“Devney,” he said, her name coming out rougher than usual.
“Yes?” The word was barely a whisper.
He reached over, his fingers brushing her cheek with surprising gentleness. This touch was different from any before—intentional, loaded with meaning she didn’t dare interpret. “Thank you. For staying. For taking care of me.”
“You already thanked me,” she said, but she didn’t pull away from his touch.
His thumb traced along her jawline, and she felt her breath catch. “I don’t know how to do this.”
“Do what?”
“This,” he said, his voice dropping lower. “Whatever this is between us.”
The space between them seemed to shrink without either of them moving. She could see the flecks of gold in his dark eyes, could feel the warmth radiating from his body despite the fact that his fever had broken hours ago.
“Ronan,” she breathed.
“Tell me to stop,” he said, echoing words from some half-remembered dream. “Tell me this is just me being grateful, or the fever talking, or?—”
She silenced him by closing the distance between them, her lips meeting his in a kiss that was soft at first, tentative. Testing. But when he responded, his hand sliding into her hair to cradle the back of her head, the kiss deepened.
This was what had been building between them all morning—all weekend.
When they broke apart, both breathing unsteadily, she searched his face for any sign of regret or uncertainty.
Instead, she found heat.
“Is this just you being grateful?” she asked quietly.
“No,” he said firmly, his voice rough with certainty. “It’s not.”
“And it’s not the fever.”
“Definitely not the fever.” His thumb brushed across her bottom lip, still damp from their kiss. “Though I might be delirious for entirely different reasons.”
She laughed softly, and the sound seemed to undo his restraint completely. His other arm came around her waist, pulling her closer until she was practically in his lap.
“Are you sure?” he asked against her mouth. “Because once we cross this line…”
“I’m sure,” she whispered, and then she was kissing him again, deeper this time, with a hunger that seemed to match the intensity of his response.
His hands found the hem of the Harvard T-shirt, and she lifted her arms as he pulled it over her head. She heard his sharp intake of breath when he realized she wasn’t wearing anything underneath.
“Beautiful,” he murmured, his voice reverent as his hands mapped the curves of her body with deliberate slowness. “So beautiful.”
She tugged at his shirt in response, and he helped her remove it, revealing the lean muscle she’d only glimpsed in his fevered moments. Her hands explored the planes of his chest, tracing the defined lines of his torso, feeling his heart racing under her palms.
When he lifted her fully into his lap, she could feel his arousal pressing against her through the thin cotton of their clothes. The friction made her gasp, and he captured the sound with his mouth, his tongue teasing hers as his hands slipped beneath the waistband of the borrowed pants to grip her bare skin.
“Your bedroom,” she managed between kisses.
“Too far,” he said roughly, his hands sliding down to cup her through the cotton, making her arch against him.
“Ronan,” she protested, even as she moved against him, creating more of that delicious friction.
“Here,” he said, his mouth moving to her neck, finding that spot that made her arch against him. “Right here, where you made me feel human again.”
His words undid her completely. She fumbled with the button of his jeans, and he lifted his hips to help her push them down along with his boxers. When she rose up on her knees to shimmy out of the borrowed pants, his hands guided her movements, his eyes dark with want as he took in every inch of revealed skin.
