Total pages in book: 81
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 76541 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 383(@200wpm)___ 306(@250wpm)___ 255(@300wpm)
But it does now, in the most uncomfortable of ways, and all I can think is that my life has changed, too.
CHAPTER 18
Stepping into Asher’s bedroom, I take a moment to study him as he sleeps. I never realized what a fierce expression he always kept on his face but now that he’s relaxed and not aware of anyone watching him, he almost looks vulnerable.
Which is not a word I’d ever use to describe Asher Knight. And if I did, he’d take great offense to it. In the past month, I’ve come to understand some important truths about him.
He’s bossy, arrogant, and a control freak. He’s strong and determined. The vibe around him is always one of authority, and when he wants something, he takes it.
I also found out just a few days ago that he has an incredibly surprising softer side, as evidenced by the way he took care of me Friday night when I was sick. I didn’t think he had something like that in him, and it absolutely goes against everything that our relationship stands for. He went one step further by helping to push my case forward to get Hope back. True to his word, his attorney is filing the motion today. It will be served upon Nelson and his attorney, and I’ve been tense all morning waiting for a phone call from him.
I woke up feeling so much better on Saturday morning, which was a relief, because that meant I would get my time with Hope. But I was feeling a tad guilty when I noticed that Asher had a bit of a cough as he was leaving.
“I hope you didn’t get sick from me,” I’d told him from the doorway as he walked down my porch.
He waved me off. “Just a tickle in my throat. I’m fine.”
When I came into work this Monday morning, I found Asher in bed with a fever, sweats, and a deep congestive cough. I immediately hooked him up with some tea. Because he had no cold medications in his apartment, I ran out to the pharmacy to grab the necessities.
I dosed him up and ordered him to sleep, which is really the best sort of medicine. His body was fighting off some nasty stuff because he didn’t even try to argue with me.
But now it’s close to lunchtime, and he needs to eat and hydrate. I carry a tray stacked with chicken noodle soup, crackers, and some Gatorade. It’s time for him to take more Tylenol, too, if he’s still hot.
I set the tray on the side table and turn to the bed. I can’t help but stare just a moment more because in sleep, he looks boyishly handsome. And even though he’s sick, he’s incredibly hot. He’s kicked off all the covers, wearing only a pair of briefs that make me drool.
Touching a hand to his forehead first, I note it’s cooler to the touch. He doesn’t stir so I gently shake him by the shoulder. “Asher… wake up.”
His eyes flutter open slowly. Dazed, he looks at me. “Hey.”
“I want you to try to eat something, and you also need to also drink some Gatorade.”
“Not hungry,” he says with the same froggy-sounding voice I had a few days ago. Yup… fairly sure I got him sick, and it was probably because he held me through the night. It’s an odd feeling but one I don’t hate. While he shows me no other physical affection except when we’re having sex, I can’t help but think it must mean something, right?
I have no intention of coddling him through his illness. Instead, I intend for him to follow my directions to get better quicker. Due to my compromised immune system, I’ve unfortunately had too many of these illnesses the last few years, I know the best way to knock them out.
Grabbing his pillow, I give it a little jerk as I order him, “Sit up so I can put this tray on your lap.”
“Rather have you on my lap,” he croaks, but there’s no power or punch in his words. This cold is whipping his butt. It’s not a serious offer.
Pity. I do miss sex with him.
Thankfully, he doesn’t fight me and manages to haul himself up to lean against the headboard. I put the tray on his lap, then open the Gatorade bottle while he picks up the spoon and pokes around at some of the noodles.
“What time is it?” he asks.
Turning to his table, I start picking up discarded tissues, an empty glass that had had ginger ale in it from earlier this morning, and a box of Nyquil gel caps. “Almost noon.”
“I need to get into the office,” he mutters, then has a coughing fit.
“I’d advise against it.”
He glances from me to his soup, dipping his spoon in before guiding it to his mouth. When he swallows, he points the spoon at me. “You’re awful bossy. I think it’s because you know I’m too sick to spank you.”