I look over at him and follow his line of site. “Fuck it all to hell,” I mutter, spinning around and heading for my closet to grab a pair of sweatpants and a sweatshirt. I quickly slip them on, covering up my bra and panties. I remember coming home, burning up from the fever, and stripping out of my leggings andshirt, but too exhausted to take the extra couple of minutes to dig something to sleep in out of the drawer.
Sighing, I shake my head and prepare to step out of the closet. I’m not upset Quinn just saw me in my panties and bra. How can I when the look in his eyes said more than any man has ever said to me in the last decade. My issue is the fact I didn’t even have on anything cute today. Being sick, I threw on a pair of cotton panties that double as ones I’ll wear during that time of the month, and a bra that’s a little older and stretched out. Definitely not sexy.
Not that I was trying to be.
I join Quinn in my bedroom. He’s standing by the door, his back to me. “You can turn around.”
He does so, but a bit hesitantly. “Sorry.”
I shrug and make my way to the doorway. Before I pass through, I pause and reply, “I suppose turnabout is fair play.” Since I did see him in a well-fitting pair of boxer briefs less than two weeks ago.
In the kitchen, I walk to the fridge. “Sit down. I’ll get it,” he insists firmly.
Even though I’d love to argue with him, I just don’t have the energy. Instead, I plop down onto one of my kitchen chairs, very unladylike, and watch him move about my space. He places a large paper bag on the counter and starts pulling stuff from within. A bottle of Gatorade first—grape, my favorite—followed by two pill bottles from the pharmacy.
He shakes out two small white pills from one bottle and a large pink one from another. “Here, the small ones are the steroid, and the larger one is the amoxicillin.”
“That’s a damn horse pill,” I mutter, taking in the huge pill in his palm. “How the hell do they expect me to swallow something so big?”
He snorts, dropping them in my hand. “That’s what she said!”
I want to roll my eyes, but a giggle comes out instead. Unfortunately, that giggle causes me to start coughing. “Ouch!” I mumble.
“Here.” He twists off the cap of a Gatorade and holds it out for me.
I take it, while muttering, “I can do it.”
“I know.” He is placating me like a child.
Whatever.
Sipping the Gatorade, I swallow a few mouthfuls, wincing as the liquid slides down my sore throat. I start with the two tiny pills before moving to the horse pill. It hurts going down, but I manage, and then I take a few more drinks of liquid for good measure.
Then, a bowl of delicious-smelling soup appears in front of me, steam rolling as I lean down and inhale. “Oh my God,” I mumble, my mouth watering.
He hands me a spoon and opens the wrapped bread and places it beside the bowl. Then, he shoves a straw in the milkshake. “Drink the Gatorade too.”
“Yes, Daddy,” I sass.
Quinn offers me a panty-melting grin. “Call me whatever you want,” he states, waggling his eyebrows.
I chuckle again, trying not to think about this new level of kink playing out in my mind. “Thank you for this.”
“You’re welcome.” He glances at his watch. “Do you need anything else? I gotta run and pick up a pizza Cam ordered before helping him unload the OSB for his garage.”
“I don’t want to keep you,” I say, feeling bad about keeping him when someone is waiting on him—even if that someone is my brother.
“You’re not. He can wait. You’re way better looking than he is,” he adds with a wink.
“Well, I do appreciate you bringing me my meds. And dinner.”
“There is some other stuff in the bag too. I wasn’t sure what you had or needed, so I just grabbed a variety.” He shoves his hands in his pockets and rocks back on his heels. My eyes are drawn to his forearms, to the corded muscles. He’s a bit dirty from work, but not terrible. Just more proof he dropped what he was doing to help, not only my brother, but me.
“Thank you,” I repeat.
He nods and steps toward me, bending over when he’s at my side. His mouth moves closer, and the very breath I breathe hitches in my throat. Anticipation races through my veins as my tongue slips out and glides along my dry, cracked lips. His dark eyes are locked on mine, his mouth slowly drawing closer.
Then, it happens. He raises his hand and gently places it on my forehead. His touch is soft, though his hands are rough from working with them. “You have a fever. Take something, finish eating, and get some rest, Charli.”
