Chapter 21
“Baby, It’s Cold Outside”
Blankets. Heat. A faint citrus-and-clove smell that didn’t belong to him…
Greyson groaned groggily, confused but too comfortable to spring into action.
His stiff body stretched, and he stilled, realizing he lay on his couch, not in bed. He sensed someone watching him.
He rubbed one eye open, momentarily blinded by the afternoon light spilling through the window. Then he recognized her silhouette, angelically perched across from him on the edge of the coffee table.
Wren.
She clutched a steaming mug in her hands. He smiled, but as his vision cleared and he focused on her beautiful face, he realized she frowned with concern. Or perhaps exasperation?
“Am I in trouble?” he croaked, his voice grating like sandpaper. He cleared his throat and winced as fire scorched his chest. What the hell?
“You’ve slept the day away, Rip Van Plowman. I was starting to worry.”
He grunted, trying to sit up, but immediately regretted it. His head throbbed as if packed with snow, and his throat burned like he’d swallowed a fistful of glowing briquettes. Every muscle in his body ached, and a bone-deep exhaustion weighed him down like lead blankets.
“What time is it?” he painfully rasped.
“It’s almost five. You’ve been out for—what? Twelve hours? Thirteen?” Her hands should have felt warm from the mug, but when she brushed them across his forehead, they felt like ice. “You look like hell, Greyson.”
He sank into the cushion and groaned. “I feel like I got run over by all nine of Santa’s reindeer.”
“Nine? Isn’t it eight, after Odin’s eight-legged horse?”
“Rudolph,” he mumbled into the pillow. He was burning up yet somehow chilled to the bone and damp with sweat. His teeth chattered. “Do we need wood for the fire?”
“It’s warm in here, and the fire’s fine, Grey.
I think you have a cold. A mean one.” Her cool fingers brushed over his brow like a divine blessing.
He shut his eyes and sighed at her sweet touch.
She smoothed out his blankets and adjusted some of the throw pillows.
“I’ll make some lemon ginger tea with honey.
That’ll help with your scratchy throat.”
“You don’t have to do that,” he grumbled weakly but she had already moved toward the kitchen.
Pots clanked as cabinets opened and closed. Water ran, followed by the faint sound of chopping. What was she doing in there? It sounded like a lot for tea. He felt too tired to think about it.
Rat scaled the couch, and Greyson coughed, the sound wicked and dry, ripping through him like fire. The kitten padded over to him, concerned and wearing an expression of pure feline judgment.
He reached for the little puff ball, then hesitated. “Can cats catch human colds?”
Wren carried a steaming mug of tea out to the living room and set it on the table. “I don’t think so.”
His body ached everywhere but he forced himself to sit up. Rat climbed up his chest and nestled into his neck, using his shoulder as a balcony.
“You look terrible. Maybe we should call the clinic and see if you can get in to see the doctor.”
“I’m fine.” He winced, head throbbing and throat burning. He definitely felt anything but fine.
“Sure you are, tough guy.” She handed him the tea. “It’s a tincture, so it’s already steeped.”
He tried not to whimper as he reached for the mug.
“Smells good,” he croaked, breathing in the fresh scent of ginger as the mug warmed in his hands. Staying awake required great focus. He almost spilled the mug when he shivered. “I’m freezing.”
“Keep the blankets on.” She bundled him up like a Jedi master, brushing her cool fingers over his forehead again. God, he loved when she did that.
Such vulnerability felt foreign to him and he didn’t like being this dependent on someone else’s care. His father would say he was being weak.
Greyson spent most of his adult life being the one who took care of others, who solved problems and fixed things. Being on the receiving end of such gentle attention should have made him uncomfortable, but with Wren, it felt right.
“I think you have a fever. The soup should be done soon.”
His brows lifted. “Soup?”
“It’s Freya’s recipe.” Freya was the new chef at The Haven, but he’d yet to try any of her food.
Wren pulled a pillow onto her lap and watched him with concern. She took Rat from his shoulder so he could drink the tea. The fuzzy little bastard didn’t realize how lucky he was to have her hands on him, stroking and caressing. Greyson couldn’t help but envy the little rodent.
“You didn’t have to trouble yourself with soup—“
“I know I didn’t, but I wanted to. Your body needs medicine, and Mother Nature’s comes in the form of soup.”
His muscles ached as he reached for her hand. “You’ve been here all day?”
“I left to pick up some items at the market and then stopped back at The Haven to teach my yoga class, but that turned into a bust.”
“Wh-uh-uh—” His chest spasmed with a vicious cough, and he quickly set down his tea. Each breath a hard punch in the lungs.
As soon as he managed to draw a full breath, Wren handed him the mug. “Take a sip.”
He did as she instructed, and the hot honey soothed his burning throat. “Why was your class a bust?” Every word was gravel scraping over smashed glass.
“Only two people showed up. One of them included Drummond.”
So the CEO was still in town. “When’s the douchebag checking out?”
She rolled her eyes. “He’s booked for the week, but he’s not getting anything out of his stay. I never say this, but I wish he would cut his visit short.”
That made two of them.
Greyson didn’t like that guy from the moment he set his designer, leather-soled shoes on Wren’s property.
He probably loved watching her bend around in her sexy yoga pants and those crisscross belly shirts she wore for class.
His grip tightened on his mug. Maybe he could talk her into wearing one of those monk habits that covered the body from hood to ankle.
“I can’t imagine him doing yoga.”
She rolled her eyes. “He left his cell on and interrupted savasana to take a call. Then he proceeded to walk around the studio searching for the lost signal.”
Despite the pain, Greyson laughed. Once snow hit the towers, cell phones became useless in Hideaway Harbor.
“Hopefully, your other guest understands some things are outside of your control.”
“The other student was Noah, so he understands.”
Another stray he had to watch. It was an infestation.
She gestured toward his mug. “How’s the tea helping?”
“It’s good. Thanks for making it.” It wasn’t healing his throat, but it certainly soothed the burn. “You don’t have to stay here, you know.”
“Someone has to take care of you.” She stood and adjusted the pillows in a pretty way he never thought to set them up. How did women know to do shit like that?
“I don’t want you to catch whatever this is, Wren.”
She ignored his concern and continued rearranging his living room, straightening his books and arranging the clutter he had dumped from his pockets last night. God, he loved seeing her hands on his stuff.
“I’ll be careful. Besides, I don’t feel like being home right now.”
He frowned. “Because of the CEO?”
She shrugged. “Maybe.”
Greyson scowled. Her place sat slightly removed and on the outskirts of the commercial lot. That entitled prick better respect the property lines. “Did he trespass on your property?”
She looked away and he sat up.
“Was he at your fucking house?”
She bit her lip. “He was looking for a cell signal.”
“I’ll—” His protective outrage stirred a cough that turned into a full-blown hacking fit.
“Easy.” She patted his back. “I took care of it.”
He took a big gulp of tea, his face hotter than it had been a minute ago. “That prick better stay away from you.”
“I handled it, Grey. He’s not a prick. He’s just annoying. His cologne’s probably the most obnoxious thing about him. He’s harmless.”
If he were harmless, she wouldn’t be stressed out. “Trust your gut. You’ve always been perceptive when it comes to reading people. And tell him his cologne’s disturbing the other guests.”
“There are only a few other guests right now, but they’re here until Christmas and I barely see them. Our next one doesn’t check in until Thursday.”
Night shift plowing always blurred the days together. “Is that tomorrow?”
She nodded.
He jerked back as his lungs sputtered with another coughing spell. “Sorry.” He gasped. “We probably shouldn’t get too close.”
“I’ll get you some water.” She disappeared into the kitchen but continued to talk. “I have another session with him tonight.”
He sputtered to speak as the coughing continued. “Session…” Cough. “…for…” Hack. “…what?”
“A Swedish massage.”
Greyson stiffened, alarm bells going off in his congested, pounding head. “Where’s River?”
“He specifically requested a female masseuse.” She returned with a glass of water. “I squeezed a little lemon in it. The vitamin C’s good for you.”
He guzzled the water and reminded himself that massage therapy was a part of her job, but his filthy mind dwelt on the ending of their one-on-one session a few days ago. The thought of that entitled asshole laying on her table made his blood pressure spike.
“Isn’t there someone else who can do it?”
She laughed. “You sound jealous.”
“It’s called territorial, which we already established I am. Consider yourself marked.” He tried to go all alpha, but he was too weak. Instead, he reached out a hand, then wilted as if shot.
“You’re adorable when you’re congested.” She came to him and kissed his forehead.
He smiled innocently while imagining plowing that douchebag’s BMW into a snowbank. “You’re so warm.”
“And you’re burning up.”
“I’m—“ Another hard cough rattled his chest.
“All right, no more talking.” She easily took control and pushed him to lie back down. “You’re officially benched.” She tucked a blanket around his legs and set a box of tissues within reach.