Like a baby fawn that doesn’t have full control over their limbs, I pull myself onto my bed before collapsing into the fetal position. It’s the only way I’m able to lessen the pain in my stomach. “What help can you be?” I ask, unsure whether it’s loud enough for him to hear. “I’m better off on my own.”
It’s silent for a minute. Maybe Will is realizing I’m right.
There’s nothing for him in this room.
“I can get you water when you ask for it,” he says, finally. “Or mouthwash if you need it. I can share my crackers and ginger ale. I can find the best thing on TV while you rest your eyes, set it to the right volume. I can warm up the shower to the perfect temperature before you’re ready to stand up in it for five whole minutes.”
Sounds nice, I have to admit.
“And I can hold you,” he goes on.
I think I hear a gulp on his side of the door. On mine, my heart stutters.
“I know your fever’s about to hit. I can wrap you up in my arms. Get under the covers with you. Keep you warm. Make you feel not alone. I can let your head rest against my chest and that way, you’ll feel another person’s heartbeat, in sync with yours. That’s what kind of help I can be. Even though I can’t take away your… physical pain, I can make you feel good in a different way.”
It’s honestly a good thing my body has been waylaid by this virus. If I was healthy, and I’d just heardthatspeech, I think I might’ve had an on-cue orgasm.
Still, Will’s words settle, then rub against my skin like a promise. All of a sudden, I’m looking at that door between us not as a barrier, but as an obstacle that needs overcoming.
“It doesn’t have to mean anything,” he says, like a taunt. “If you let me in, I won’t turn it into anything more than exactly what you need it to be.”
I can take it. Use me. Please.
Part of me knows letting him into this room while I’m at my physical weakest would mean more than either of us is saying out loud. But yesterday might have been one of the best days of my entire life, and despite my best efforts, Will Grant has become one of my favorite people.
Earlier, at the supplier’s facility, I’d wanted him with me.
I want him with me now.
I just…want him with me,and I’m sick, and I’m tired. And I’m sick and fucking tired of trying to be such a perfect businesswoman with no life all the time because perfect I. Am.Not.
“I’m… really dizzy,” I say hoarsely. “I don’t know if I can make it to the door.”
“You make it to this door, sweetheart, and I will carry you back to bed.”
I take a deep breath, wincing as I shift, and slip off the edge of the mattress I just dragged myself onto. I try straightening, but that hurts too much, so I hobble to the door, almost tipping over once from dizziness. When I cross the full five feet of distance and spring the lock free, the knob immediately turns from the other side. Slowly, Will pushes the door in my direction while I back up enough for him to open it fully.
His hair is still damp from a shower, the locks thicker and darker than usual. He’s changed into fresh clothes, too.
“You look better,” I croak.
His face is nonnegotiable—if that’s a face a person can make. “You look as good as always.”
Without further ado, Will slips one of his arms along my side and the other behind the crook of my legs. Gravity deserts me as I’m hauled into his grip. I fall snugly against his chest.
It feels like the beginning and the end of something, like the turning point, the final give-up.
As he carries me back to bed, one step as sure as the next, I accept this inevitability: all it would take to make me forever beholden to Will Grant is him requesting it of me.
Carefully, he deposits me near the foot of the bed and whispers, “One minute,” before grabbing a glass off the coffee bar and bending to open the minifridge beneath. He unscrews a water bottle and pours, then places the glass on the bedside table. He closes my curtains, turns off the lights, and grabs the TV remote before coming back toward the king-sized bed.
I feel the mattress compress as he lands on it somewhere near the pillows above me. “Do you want the TV on? Food channel, maybe?” I canhearhis smirk.
“Don’t make me regret this.”
“How about the nature channel?”
“How about the noise machine app on my phone?”
