SEAL the Deal(81)

“Just a drink is fine. I downed a quarter-pound of fudge, remember?” Lacey shrugged off her wet jacket as she sat down. “And you better not eat too much. I promised to make you spaghetti tonight. Or are you trying to avoid my cooking?”

“Hardly. Just avoiding that rain.” Mick took her hand and played lightly with her fingers, tracing with care along the freckle on her right knuckle, the practical sheen of each fingernail, even that tiny calloused bump on her middle finger that came from years of gripping a pencil too tightly. She caught his brief, devilish grin.

“What?”

“Hmm?” Mick asked innocently.

“You were smiling.”

“Can’t I smile when I’m in the company of the hottest girl in the pub?”

Lacey’s eyes glanced around them. “Not too much competition out tonight, but I’ll thank you for the compliment.”

“I was actually just noticing how sexy your hands are.”

Eyebrows raised, she cocked her head. “You must be joking.”

Mick’s eyes locked on hers. “You still have the whole weekend off?”

“Mmhm.” Her body hummed at the idea of an entire weekend with Mick, free of appointments or open houses. Or funerals, she thought as her grin widened. Taking a break from funeral crashing had definitely been a good idea.

“Great. You’ll enjoy meeting Admiral Casey tomorrow night.”

Her serenity evaporated at the reminder that they would be having dinner with the visiting Admiral who might be able to get Mick’s career back on track. How convenient that she had forgotten that. “Are you sure you think it is a good idea for me to join you? I might say the wrong thing.”

He took both of her hands. “Honey, after seeing you work that crowd at the ball, I think the Admiral will be putty in your hands.” He flipped over her hands and gently kissed both of her palms. “God knows nothing else turns to putty in your hands.”

Lacey felt her temperature rise.

“Besides, I’m nervous as hell about it, Lacey. I’ve always relied on my own accomplishments to build my career in the Navy. I’ve never been one to pull strings to get where I want to go. This is foreign territory for me. It will be good to have you by my side.”

It will be good to have you by my side. Lacey played his words over in her head as the warmth of his hands closed around hers again. With an ache in her heart, she wished she could hear him say that every day for the rest of her life.

***

Mick smiled when he opened his eyes, his first gaze of the day resting on Lacey, still asleep at his side. He brushed the hair from her face, and rested his hand on her cheek for a moment. She felt warm. Too warm. Gently, he pulled the blanket off her shoulders.

A good breakfast was what she needed, he decided, quietly rising from the bed.

By the time he returned with a breakfast tray in hand, Lacey was half awake, a soft moan coming from her.

“Morning,” Mick said softly, sitting beside her.

“Mick?”

“I brought you breakfast.”

“Not hungry.” She shut her eyes again. “I don’t feel right.”

“You seem a little warm. I’ll get you a cool rag.”

Mick found a fresh washcloth in the linen closet and drenched it in cool water. He placed it on her forehead.

“Mom?”

“No, Lacey. It’s Mick. You must have a fever.”

“Mick?”

“I’m right here, baby.”

“Don’t feel well. I should go home.”

“You’ll stay right here and I’ll take care of you. I’ll be right back.”

Mick raced into the bathroom. He must have a thermometer somewhere. He was mildly impressed to find one shoved into one of several first aid kits he had collected over the years.

As a man who rarely got sick, he knew nothing about treating a cold. If Lacey had a shrapnel wound, he was the right guy to have around. Or a scorpion sting, or dehydration. Heat stroke. Dysentery. Hell, he could even hook her up to a damn IV if she needed it, but he had no idea what to do for a common cold.

He put the thermometer under her tongue and watched the number rise to 104.3. Shit, that’s bad, he thought, reaching for the phone.

“Hey, Maeve, it’s Mick. Lacey woke up sick. … No, she’s not hung over. … Like a cold kind of sick. Or the flu. … Of course, I won’t send her home like this. I wouldn’t want Bess to catch it either.” He rolled his eyes. “I’m keeping her here, but I’m just not sure what to do for her. I never get sick. … Yeah, I did. It’s 104.3. … Sure I’ve got that. I’ll give her some. … No, I haven’t noticed any coughing yet. She’s breathing fine. … Asleep. … She woke up a minute ago, but went back out again. She thought I was her mom. … Yeah, cute, Maeve. That’s really funny. … Do you think I should get her to the doc?”