Page 8 of Rising Star

There must be a logical explanation for this…huh…situation.

But, come on, we were sharing a bed. My arm around him. My legs tangled with his.

My breath hitched on its way out. Tremors rose in the depths of me. Not the feverish kind.

My mouth filled with acid. Would I be sick again?

Could this be a hallucination? Perhaps my fever hadn’t broken, and my brain was making up stories based on my fantasies. Perhaps I was still deep asleep and dreaming.

I inhaled, wishing I could open my eyes and find myself in my own bed—alone—and all this was just a figment of my imagination.

With renewed energy and motivation to learn the truth, I forced my eyes to open. One at a time.

Sam’s eyes were trained on mine. My airways constricted.

None of it was a dream.

“Hey,” he said, a tiny arc gracing his lips that depicted more anxiety than genuine happiness. His voice, sexy and rough from sleep, warmed my insides.

Feeling self-conscious, I secured the bathrobe tie around my waist. When did I even change into this? My brain was failing me. I couldn’t seem to recall anything. Sam’s gaze followed the movement of my fingers, and I wrapped the bedspread around me as he rambled.

After some forced small talk on his part, Sam’s expression morphed from caring to worried. His next words shook me to my core. “Listen, I know you told me once to never try to fix you or anything, and it’s not what I did. Or what I’m doing.”

Oh, no, I hadn’t had nightmares about my early childhood in years. These days, they manifested often. My boss had witnessed my middle-of-the-night breakdown. Was fever to blame, or were there similarities between my early years and his kids’ reality?

When Sam exited my bedroom, after I reassured him I was doing just fine and he didn’t have to make a big deal about my bad dreams, I resumed my breathing.

Once in the en-suite bathroom, with my back leaning against the closed door, I exhaled all the agitation swimming through me.

Unwelcome heat crept along my cheeks. How would I ever be able to face my boss again after waking up against him wearing nothing but a half-open robe?

We had agreed to stay apart. And now we woke up entangled. In bed.

Hoping a hot shower stopped my thoughts before they became a full-blown panic attack, I undressed and slipped under the gentle stream. The hot water calmed some of my jittery self down. And it flushed most of the leftover traces of last night’s temperature.

Tiptoeing out of my room, dressed casually in a pair of lounge pants and a gray long-sleeved shirt, I approached the kitchen. Unsure about what to say, I rolled my bottom lip between my teeth, flicking my still-damp hair over my shoulder, trying to look unaffected. Sam’s gaze locked on mine the instant I stepped into his peripheral vision. The intensity in his eyes nailed me to the spot and stole the air meant for my brain.

The words died in my mouth when I tried to speak.

Nerves invaded me. My heart leaped in my throat. A new wave of heat washed over me. Was the fever coming back?

Something had changed between Sam and me after I woke up in his arms earlier.

The way our bodies fit together.

The zing of electricity that transferred from him to me.

His tousled bed hair giving him a boyish charm.

His eyes, now I was sure, could read me if I granted him access.

“Feeling better? For real?” Sam asked as I poured myself a tall glass of orange juice and took a seat at the island.

“I think so.”

“Hungry?”

“Famished. And something smells divine here.”