Page 96 of Precious Hazard

“Fine,” I croak. “Sleeping like a log.”

“No fever?”

“Nope. Not in the last three hours.”Ahem.I clear my throat. “Listen, can I make soup using hot tap water? Like really, really hot water?”

“Um…noooo.”

I lean against the breakfast bar and close my eyes, sighing. “That’s what I thought.”

“Tara? Are you okay?”

Am I? The last thing I ate was lunch. Yesterday. And excluding the brief stretch of shut-eye last night, I’ve been awake for more than twenty-four hours. “Fine. I’m fine.”

“Do you want me to come over and help?”

Hmm, asking my sister-in-law to drive over an hour to help me make fucking soup would be a new low. “No need. I’ll call you if anything changes. Say hi to Drago for me.”

Setting the phone down, I resume glaring at the stove. Telling Greta not to show up today was a mistake, but I didn’t want her to risk exposure to pneumonia. I did consider asking one of Arturo’s guys patrolling the grounds to come and boil the water for me. But that idea died a quick death when I pictured my darling husband laughing his ass off after hearing about it. Maybe I could just ignore Ilaria’s advice and bring him juice?

“Shit.”

My throat closes up, making it hard to swallow, as I take a step toward my doom. With shaking fingers, I reach toward the closest knob and turn it clockwise. Rapid clicking breaks the silence in the room, just as the faint but putrid odor of gas fills the air. A circle of blue flame rises from the burner. It takes everything in me not to turn tail and flee.

Instantly, I’m transported twenty years back in time as images of fire clawing at the walls of my childhood home flare before my eyes. A scream swells inside my chest. No! I can’t do it. Can’t let myself be sucked back there again.

I blink, banishing the mental fog and the scene of destruction, shifting my focus to setting the pot on the stove.

“Damn you, DeVille,” I rasp as the pot nearly slips from my shaking hands. “Damn you, and your soup, and your goddamned kitchen.”

As soon as the stainless steel container is squarely settled on the burner, I move several steps back and watch the tiny flame lick at the bottom of the pot.I did it.If someone told me I’d willingly go anywhere near a fire like this, I’d call them nuts and laugh all the way to the bank.

I’m gloating internally, feeling proud of myself and my triumph, but that happy buzz pops faster than a balloon meeting a porcupine. I can’t believe it. I did it… forhim.

Fuck.

Shoving my fingers into my hair, I grip the roots. Iama fucking disaster. But this is different. This is mercy. He’s sick!

Arturo’s temperature hasn’t spiked in hours, so I’m hopeful the worst of it has passed. That should mean no more sweet delusional ramblings. No more tender words that mess with my head. Nothing that blurs my perception of who Arturo DeVille actually is.

I have to stay true to my agenda. Keep him outside my walls and away from my silly heart.

I can’t let myself fall for Satan DeVille.

Can’t let myself fall… deeper.

Chapter 20

“Ginger was adamant that this can’t wait.” The man currently occupying my doorstep shakes his head. “As the CEO, Mr. DeVille is the only one who can sign this document.”

I take a deep breath, trying to resist the overwhelming urge to punch this guy in the head. “He can’t sign anything without reading it, and he’s in no shape to do that right now.”

Arturo’s temperature has remained below the danger zone for the past two days, hovering just below one hundred. Worried that his fever might return, I’ve been sneaking into his room when he’s asleep and using a noncontact thermometer to take regular readings. This illness has really wiped him out. That man has been sleeping a lot!

“These need to be signed right away, Mrs. DeVille. It’s the don’s orders. Something about tomorrow being the deadline.”

“Fine. Come back at seven.” I snatch the envelope out of his hands and slam the door in his face.

“‘It’s the don’s orders,’” I mimic as I trudge to the living room and drop down onto the couch cushions.