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‘Of…of course not!’ Mel blurted out the knee-jerk denial, still struggling with the wave of relief at seeing Rene well again after thirty-six hours of extreme stress.
He had been delirious for hours yesterday, his fever not breaking until around midnight, in the grip of nightmares which had terrified Mel almost more than his spiking temperature. And he’d been virtually comatose ever since, every time she’d checked on him. But of course, Rene being Rene, the only thing the man could remember was the ill-advised sex they’d indulged in before he’d become feverish.
‘Are you sure?’ One dark brow winged up, his suspicion clear. ‘Because you’ve gone an interesting shade of vermillion. And that’s a colour I’ve only ever seen on your face once before…’ he paused, his scrutiny intensifying ‘…four years ago.’
‘I’m positive,’ she snapped, trying for indignation but getting guilt instead. Because she’d always been a terrible liar.
His gaze zeroed in on her burning cheeks. She swung back to the stove and made a big production of turning off the heat then scooping the rashers onto a plate to add to the late breakfast she’d cooked—to give herself time to gather her wits.
Yesterday had exhausted her. And shocked her in many ways, when she’d watched Rene battle what appeared to be extremely vivid and terrifying nightmares. But when she’d woken up this morning and waited the whole day for him to wake up, she’d also had far too much time to think about where those nightmares could have come from.
He hadn’t been lucid while in the grip of the fever, but his cries of pain, his confused ramblings, had seemed like those of a child, not the man she knew.
But the man was definitely back now, even though he still seemed a little shaky on his feet, was sporting a two-day beard and had dark circles under his eyes. Even in the borrowed clothes—which she’d found in the master bedroom she was sleeping in and had left out for him—he looked like a prince again—arrogant, overwhelming and untouchable.
‘By the way, we didn’t get here last night, Rene,’ she began, attempting to steer the conversation in a different direction. ‘We’ve been here for over two days now…’
The harsh curse interrupted her. ‘How can that be right? Are you telling me I’ve been asleep for thirty-six hours?’
‘Yes. When you weren’t out of it with fever,’ she murmured, deciding not to mention the other time he’d been awake. If he didn’t remember that encounter clearly, it made sense not to enlighten him. Because it had been a mistake which neither of them needed to dwell on.
She heard his bare feet padding across the stone flooring.
‘I guess that explains why I’m ravenous,’ he said, the husky tone disturbing her even more.
She turned to find him standing too close, still staring at her with that sceptical expression on his face. Shouldn’t he look ridiculous in those ill-fitting clothes, the pants too short and the T-shirt stretching tight across his pecs? Why was he still so hot? It really wasn’t fair.
Her gaze dropped then shot back to his face, but her blush flared again, because the damn pants were tight in all the wrong places.
‘Why don’t you take a seat?’ she said, plucking the toast from the grill and slathering it with butter, far too aware of the musty smell no longer masked by soap and the expensive cologne. Why did she find his scent even more compelling now?
‘I’ve made more than enough for both of us,’ she added, desperate to fill the uncomfortable silence, and keep all the unnerving memories of the intimacies they’d shared,accidentally, under control. ‘Luckily, this place has a cold storage full of enough food to survive a nuclear war.’
He took the hint and, after grunting his thanks, went to sit on one of the stools at the breakfast bar.
She took her time loading a couple of plates with eggs, bacon and toast, then placing them on the counter between them, along with glasses of orange juice and cutlery. But five minutes later, when she slid onto the stool opposite him, it still felt far too soon to face him again.
Why couldn’t she get this reaction under control? The sex had been fast and frantic, nothing more than a basic, elemental reaction to surviving a life-threatening situation, obviously. She’d been half asleep and Rene had been barely lucid too. It hadn’t meant anything. Maybe pretending it hadn’t happened at all—lying to him when he’d asked her a direct question—was a little…unethical. But the fact he didn’t really remember it only proved it hadn’t meant anything to him either. Hardly surprising, given their first time had meant nothing to him as well!
But as she scooped up a forkful of eggs, determined to get through the awkwardness, and control the guilt, he grasped her wrist. Her gaze rose, his touch making her pulse spike. Could he feel it? Probably.
‘What do you mean, I was out of it?’ he asked, the wary expression calming her guilt—and panic—a little. Maybe he wasn’t as confident as he appeared.
‘You had a fever, which started yesterday. You were having nightmares, saying lots of weird stuff, begging me not to leave you with someone. Once it broke last night, though, you slept like the dead.’
Stark emotion flashed across his features, reminding her of the expression on his face that night so long ago in London, when she had questioned him about the scar on his forehead.
In the years since, she had convinced herself she had imagined the guarded, almost panicked reaction. Now, as then, he masked it quickly, but this time she had seen it clearly. And knew what it was. Because she’d heard the same fear in his voice during the night terrors she had nursed him through for hours.
Flags of colour appeared on his cheeks, and he dropped her wrist. He dipped his head and dug into his eggs, clearly keen to end the conversation.
Curiosity consumed her all over again at the defensive reaction.
Whowasthe monster who had chased him in dreams? The one he’d begged her to protect him from… Was it possible the monster wasn’t just a figment of his feverish imagination, but something more tangible, something real?
Was that why he’d been so surly and mean as a teenager? So cynical and reckless as a man. What if his life hadn’t been as charmed and entitled as she’d always assumed?
Yeah, maybe don’t drop down that rabbit hole again, or you’ll only have yourself to blame if you get your heart broken.