“The water’s cool,” I say. “It’ll help break your fever.”
Enough. I’m not arguing with her any longer. She’s obstinate because her feelings are hurt, but I know what’s best for her. She doesn’t have enough strength to fight me when I scoop her up and carry her to the bathroom. An overwhelming sense of protectiveness invades every instinct I possess. She weighs nothing. She’s so small and fragile it scares me. Nothing can ever happen to her. I won’t survive it. She’s weak enough that I have to prop her up in the chair to undress her.
“Don’t,” she says, gripping her pajama top together when I try to unbutton it.
I move her hand away. “There’s nothing I haven’t seen before.”
The blue color of her eyes looks paler with the dark rings marring them. The adorable freckles on her nose stand out against the unhealthy white of her skin.
“I hate you.”
“Maybe one day you won’t.” A man can only hope.
I must be a sick pervert, because my body reacts when I pull the pajamas off Zoe’s body. Fuck, fuck, fuck. She’s naked underneath. No underwear. I’ve missed her full breasts and that womanly triangle of hair between her legs. I’ve missed the smell of roses in her hair. I miss her laugh so much it’s like a gaping hole in my chest. My feelings and lack of control may not make sense, but what does is that I can’t live without her. Without her presence, I can’t breathe. I can’t sleep. Even eating is nothing but a mechanical act.
Before she notices the hard-on straining in my pants, I lower her in the water and make sure I trail her hair over the edge so I don’t get it wet. Like that night after I took her virginity—after I all but tricked her into giving it to me—I go down on my knees and serve her. I take care of her like she deserves, washing the sweat from her fever-hot body. Knowing her skin will hurt to the touch, I’m as gentle as I can be. I’m aching to drag my knuckles over the tips of her breasts and test the heat between her thighs, but this isn’t the moment to indulge in my dirty fantasies.
After a few minutes, her lips start to chatter as her fever breaks. I make quick work of lifting her out of the water and patting her dry. I dress her in a clean pair of pajamas and make her lie on the sofa, then cover her with a blanket.
I build a fire. When the flames burn high, I strip the bed and put clean linen on. I check the temperature in the room and the living area to make sure it’s at a comfortable setting before making her a bowl of noodle soup with chicken stock. By the time it’s ready, the color is back in her cheeks.
“How are you feeling?” I ask, handing her the bowl after I let it cool to almost room temperature. I don’t want to risk her dropping a scalding hot bowl of soup in her lap.
“I’m good.” She avoids my eyes. “Thank you.”
Thanking me comes hard for her, seeing that I’m the man who’s done her wrong, but her manners dictate she expresses gratitude.
Pushing a strand of hair behind her ear, I say, “There’s more soup on the stove and crackers on the counter if you’re in the mood to nibble on something later.” I hesitate. I don’t like leaving her alone like this, but I have a bone to pick with my brother. “Do you want to stay by the fire or would you like me to take you back to bed?”
“Here’s good,” she says, blowing on the broth.
The television I’d ordered before she ran is mounted on the wall. “Would you like to watch some TV? Maybe you prefer a book. Can I bring you one?”
She gives me an exasperated look. “Really, I’m fine.”
Yeah. Right. “I have to go out for a while. I won’t be long.”
“Maxime.” She sighs. “Do what you have to do.”
I fetch her phone from the bedroom and check that it’s charged. “Here.” I leave it next to her. “Call me if you need anything or feel worse, and do not open the door for anyone. Understand?”
She stares at me with those big, irresistible eyes. “Yes.”
Kissing the top of her head, I tear myself away from her and put my worry aside for a few minutes to focus on another matter, one no less important—the matter of her safety.
I had the code for access to the street door changed before we got back from South Africa. Too many of the guards who used to work for me knew the old code. He couldn’t have gotten in that way. There’s only two ways Alexis could’ve. He would’ve had to wait in the street until someone left—that someone being me—and slipped inside before the door closed, or he paid one of the residents in the building to give him the code. I’d find out.
Alexis sits in the chair my father used to occupy in the office when I enter. Two men pull their guns. My cousin, Jerome, perks up where he’s lounging in the corner.
Alexis holds up a hand, signalling the men to lower their weapons. “Well, well.” Tipping his fingers together, he leans back in the chair. “To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“I doubt this is pleasure. If you ever go near Zoe again, you can count on it being torture.”
He laughs. “The only reason I’m not shooting you on the spot is because I’m first going to enjoy ruining you.”
I advance to his desk. “The reason you’re not shooting me is
