He chuckled, the rumble of his chest vibrating beneath her cheek. “I wouldn’t have it any other way.”
Seven
Sitting at the kitchen island of Juliet’s family lake house, Reid checked his watch for the fourth time in ten minutes. He drummed his fingers impatiently on the countertop and resisted the urge to tip his stool back on two legs like a grade-schooler.
What was taking her so long?
Granted, he didn’t know the ins and outs of her daily routine—at least not as well as he might once have wanted to—but sleeping past ten o’clock in the morning seemed somewhat excessive for a woman like Juliet. She may have been born with a silver spoon in her mouth, but she’d also been raised with a strong work ethic. She and her sisters hadn’t built Zaccaro Fashions into a successful design label by lying in bed all day.
Plus, he knew Juliet. She was much more put-together than that. More of the early-to-bed, early-to-rise type.
Of course, it didn’t help that he’d been up since 6:00 a.m.—after a night of zero sleep. But how the hell was he supposed to rest knowing she was just across the hall? Only two thin wooden panels and a few feet of oaken floorboards away, close enough to touch.
He’d paced his room half the night, as edgy as a caged tiger, working off some of the frustration and restless energy he hadn’t so much as hinted at while he’d been in the same room as Juliet. Because the last thing he wanted to do was kill time at her family’s lake house when they should have been headed back to New York already. He wasn’t entirely sure what would happen once they got back to the city, but turning her over to her sisters would be one huge item off his to-do list.
And that was what he wanted, right? To be done with Juliet and the whole Zaccaro clan as soon as possible.
Yet for some reason, he hadn’t pressured Juliet to head back to New York last night. Hadn’t tossed her over his shoulder and carried her to his Range Rover, tying her up in the backseat if necessary.
Flicking his wrist, he checked his watch again. Ten-twenty.
Enough was enough. Whatever was going to happen today, it was going to happen soon. Even if he had to throw a bucket of ice water on Sleeping Beauty to get her out of bed.
Stalking down the hallway, he lifted a fist to knock, but froze as he heard a peculiar sound on the other side of her closed bedroom door. He cocked his head, listening.
Silence.
He waited a few seconds, then raised his hand again, but before knuckles met oak, the same sort of noise reached his ears, less muffled this time.
Frowning, he turned the knob and slowly stepped inside, looking to see if Juliet was sleeping in the bed. It was empty. The covers were rumpled, proving she had been there at some point, but she wasn’t there now.
The strange sound came again, and his head swiveled in the direction of the master bath. What was that? It sounded like...
Four long strides took him to the bathroom doorway, and one glance inside showed him that he’d been right. Juliet was on the floor, curled around the commode, retching like a drunk after a weeklong bender.
“Good God. Juliet.”
He reached her in the blink of an eye, going down on one knee on the cool tile floor and brushing the hair back from her face. She was ashen, her dry lips parted slightly, lashes fluttering above her pale cheeks.
“Are you all right?” he asked in a harsh whisper. Then felt like an idiot for asking such a stupid question. Clearly she was far from all right.
Though what could have happened in the past ten to twelve hours that would cause her to be this sick? She’d been fine last night, so if it was the flu, it had come on fast.
Could it be...food poisoning? They’d both eaten exactly the same things, and he was okay, but... If something he’d prepared had done this to her, he would feel horrible. Grab-a-shotgun-and-take-a-long-walk-in-the-woods horrible.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, frowning so hard it almost gave him a headache. “I’m so sorry. Here, let me help you.”
She groaned and tried to swat him away, but he only brushed damp blond locks from her face before getting up and moving to the sink. Wetting a washcloth with cold water, he wrung it out, then brought it back and began to gently pat her cheeks, her brow, the back of her neck.
To his relief, she sighed and seemed to relax, as though the cool cloth was some small bit of comfort on the deserted island of her misery.
A minute, maybe two passed while he continued to bathe her face and stroke her hair. Then, without warning, she lurched forward and began throwing up again.
Reid’s heart twisted in his chest. Yes, it was awful to be around someone who was this sick, and normally all he’d want was to get as far away from the puking as possible. But he couldn’t leave Juliet. The thought never even crossed his mind. The only thing he wanted was to make it stop, to try to make her feel better.