Bedroom Diplomacy(29)

“Tricia told me you were sick, and Betty sent me up to give you these blankets and linens. How are you feeling?”

“Like death, and I’m sure I look like it, too. I haven’t even brushed my hair.”

“Have you called a physician?”

She peeked her head out from under the afghan. “It’s this god-awful flu that’s going around. I’ll be fine in a day or two. And you shouldn’t even be here. Trust me when I say you do not want to catch this.”

Instead of backing off, he sat on the edge of the couch cushion right beside her. “Considering all the time we’ve spent together, odds are good I’ve already caught it. Have you taken your temperature?”

She shook her head.

“What are your symptoms?”

“Fever, chills, body aches and I think my head might explode. But the ibuprofen is helping.”

He sat on the edge of the cushion and held his wrist to Rowena’s forehead, the way his sister had done when Colin was sick as a boy. She felt a little warm, but not enough to cause concern. “Is there anything I can get you?”

“You don’t have to take care of me. Betty checks on me every so often, and I can call her if I need anything.”

“Have you had water?”

“Some, when I got up this morning.”

“You should be drinking fluids to stay hydrated. Have you eaten anything?”

She shook her head. “Not since dinner last night.”

“When I was young, and I had the flu, my sister Matilda fixed me chicken soup.” He paused and added, “Well, she had the maid fix it for me. But she always sat with me while I ate it, and read me stories until I fell asleep.”

“Why your sister and not your parents?”

“Matty is twenty years older than me, and when I wasn’t off at boarding school, she raised me.”

“Why her?”

“I was born quite late in my parents’ lives. My father was sixty, my mother forty-seven. I was unplanned, and neither seemed to have much interest in starting over, especially with a demanding and precocious little boy like myself.”

“Demanding and precocious? I’d never have guessed.”

“I had a fondness for setting things on fire.”

Her runny, bloodshot eyes went wide. “Seriously?”

He looked around the room, then said, “You have good insurance, yes?”

Her smile was weak, but genuine.

“The truth is, my days as an arsonist ended when I set fire to the boys’ loo at boarding school. Suffice it to say, the punishment more than fit the crime.”

“Sounds like it was a cry for attention.”

“I imagine it was.”

“Does your sister have a family of her own?”

“No. She married young, before I was born, but her husband became ill shortly after and died. She was pregnant—which I gather is why they married in the first place—but she lost the baby. She never remarried or had other children.”

“That’s so sad.”

“I used to pretend that my parents were actually my grandparents, and Matty was really my mum. She loved me as if she were. To this day she still tries to baby me.”

“Could it be possible that she is?”

He laughed and shook his head. “No, no chance. It was just a dejected child’s foolish fantasy.”

“Are your parents still living?”

“My father passed away when I was at university. My mother is still alive and staying with my sister, but she’s not doing well.”

“Do you see her often?”

“Once or twice a year.”

“That’s it?”

“Matty implores me to visit more, but there’s no real…emotional attachment.”

“I wish I only had to see my father once a year.” She paused, looking distraught, and said, “Oh, no, this was supposed to be our weekend. I’m ruining it.”

“There will be other weekends. Or you might feel fine by tomorrow. We’ll just wait and see.”

“Okay.”

“Would you be more comfortable in bed?”

“Probably, but Dylan spilled juice all over my sheets and blankets this morning when he was trying to bring me breakfast.”

“Why don’t I change them for you, so you can lie down?”

“Colin, you don’t have to do that.”

“I know I don’t. I want to.” He grabbed the sheets and blankets and carried them to her bedroom. What looked like dried grape juice was splattered across the sheets and duvet, and there were spots on the carpet, as well. He stripped the bed, inhaling the scent of her skin. She was so familiar to him now. He knew how she smelled, how she tasted, every curve of her body. He knew just where to touch her to bring her off, or how to take his time and drive her slowly out of her mind until she was begging for release. He liked that above all else sex with her was not only extremely satisfying, but fun. She didn’t expect to be treated like a princess or require sappy sentiments of affection. She didn’t talk about making love. They had sex, plain and simple, and they did it very well.