Page 61 of Mayfair Madame
Dreams full of nothing and everything. Dreams of drowning, dreams of living, dreams of a brown-eyed woman reaching out to me, her hand drifting farther and farther away until I’d sat up in a panic, my heart racing and sweat dripping down my face.
“It’s too early for me to go to bed.” I pouted, but sleep threatened to pull me under despite the light streaming through the bedroom window, muted sounds of the bustling city from below.
“It’s never too early to rest and get well. I’m going to bring you something for dinner, your medication and then you’re going to sleep.”
A gentle hand stroked down my face, and kind eyes filled me with hope of a better future. Was I asking too much? And again, there was that annoying voice telling me I didn’t deserve her. Why would she be interested in me?
I batted away the thoughts and concentrated on her and her alone. Her hand cradled my face, and I couldn’t help the sigh that left me.
When did I become so weak and needy? Maybe if I’d been like this, Kate would have stayed, but I knew the way I felt was down to the infection and nothing else. Not that I didn’t have feelings for Naomi. God, I wanted her so badly I could cry.
But I was feeling sorry for myself, and why shouldn’t I let someone take care of me for a change?
“Rest. I’ll be back soon, and then you can sleep.” She closed the door, and my eyes drooped. Her bed was warm and comfortable, and I snuggled into the pillows that smelled of her.
This time, I fell into a dreamless sleep, waking only when she returned.
“Here, sit up. I brought you some soup.”
I sat, my back against the headboard and inhaled deeply.
“Smells good. Did you make it yourself?”
She bit her lip, then smiled.
“Um, not quite. I might have got it delivered. I’m not great in the kitchen.”
“I have experience that says otherwise,” I said, and flashes of my face between her legs played in my mind, and I laughed at the look on her face.
Clearly, she’d remembered it too. The tray wobbled in her hands, but she saved it and placed it on the nightstand.
“I’m blaming you entirely.” Her eyes sparkled with amusement. “Now open up like a good girl.”
“That’s what she said.” I couldn’t help myself.
“You are incorrigible, Ellie.” But she smiled anyway.
She dipped the spoon in the soup and blew on it gently, then brought it to my lips.
Her eyes never left mine, and I opened my mouth. Warm liquid coated my tongue. She tilted the spoon, filling my mouth with the most delicious soup I’d ever tasted. I closed my eyes and groaned as the hot broth dripped down my throat.
“Good?” She placed the spoon back into the bowl.
“Very good.”
She put the spoon to her lips and licked. “Mmm, it is good. More?”
I nodded, fascinated by the exchange. Other than my mother, no one had ever fed me, and to say I was turned on was an understatement, as ill as I felt.
She continued feeding me, watching my every move—the flick of my tongue, the lick of my lips—and when a stray drop dripped down my chin, she was quick to wipe it with her thumb. She sucked it into her mouth, licking every drip.
If stoking my arousal was her plan, she was doing a damn fine job.But with the heat of the room, the soup that now warmed me from the inside, and the stupidly comfortable bed, I could barely keep my eyes open.
Why? Just when things were getting interesting, my body betrayed me.
Sensing my exhaustion, Naomi took a napkin from the tray and wiped my mouth. “I’ll tell Lorenzo you enjoyed his soup.”
I slumped back and sank into the soft, feather-filled pillows.
