“In the cupboard next to the stove.” She frowned. Was this normal behavior? Did hook ups usually cook for you when you were sick? She’d have to ask Lainey, she’d know. Every slice of human life passed through the salon after all. “Are you sure you want to cook after coming all this way?”
Nobody had ever cooked for her before. Even when she was as sick as a dog, Shaun would either buy takeout or go to his mom’s, leaving Courtney to sweat it out in bed. She had no idea what to make of it as Logan made himself at home in her kitchen, sweating vegetables in the huge soup pan, the savory aroma filling the downstairs of her cottage. At one point she must have drifted off, because she woke to him holding a glass of water to her lips.
“Drink,” he said softly. “You look dehydrated.”
“I keep forgetting.” She swallowed a mouthful of the cool liquid, and it tasted like nectar on her tongue. “I think I need to take more medicine, too. Can you pass the box?”
He grabbed the package from her coffee table and popped a pill through the foil. She shivered as he pressed it against her mouth. Okay, so she wasn’t that sick.
Though she had a feeling she’d have to be dying not to be affected by Logan Hartson’s touch.
“The soup will be ready in half an hour,” he told her. “Why don’t you take a shower? It’ll make you feel better.”
“I don’t think I can stand up.” She gave him a weak smile.
“I’ll get in with you.” He shrugged. “I’ll hold you up.”
Her eyes widened. “Oh no, I couldn’t.”
A half-smile curled his lips. “Why not?”
“Because we’d be…”
“Naked?” he offered. “It’s okay. I don’t know if you remember, but I’ve seen it all before. Real close and personal.” Was that a wink?
A shower sounded pretty good right now. She hadn’t had one since yesterday, but the thought of him being close to her funky body made her want to cry. “I don’t know.”
“I promise it’ll be all above board.” He held his hand up in a salute. “Scout’s honor.”
“You were never a Boy Scout,” she croaked.
“Sure was.” He lifted an eyebrow. “Got my Eagle Scout, too. I had the most spirit in our whole troop.”
She tried to picture him as a boy, in a khaki shirt covered with badges, along with a colorful scarf around his neck, and started to laugh. It turned into a choke, and the smile dissolved from his face, as he crouched in front of her.
“You okay?”
She nodded. “Just don’t say anything funny. Or at least give me some warning first.”
He put his palm on her face, the warmth of him making her want to sigh. He was close enough for her to inhale the soft spice of his cologne. Damn if it didn’t do something to her.
“I promise not to make you laugh anymore.” He traced the line of her cheek with his finger. “Come on, let me help you in the shower. No sexy times, I promise. You’ll feel better and that’ll make me feel better. Then you can have some soup and get back to sleep.”
Shower, soup, and sleep. All three of them sounded good right now, especially coming from his mouth. “Okay.” She nodded. “A shower would be good.”
The ‘no sexy times’, not so much. But she was sick, even if the nerve endings in her body protested otherwise. And if the way he held her so softly and tenderly as the spray rained down on their naked bodies made her yearn for something she couldn’t have? She’d think about that later, too.
Right now, he wanted to take care of her, and she wanted him to do exactly that. Analysis could wait for another day.
“That was delicious. Thank you,” she croaked, laying her spoon down in the empty bowl. She’d managed to sit at the kitchen table with him, her body revived from their long, hot shower. With her dark curls braided into a damp plait, she looked beautiful despite the exhaustion that made her eyelids droop and her shoulders sag.
“You’re welcome.” Logan took her empty bowl and piled it on top of his own. “I’ve put the rest in the refrigerator. There should be enough for a couple of days. Or you can freeze it if you’d prefer.”
“Not cooking for two days sounds like bliss.” She smiled at him, and he felt it right in his groin. He’d been as good as his word in the shower, only touching her to hold her up and wash her hair, his fingers gently massaging the suds into her curls, then helping her back beneath the spray to rinse it out. It hadn’t stopped him from looking, at her lithe, tight body. Or from wanting to feel his fingers sliding against her damp skin.
Damn it, she was sick. And so was he for wanting her.
She yawned, her head slumping to the side. “Let me help you up to bed,” he murmured, standing to put the dishes into the sink. He’d wash them once she was asleep and then let himself out. He hadn’t warned Aunt Gina he was coming, but he knew he’d be welcome in his family home anyway. And tomorrow he’d fly back to Boston and get on with his work.
He knew he was a fool for coming here tonight, yet as soon as he’d gotten her message in the departure lounge he knew he had to see her. The thought of going another month – or longer – without hearing her soft laugh, or running his fingers through her curls made his chest feel tight. She’d sounded so damn ill on the message,
