The chain rattled, and the door slid opened. She stood swaying in front of him, and he reached out to steady her. "Don't get close," she mumbled as she turned her head away, "I'm probably contagious." She looked like hell, her hair was hanging in limp strings around her pale face and her nose was red.
He wasted no time and without thinking much about it, he put an arm behind her back and one under her legs and swung her up in his arms. "Yeah, you don't have to worry about me catching it. I don't ever get sick." He slammed the door shut with his booted foot. "Where do you want me to put you? In the bed or on the couch?"
"The couch is okay."
"All right. For now." He walked over to the couch, her weight negligible in his arms, and gently laid her down. "You need something to cover up with."
"There's a throw on my bed," she managed right before she went into a coughing fit.
Logan turned away and went into the bedroom, which looked as if a hurricane had hit it. He grabbed the throw and a couple of pillows, and walked back out to her. He handed her one pillow, and helped her put the other behind her back. Then he shook out the throw and placed it over her.
She pulled it up to her chin and shivered.
He frowned and laid the back of his hand to her forehead, and then to her cheek. She was burning up. "Have you taken anything for fever?"
"No. This came on so suddenly. My throat was scratchy this morning when I left for work, and by noon I had aches and chills." She lifted sad, blood-shot eyes to his. "I think I'm really sick."
His hand gentled on her cheek. "You think so, sweetheart?" he asked in a voice that reflected a hint of humor and commiseration. He sat down on the edge of the couch, facing her. He lifted one of her hands, and surreptitiously, felt to make sure she had a strong pulse. There was no reason to think she wouldn't, but you never knew, and he wanted to be sure.
She closed her eyes and remained silent, looking as if she was enjoying the feel of his hand on her hot skin.
"Do you want me to take you to the emergency room?"
She shook her head without opening her eyes. "I don't think it's life-threatening," she said with amusement, as if he were over-reacting.
"You're obviously running a fever. Do one thing for me, okay?"
She opened one eye and watched him through the slit in her eyelid. "Okay."
"Bend your head all the way down and see if you can put your chin on your chest."
She looked at him as if her were insane, but she did as he asked before lifting her head back up. She raised one eyebrow in question.
"That didn't hurt?" He asked.
"No."
He swallowed hard in relief. "Okay. I guess you're going to live."
"What was that all about?"
"I don't know." He shrugged his shoulders. "Something about a quick check for meningitis. My mother always made us do it when we were sick."
She closed her eyes again. "That's good to know."
"I need to get something in you for that fever, though."
"Okay," she agreed weakly.
"Do you have anything here?"
"Top drawer in the bathroom." She answered as she cuddled under the blanket.
Logan went to her bathroom and opened her top drawer. It was full of over-the-counter pain relievers, along with scissors, a hammer, tampons, and both opened and unopened packages of cosmetics. Did she not have a rhyme or reason for anything? Shaking his head, he grabbed a couple of the bottles of medications and went to the kitchen and got her a glass of water.
"Here you go."
He offered her ibuprofen, acetaminophen, and a cold medicine that he knew contained a fever reducer. "Which one do you want?"
She cracked one eye again and groaned as she tried to come to a sitting position.
He dropped the medications and steadied her, and then lifted her enough so she'd be able to swallow. "Is ibuprofen okay?"
"Yeah."
He shook out two pills and she took them into her hand. He held the glass to her lips as she swallowed them, one at a time.
When she relaxed back against the cushions, he sat down next to her again and pushed the hair off her forehead, trying to make her more comfortable. "Are you hungry?" he asked her as her eyes slid closed.
She shook her head.
He studied the wan look about her. "Let me rephrase that. Have you had anything to eat?"
She shook her head. "No. I don't want anything."
"Baby, you at least have to stay hydrated. I'll fix you some soup."
"I don't have any," she mumbled.
He slid to his feet. "I'll run to the store and grab some. Chicken noodle? Or do you want something else?"
"No, that's fine, but you really don't have to go. I don't think I could manage more than a few bites."
"That'll be better than nothing. You try to get some rest. I'll be back in a few, okay?"
"Yeah."
"Where's your key?"
"My key?"
"I don't want you to have to wake up if you do manage to fall asleep."
She waved her hand in the general direction of the kitchen counter. "Over there."
He leaned down and kissed her on the forehead. "Sleep, sweetheart."
When she heard her front door open, Lauren surfaced from a groggy dream of Logan moving around her apartment while she was trying to get ready for work. She was sweaty and sticky, and the first thing she realized was that it hadn't all been a dream; Logan had been here, because he was back. The second thing she realized was that her fever had broken. The chills were gone, and she kicked off the blanket that had been draped on top of her.
She tried to sit up but the effort was too much and she fell back against the pillows.
Logan shut and locked the door, and Lauren saw him carrying grocery bags. He dropped a twelve-pack of Diet Coke on the kitchen counter before he stopped at the coffee table that sat in front of her, and began unloading his booty. He had four cans each of three different brands of chicken noodle soup.
How much could he possibly think she could eat? Watching him in amazement, she glanced up at his face but he showed no expression as he continued to unload the sacks. There was Gatorade and protein water, vitamin-C tablets, five more bottles of assorted over-the-counter medicines, a heating pad, and in a box, a humidifier. A humidifier? She finally found her voice. "How much did you spend?"
He glanced up from what he was doing. "You don't need to worry about it. You need to get well."
She watched as he wadded up the plastic sacks and then came to the last one. Inside were five paperback books and a stack of magazines. Through the remaining remnants of fever, her head began to spin. Trying to come to terms with everything he'd bought and the care and thought he'd put into the project, she began to get even dizzier.
She looked back at him and found his gaze on hers once again. His hand went to her forehead and with a gentle touch, he grazed the back of his fingers across her skin. His expression contained worry, the lines of his face taut with strain. "Are you feeling any better yet? Did your fever break?"
She stared back at him, but speaking was beyond her. She was so taken aback by the concern and care he couldn't hide. This was just one more aspect of his personality that she was seeing, whether he wanted her to see it or not.
She sucked in a ragged breath.
She had one thought and one thought only.
She was falling in love with the Neanderthal.
During the evening and night, Logan fed her soup and made her drink Gatorade and lots of water. Lauren knew he'd called someone, she suspected it was his mother, because she'd heard him talking on the phone. After that, he timed her medicine and alternated between giving her ibuprofen and acetaminophen.
He took care of her, and she left any worries she might have had to him. Since the following day was Friday, she already knew she wasn't going in to work, and so did her immediate boss. It had been more than obvious when Lauren had left with chills and a fever and he had called out, "See you Monday." She knew he didn't want her spreading what she had all over the office.
So Lauren alternated between sleeping through the evening and night, and being taken care of by Logan. All she had to do on her own was pick her way to the bathroom, and a couple of times, she hadn't even had to do that. He'd lifted her up when she'd swayed a little too much for his liking, and deposited her in the bathroom and closed the door. He'd been there waiting for her, ready to carry her back after she opened the door.
They watched some television together, and at about midnight, he carried her through to the bedroom and held her as she slept.
Lauren couldn't ever remember having had so much fun being sick. She reveled in his care; she luxuriated in the undivided attention he was showing her. Nothing anyone had ever done for her had ever felt so . . . compelling.
The next morning when she realized that he wasn't going to go to work, she rebelled against that. "I'm okay. I'm going to live. Please go to work."
He frowned in obvious agitation. "Your fever might flare up again."
"I just took the ibuprofen. I'll take some more meds in a couple of hours, okay?"
He watched her as if debating the idea. "I think you still need me."
God, yes, she needed him. "I'll be fine." She watched him warily, a thousand emotions bouncing around in her head. "You can come back after work if you want."
He leaned in and kissed her on the forehead. "That's a given, baby."