‘Just breathe.’
She filled her lungs.
‘That’s it. In through the nose and out through the mouth.’
‘I do know how to breathe. I’ve been doing it all my life.’ Her snappy retort was said with teeth that weren’t so much gritted as sucked.
‘That’s a very clever trait to have,’ he said gravely. He had to admit that, despite her green hue, there was something incredibly sexy about the way she sparred with him. ‘I will give you five minutes for your body to right itself and if you’re still not capable of walking I will carry you to the car.’
His threat did the trick as when he returned exactly five minutes later Cara was sitting upright with her eyes open.
She looked at him. ‘I think I need your help getting to my feet.’
‘You must be bad.’ If he hadn’t already seen with his eyes that she was unwell, her clammy skin would have definitely given the game away. Her hand gripped his wrist so tightly her neat but short nails dug into his flesh.
She leaned into him, allowing him to half drag her to the open door.
‘It’ll be easier for you to get out if you sit down—it’s a bit of a gap at the best of times.’ Not waiting for an argument, he helped her sit her shaky frame to the floor and dangle her legs out of the overhang.
Then he jumped down.
‘Can you get down or do you need my help?’ If it was anyone else he’d just pull them down the last few inches.
Her green eyes pierced into him. He could see how much it pained her to have to say, ‘I need your help.’
He placed his hands on her waist. ‘Put your arms around me.’
‘Do I have to?’
‘No. It’ll probably be safer for you though.’
This time she gritted her teeth for real.
Tilting her head to the side and away from his gaze, she looped her arms around his neck, taking care not to touch him in anything but the loosest of fashions.
Deliberately, he closed the small gap between them, felt her heavy breasts crush against his chest. Not for the first time that day he felt a flicker of excitement stir inside him. It was nice to know he wasn’t dead from the waist down as he’d been fearing in recent months.
As it was such a short distance for her feet to reach—although if she’d been a few inches taller she would probably have reached the ground from the sitting position—it was a simple matter of tugging her down onto terra firma.
She swayed into him, her cheek coming to rest against his chest, her arms dropping from his neck like deadened weights.
‘I’m sorry,’ she muttered.
‘I’m not.’ He slipped his arms around her waist to support her limp form, and enjoyed the feel of her soft curves pressing against the contrasting hardness of his body. She really was incredibly cuddly. She was also clearly unwell. ‘Can you walk?’
‘Yes.’ There was a definite air of defiance in her affirmation, a defiance aimed at her own legs rather than him. ‘Do not carry me.’