Page 29 of Aviator
Another time, maybe, I’d be intimately aware of every inch of my body that comes in contact with his. Another time, I’d analyze how his hands find their way around my waist. How his nose turns toward my hair. How tense he is at first with me beside him, until he finally relaxes a little at a time, until he’s relaxed against me.
“Does this hurt you? Let me know if I need to move.” My jaw cracks with the force of a yawn that seems to come from my bones.
It’s a long time before he answers. So long that I almost slip into unconsciousness. “Close your eyes, princess. I’ll hold you until you wake up.”
“Don’t call me princess,” I mumble and fall into a deep, dreamless sleep, his deep, rumbling voice in my ear.
* * *
After being so cold for so long, the warmth surrounding me keeps lulling me back into a deep sleep each time I surface. I snuggle closer to it, wrapping my arms around the weight next to me and burying my cold nose into warm skin. The scent of lavender and rosemary, I think, fills my lungs in deep gulps, and somehow the scent is reassuring.
Part of me knows the outside world isn’t normal or right, but the warmth, scent, and comforting weight of an arm on my hip dispels any tendrils of disquiet.
Finally, when I’ve slept enough for my brain to interject a note of alarm, I gradually come back to consciousness. First, it’s the heartbeat pounding in my ear. Slow, steady. One of the girls probably snuck into my room after a nightmare. It wouldn’t be the first time. But no, a quick evaluation of the person next to me shows they’re way too large to be one of my little sisters.
Well, and then there’s the hand on my ass.
Thelargehand.
The largemalehand.
Despite myself and everything I’ve been through recently with Garrett, my heart speeds up in response. The hand is decidedly possessive, even in sleep. And that sends me bolting straight into the fully awake category. Only a man like Dean would hold a woman like that in his sleep.
I freeze, unsure of what to do. I settle with trying to slip out of his grasp, hoping he’s still so exhausted he won’t notice my movement.
But of course, he notices everything.
As soon as I move to sit up, he twitches. I glance down, my forehead furrowed in apprehension, but his eyes aren’t open. In fact, they’re squeezed tightly shut. Behind the lids, his eyes flutter, and he begins to move in his sleep, his hand falling away from my ass.
At first, I thought the warmth spreading through me was coming from the remnants of the fire in the fireplace, but no. I place a hand on Dean’s sweaty forehead. I’m burning up because Dean’s skin is on fire.
I jolt upward, and his hand falls away, but otherwise, he doesn’t move anymore aside from his chest rising and falling rapidly with each breath. “Dean?”
I curse. He’s boiling with fever. “Shit.”
Carefully, I maneuver over him so I can stand by the side of the cot. I shake his shoulder, to no avail. Christ, he cannot do this to me again. I don’t think I can keep it together for us this time.
“Dean?” My voice is frantic, frayed around the edges, ready to snap.
His eyes open just the slightest bit, and his cracked lips pull down into a frown. “Jesus, woman. Can you not let me sleep?”
I melt into a puddle of relief at his side, my knees cracking against the wooden floor. I must have grabbed his hand at some point because I’m kneeling over it, chanting prayers in my head. When I’ve gathered myself enough to keep from totally losing it, I glance up at him to give him a once-over.
“You scared me.”
“All I was doing was sleeping.”
My free hand goes to his forehead. “You have a fever. Maybe an infection or a cold? Hell if I know. How do you feel?”
His scowl deepens. “I’d feel better if you’d stop asking me that.” He must not feel too bad if he can still muster up the energy to channel his inner jerk.
This man, I swear. Pushing to my feet, I roll my eyes hard enough that I hope they don’t get stuck. My thighs still tremble with exhaustion from our hike as I cross the distance to where we dropped our supplies. I rifle through the medical kit and find more ibuprofen. Hopefully, it’s enough for now. I give him two tablets along with what remains of our water.
“Take these and don’t complain.”
Surprisingly, he does, and after I take the water, his eyes slip closed again. Another yawn comes over me, and I wage a short mental war with myself before refilling the water bottle and setting it by the fire. I add another piece of wood from the chair Dean destroyed and stoke the embers until flames lick at the wood. The cabin fills with warmth again, and I reclaim my spot on the cot by Dean. Even that small amount of activity has sapped my energy.
But I don’t let myself rest until my hand comes away cool from Dean’s head. Thankfully, his fever has broken for now.
