Falling for Your Boss by Emma St. Clair

Chapter Thirteen

Gavin

I’m totally blamingthe fever. The one that has subsided, but still not gone away. That is the only excuse I can think of for basically just accusing Zoey of being Goldilocks. All I need to add is a bit about my porridge and we would be right in the pages of a fairy tale.

Actually, the idea of Zoey in blonde pigtails in my bedroom wearing my clothes isn’t so bad. I could get rather used to this sight.

But why is she here?

I’m tracing back in my fever-addled brain, trying to remember Zoey being here. Things are fuzzy in there. No, fuzzy isn’t the right word. My thoughts are like a big vat of taffy, the kind they make in those shops at the beach, turning slowly, gooey and thick.

“You don’t remember?” she asks, tilting her head to the side.

I shake my head, but that’s a mistake because it causes a wave of dizziness to wash over me. I stumble, grabbing the doorframe in one hand and trying to maintain my slipping towel with the other.

Zoey gasps and takes a step toward me as though she’s going to steady me, then takes a step back, throwing her hands over her eyes. I would find it adorable if I didn’t suddenly feel like I was about to black out.

“How can I help? Do you need, um, clothes? Or can I help you get into bed?”

Don’t think about Zoey in my bed. Don’t think about Zoey in my bed.

“Give me a sec,” I say, keeping my eyes fixed on her until the black dots disappear from my vision.

“Did I call you?” I ask.

“You texted me,” she says, peeking through her fingers.

“How long have you been here?” Hopefully not long enough for me to humiliate myself.

“A few hours.”

Plenty of time, then. I don’t even want to ask anything else. She’s still here. She hasn’t run screaming from the house. But she does still have her hands covering her eyes. I find her modesty totally adorable.

“Let me get dressed,” I say.

“I’ll get you some fresh water. Ice?”

The fever must be creeping back up, because I could lie down on a block of ice right now. “If it’s not too much trouble.”

A faint smile tugs at her lips as she moves to the door, still covering her eyes. And I swear I hear her mutter, “Not anymore than you’ve already been.”

That does not bode well.

I slip into boxer briefs and a thin pair of running shorts, practically falling into bed before Zoey returns. I cover myself with the sheet because my teeth are chattering. But then I’m hot again, and the material hurts my skin. This must be bad—I can’t remember ever feeling my skin hurt before.

“Gavin? You decent?”

“Yes.”

Zoey walks into my bedroom, and despite the fever and my hurting skin and the brain fog, I could get used to this. Seeing her walk into the room wearing a shirt of mine that hangs almost down to her knees.

But why is she wearing my clothes?

Zoey comes over to my side of the bed, setting down a glass and a bottle of pain relievers next to my reading glasses. My reading glasses! A sure sign of the fact that I’m basically her grandpa. Feeble and sick and having to hold restaurant menus three feet in front of my face if I want to read them. Whatever chance I might have thought I could have with this woman is gone.

Her look moves to one of concern. “Are you feeling worse? Your teeth are chattering.”

I want to be a pillar of strength. To beat my chest and lift her over my head in some show of manliness. Instead, my teeth chatter even harder and I try to pull the sheets up again, hissing when they drag over the bare skin of my chest.

Nope. No sign of manliness here. I’m a big man-baby. And I can’t even fight it.

“Everything hurts,” I manage to whimper, solidifying my place as a man Zoey will never see as attractive. Whimpering is cute on puppies. On grown men? It’s shameful. Maybe I should ask her to take me out back and put me out of my misery.

But her eyes soften, and she goes from awkwardly shifting on her bare feet next to my bed to sitting beside me. She runs a hand over my forehead, pushing back my hair, and I can’t even help it. I moan.

I’ll be embarrassed about this tomorrow. I’ll sell the company outright without ever going in to have to see her again as soon as I’m better. But for now, I cannot help myself. I lean into her touch and demand, “More.”

Zoey smiles. “Okay. But first, let’s get some medicine in you to lower this fever. Can you sit up a little?”

I really can’t, and Zoey has to slide a hand on the back of my neck, down between my shoulder blades, pulling me up. It’s awkward, but she manages to get two pills in my mouth and I manage to resist the urge to kiss her fingertips, retaining the only shred of dignity I have left. She presses the glass of water to my mouth. It hurts to swallow but the cold water feels amazing sliding down my throat.

Zoey gently leans me back on the pillows and sets the glass on the table. “Better?”

I nod, but I won’t be better until she’s running her hands through my hair again. She makes no move to do so, looking instead like she’s going to bolt.

Knowing how much I’ll hate myself tomorrow, I say, “Please, Zoey?”

With a tiny nod, she settles in beside me and begins dragging her hands through my hair again. If I were a cat—a big, predatory jungle one, of course, not a house cat—I would be purring. Instead, I’m a big, sick man-baby, and so I groan again. She giggles, and I like the sound too much to care that she’s laughing at me.

Her fingernails scratch lightly at my scalp and nothing in the world has ever felt this good. Nothing.

My eyes flutter closed, and I fall into the sensation. Zoey is here, in my bed. She’s touching me. I can’t say that I haven’t had thoughts of this before.

Obviously, without the fever. And the totally embarrassing sounds I keep making. But whatever. This is close enough to the kind of fantasy I never allowed myself to think through with Zoey. It’s the closest thing I’ll ever get, and I know I need to hold on to every sensation greedily.

Despite feeling horrible, I’m also starting to feel a different kind of heat that has nothing to do with my fever and everything to do with the fact that I want this to be reality. My future. Zoey, here with me. Her hands running through my hair.

“Is that better?”

“No,” I say, because I don’t want her to stop. “More.”

She laughs softly, and the sound opens up some locked door in my chest that I don’t think will close again easily. “Even when you’re sick, you’re bossy,” she says.

“You like me being bossy?”

Okay, at least that didn’t sound whiny. No, it sounded like a straight-up caveman, and I’m not sure which is worse.

I open my eyes, zeroing in on hers, which look almost like a midnight blue in the dim light. She bites her lip, and I swear, I can almost hear her answer, the one I want to hear. I like you, Gavin.

She doesn’t say that, though, and my fantasy bubble pops. The silence stretches between us, and her rhythmic touch has me sinking down into a sleep I’m not ready for. I don’t want to miss a moment of this. Because I know when I’m back on my feet, this will not be reality.

Not caring that I’m totally shameless, I scoot my body more toward the center of the bed and give her a tug around the waist, wanting her to follow. She resists, but only for a moment, and I smile when she sighs and says, “I deserve a raise.”

Could we go ahead and stop with the reminders that we work together? That would be fantastic.

I settle my head somewhere between her arm and her chest, keeping things as appropriate as I can when I really want to just wrap her up in my arms. After a moment, her hand finds my hair again and I sigh at her touch.

Again, sleep tries to claim me, but I fight it. I look up at Zoey again, realizing that she has the beginnings of a black eye. I trace it with a fingertip before she pushes my hand back down.

“What happened?”

She stares at me. “You really don’t remember?”

Uh-oh. “No. Did I … do that?”

“In a roundabout way.” When I groan, she’s quick to add, “It was an accident. You kind of passed out on me.”

Kill me now. Really. Just someone please, toss me off the cliff at the back of the house. It’s the humane thing to do.

“I’m so sorry, Zoey. Truly.”

“I know. It’s fine. Really.” She’s biting back a smile, and that worries me.

“What else did I do? Is that the worst thing?”

She raises her eyebrows. “You sure you want to know?”

Do I? Probably not.

“Maybe tomorrow you can fill me in on what I don’t remember.”

Her face clouds, the look of amusement gone. What else could I have possibly missed?

“Okay,” she says softly. “We can talk tomorrow. Nancy is almost better, so this should be out of your system quickly. I emailed work and let them know the three of us are sick and won’t be there. They’ll have to manage.”

“Nancy is better?”

She nods. “I talked to Patty. Sweet woman.”

“She is.”

“You should sleep, Gavin.”

“Will you stay?”

The words hang in the air between us. I don’t know if I’m asking her to stay at my house or stay in my bed. Or stay forever. The third is the option I’d really like, and it reminds me that I don’t just like Zoey a little. This isn’t a boy’s crush. It’s more. I’ve suspected it, but having her here in my house, I know. And that isn’t the fever talking.

“I’m sleeping on the couch,” she says. “I’ll be here when you wake up.”

That will have to be good enough. For now. But when I’m back on my feet, I have plans. Big ones. Forget the things holding me back. Forget moving slowly, flirting through texts. I’m going to ask Zoey out officially, and I’m going to make her mine.

Yeah, I am bossy. But I think she does like it.

Just before I drift off, I swear I catch Zoey leaning in closer and taking a deep inhale. Did she just … smell me? But I don’t care because she’s smiling as sleep blankets my mind.