Page 70 of Gone With the Wine

Eyes closed, she smiles.

“Good night, Bianca.”

Her eyelids flutter open and she gazes at me dreamily. “I can’t believe you’re doing this. I mean not doing this.”

“I can’t either. Christ.” My balls ache ferociously. I kiss her forehead and let her go. “Get some sleep.”

I walk away but I turn and watch her enter the house and close the door behind her.

I take a few long, harsh breaths, sucking fresh night air into my lungs. Jesus. I’ve been jerking off to thoughts of her for weeks. How the fuck am I going to sleep now that I’ve actually tasted that soft mouth? Felt those sweet tits press against my chest…learned that she wants me, too.

Holy shit.I stare at Bianca as she stumbles into the pressing house the next morning. She looks…awful.

I head straight toward her. “Are you okay?”

She gazes at me with foggy eyes that are huge in her pale face. She looks…sweaty. “I’m fine.”

“Jesus.” I lift a hand and press it to her forehead. “No. You’re not. You’re sick.”

“I have work to do.”

“Fuck that. You need to be in bed.”

“Jansen. Ican’t.”

“Yes, you can. Come on.” I try to steer her to the door but she digs in her heels. “Bianca. Now. Or I’ll carry you out of here and I don’t care who sees.”

Her shoulders slump and I sense she gives in only because she feels like shit. Which is a little scary.

I take her home. Her house is empty, with both Rosa and Jake out working. I help her up the stairs and into her bedroom, where I’ve never been before. I get a quick impression of a few pieces of vintage furniture, an old-fashioned quilt on the bed, and sun pouring through gauzy curtains. I get Bianca onto the bed, pull off her boots and jeans.

Yeah, I’d like to be doing this for a different reason, but hell, she’s in rough shape. I tuck her under the covers in her pink lace panties and T-shirt. Then I pull down the blind on the window to shut out the light and set out to find the bathroom.

It’s a little weird, snooping through her drawers and cabinets. I find a washcloth that I soak in cold water. I search for a thermometer and come up empty, but I do find Advil. I run a glass of water and return to the bedroom. “Here.” I hand over a pill and the water, and fold the cloth to lay it on her forehead.

“I’ll be better in an hour,” she croaks. “I just need a little more sleep.”

“Sure.” I don’t believe that for a second.

“There’s so much to do,” she whines.

“It’ll get done.”

“By who?”

“By me,” I reply firmly. “And the team.”

“Nobody knows what to do,” she mumbles.

A smile tugs my lips. “You are the boss,” I agree. “But I think we can survive a day.”

She looks like she’s going to cry.

“It’s okay,” I soothe. “We got this. You need to rest.”

I go down to the kitchen and find some juice for her. I send Rosa a text to let her know Bianca’s sick.

When Bianca dozes off, I sit in a nearby chair and watch her. Her damp hair is flattened to her scalp and her skin is much paler than her usual golden tan. But she still looks beautiful. My eyes wander over the curve of her high cheekbones, the soft fullness of her lips, the dark crescents of her eyelashes.

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