn.
“Finn,” I murmur, sinking down onto the edge of the mattress.
“Rhodes.”
For a second, I freeze, thinking she’s heard me come in or felt the bed shift.
But no, her eyes are still closed.
“Finn,” I say again, just a little bit louder, hating to wake her but knowing she’ll be a lot better off if she takes the medicine.
“Rhodes.” It’s a whisper…and it’s agonized.
But not because she’s ill, I realize, as her words keep coming.
Because they’re full of longing.
Because they change everything—at least for me.
“Kiss me, Rhodes,” she says on a soft sigh, her head burrowing into the pillows. “Please…kiss me.”
My body moves before my brain catches up.
And suddenly I’m close enough to feel her breath on my lips.
Close enough to give her exactly what she’s asking for.
I wanted?—
For weeks now, I’vewanted.
Just…not like this.
Because she didn’t ask me—not really.
“Shit,” I whisper, forcing myself to straighten, to pull away.
To pretend I never heard those her say those words.
And it’s a good thing I do.
Because when she wakes up in the morning…
She doesn’t remember saying them at all.
