Page 21 of Conail (Members From Money Season 2, #150)

She woke up feeling much better. Her vital signs were under control and her body was rested. She was also surprised to see him in her room and had been told in whispers by the nurses that he had spent the night sleeping in that chaise they had brought in for him.

His face was covered by a dark stubble that only added to how dangerous he looked. She had not forgotten how he had spent the night sleeping next to her and how he had taken care of her.

His powder blue sweater was rolled up at the sleeves revealing powerful forearms dusted with crisp dark brown hairs. His stern lips were unsmiling. Gray-green eyes remained inscrutable and made her want to squirm. Damn if she would give him the satisfaction of knowing that he intimidated her.

He waited until the medical team had left the room before he said anything. Rising gracefully, he felt the grittiness of his eyes, reminding him that he had slept in snatches because he was waking up every few minutes to see if she was alright.

"I feel well enough to go home," she announced as soon as he stopped at the side of the bed.

His eyes wandered over her face. "Isn't that for the doctors to decide?" He thought she looked much better and could not account for the surge of relief flowing through him.

"I'm the patient." She plucked at the sheets and wished he would stop looking at her like that.

"Operative word being patient. Your blood pressure was through the roof as I understood. And you were throwing up nonstop." He pulled up a chair, much to her consternation.

"You don't have to stay." She was pointedly polite causing his lips to curve slightly.

"Trying to get rid of me?"

"Just don't want to put you out again. You being here is not part of the agreement."

For some reason, it made him angry that she had mentioned it. What the hell was going on with him? She was right. What was he doing here? Lounging at her bedside as if he had any business doing so. And his trip to China and Italy had been far from restful. Productive certainly, but that was all.

He had spent the entire three weeks thinking of her. And had called his mother for updates every other day. When he heard she had been rushed to the hospital, he had come straight from the private air strip. He had been traveling for the entire day, and it was catching up to him.

"You're right." He shoved back the chair so hard, it tumbled backwards. "I should go home and get some sleep. The chair was damned uncomfortable."

"You should have asked them for a fold out bed," she suggested.

Or come and joined me like you did before. The thought slithered inside her head before she could stop it and had her sucking in a breath.

"You should go." She went on the defensive immediately.

She needed some time to try and sort through the minefield of emotions tumbling around inside her.

She could chalk it down to hormones and the fact that for the past few days, she had been through hell and back, but it did not mask the fact that when she opened her eyes and saw him there, she had been thrilled. It just would not do.

"I'll go speak to the doctors." His voice was rough and abrupt and yes, he really should leave. He was just coming back from a long and extended trip. He had things to do, the first of it being to take a much-needed shower and grab something to eat.

But it was as if his feet were rooted to the spot.

His mind was shouting for him to go about his business and leave her alone, but his body was playing a different song altogether.

To his absolute horror, he found that he wanted to join her, hold her and assure himself that she was really whole.

That she would not be curled up on the floor again, retching her stomach out.

He had spent the last three weeks agonizing over it.

"We need to talk as soon as you're well enough."

Her tapered brows lifted. "I'm well enough now."

He shook his head. "I have to be mindful of your blood pressure."

"Are you going to start treating me like fragile glass?" she demanded.

He actually smiled -- his lips curved fully, and his eyes changed, becoming more green than gray and there was a dimple beside his lips.

On the left. The transformation to his face was so profound, it had her staring, her breath strangling inside her throat.

Tearing her eyes from his, she stared at the plain cotton sheets as if they were the most fascinating material she had ever seen and prayed that he would not discover how hard her heart was pounding.

"No," he responded to the question thrown at him and found that he wanted to just spend the time with her. He was reminded that she was the only woman who had ever challenged him intellectually as well as emotionally and that was dangerous. It wiped the smile off his face. "I'll be in touch."

His abrupt change of voice had her lifting her head. Her heart sank at the expressionless look on his face.

"Okay." She had no idea that her voice sounded small and forlorn and that tears were burning the back of her eyes. She felt it, but thought he would not notice. He was beginning to discover that nothing about her escaped him.

It had him springing forward to sit on the bed. "What's wrong?"

"Nothing."

"Don't lie to me dammit."

His tone had her lifting her chin and staring at him haughtily. "Don't shout at me."

Swearing beneath his breath, he clamped determined fingers on her chin and ignored her effort to pull away as he studied her face. "Are you in pain?"

Sensing that he was not going to let it slide, she decided to be honest. "Hormones," she told him huskily. "And I'm just beginning to realize how ill I was. It scared me."

Her admission had his heart turning over inside his chest and melting away everything else.

"So was I."

She stared at him in surprise, and he moved his shoulders restlessly.

Her lips were slightly parted and without any sort of artifice.

Her tight curls were mussed and there was absolutely no reason he should find her attractive and sensual.

But he did. At this moment, with her face bare of all makeup, cheeks creased from the pillows, she was the most beautiful woman he had ever seen.

Lust for her was making him weak. His heart pounded and his skin turned hot.

Shock filled him to the bone and had him dropping his hand and easing back.

Slowly and with meticulous movements, he rose and shoved his hands into his pockets.

He wanted to touch her -- and he wanted to taste and devour.

The violence of those emotions had him reeling.

Stepping back, he gave her one last look before turning and leaving the room.

For his safety and hers.

Yasmine stared after him and took several shaky breaths. For one wild moment, she thought he was going to kiss her, and she had wanted him to. Her nipples were now rigid outlines against her nightie.

Hormones, she decided frantically. It was just that and she could not help it, could she? It came with the territory. Sliding down on the pillows, she pulled the sheets up to her neck and closed her eyes, telling herself she was happy he left.

*****

He found the doctor at the nurse's station and jerked his head, indicating he wanted to talk to her.

Charlene led the way into a small, cluttered office and closed the door. "I do a few hours here twice a week," she explained.

He could not care less. "How's she really?" His tone was abrupt, but he did not care about that either.

Charlene was used to people being rude and the imposing looking man standing in front of her was just another one. Only this man's family had been donating to the hospital for years and his mother sat on the board of the pediatric ward. He was not just nobody.

She was going to have to tread carefully.

"Her vital signs have improved remarkably."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning she should be released in a day or two. We're keeping her here to make sure she's well enough to go home."

He wandered over to the tiny window. It had snowed heavily the night before, leaving the evidence dripping from the trees with their skeletal branches. "You're implying that it's premature for me to suggest the abortion to her." His voice was mild.

"She's already four months pregnant and from this point on it could be smooth sailing."

He turned to look at her with those enigmatic eyes. The man was nothing like his mother, she thought, forcing herself to hold his gaze.

"You cannot guarantee that, can you?"

"No," she shook her head reluctantly. "But I can guarantee that we have every intention of taking the best care of her."

"You'd better." There was a hint of steel in his voice that caused her to shiver. Lifting his left hand, he glanced at the plain looking timepiece. "I'm heading home, call me if there are any changes."

"Of course." She watched him leave with a sense of relief. This job was paying her an exorbitant amount of money and a promise to help with her research department, but she was wondering if it was worth more stress than it was worth.

He checked in on her before he left. He convinced himself after leaving the doctor that he would go straight home, but halfway down the hall, he found himself retracing his steps. She was sleeping. Walking further into the room, he saw that her eyes were closed, and her breathing was even.

He nodded to the nurse who was busily and quietly adjusting the tubes.

"How's she?" he asked in a stage whisper. And even though the woman knew he had just been inside the room, she answered with a nod.

"Vitals are still good. She should sleep for the next couple of hours." She adjusted the sheets before slipping from the room.