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“Don’t go,” he pleads. “I need you to forgive me, Elyse. Please.”
I shake my head. “I need to get up, Quinn. To get your pills.”
He tenses. “What pills?”
“You wouldn’t stop throwing up. The doctor came.”
A tinge of embarrassment flushes across his face. “Shit.”
“Yeah.”
He releases me. I fill a glass with water and shake out a couple of pills. He sits up and swallows them without complaint. He sets the glass down and spears me with surprisingly piercing eyes. “Elyse, tell me what I need to do. I’ll do anything.”
“Can you stand up? I love the under floor heating and everything, but it’s going to play havoc on your bones and mine if we keep sleeping on the tiles.”
He gives a short nod and staggers to his feet. In silence, we return to the bedroom and he slides into bed. I arrange the covers over him, but when I step away, he grabs my arm.
“Stay.” The voice is Quinn’s but I hear Q’s power behind it. I can’t help the shiver that runs through me. How the hell could I have missed the visceral connection? “Please, stay.”
My gaze finds his. His blue eyes plead. My head moves in a nod. “I’ll stay in the room, but I’m not getting into bed with you.”
I’m strong enough and weak enough to know that’s not a good idea. After a moment, he releases me. I retreat and settle in the wide armchair and matching footstool. Quinn turns sideways to face me and the intensity in his eyes grows.
“Can we talk?” he enquires solemnly. “I’ve missed you, Elly. God…so much.” He stops and takes a deep breath. “I need to know how to make you forgive me. Show you how sorry I am for what I did.”
“I’m not promising anything beyond saying we can talk when you’re better. Sleep now. I’ll fix us something to eat when you wake up and we’ll take it from there, okay?”
His eyes gleam. “You’re still obsessed with food.”
“And you look like you’ve given up on it.”
His expression turns mournful and dark, and he looks away. “Giving up is surprisingly easy when you have nothing left in life to look forward to.”
Even though my heart weeps, I harden my voice. “Is that what I’m here for? To watch you give up?”
He doesn’t respond. He heaves a sigh and reaches out his hand toward me. I force myself to remain still. When he falls asleep, I allow the tears to fall. I watch him breathe, dream. Knowing that the love I confessed three months ago outside the loft still burns as bright. But then, so does the hurt.
I must fall asleep too. I jerk awake to the sound of fresh vomiting. But this time, when I rush to his aid, he’s not crumbled on the floor. He stays on his feet throughout. And the bout lasts only a few minutes. When he tugs his clothes off and staggers into the shower, I follow.
“Are you okay?”
He nods, but his whole body is caught in relentless shudders. His hand slips when he tries to turn on the spray.
Without a second thought, I strip down to my panties and top and join him in the shower. If he hears me, he doesn’t make a move to acknowledge me. He just stands there with his forehead against the wall, his chest heaving.
I turn on the shower and wrap my arms around him. Hot water cascades over us, and after a few minutes, his shivering dies down enough for me to release him. I grab a washcloth and shower gel and bathe him from head to toe.
His cock stirs when I wash his groin and when his gaze catches mine, his mouth twitches.
I ruthlessly ignore the arousal that stabs me and finish rinsing him off.
When I’m done, he eyes my sodden top. “You’re wet.”
“Yep.”
I catch the hem of the shirt and tug it over my head. Wild eyes immediately land on my chest. He makes a pained sound at the back of his throat, but he still makes no move to grab me. I don’t know whether to be sad or impressed.
“No bra,” he states gruffly.