28. Ford
FORD
I should have realized Maeve was flagging earlier when we got back to the house.
She didn’t say anything, of course. She never wants to be a bother to anyone—that much is painfully obvious.
I want to have a stern word with whoever raised her, making it clear that she couldn’t take up space or ask for anything for herself.
But I don’t think she’s used to spending so much time around people like this.
Judging by what bits of her personal life I’ve picked up, she’s pretty isolated in the world, and she spends all her time at work with us anyway.
I’d been unsure if I should say something or not.
That little Spitfire is damn independent and stubborn.
And she seemed genuinely excited to help decorate the tree.
I think it’s both adorable and admirable that she enjoys Christmas so much, even though she can’t see the two most prominent colors of the season.
I’d decided to keep it to myself and wait to see if she took a break on her own.
But now, watching her get flushed while kneeling to pull out the Christmas lights, I realize I should have acted on my instincts.
Maeve’s an adult, and as much as I want to rush over and take care of her, I know she won’t appreciate being treated like a delicate flower.
Maeve stands up, lights in hand—and I see her sway dangerously. Her face goes from flushed to alarmingly pale in a matter of seconds.
Oh, shit. Something’s definitely wrong.
I drop my ornaments and scramble over to her just as Maeve’s knees give out. She’s reaching for a chair, trying to take care of herself even while collapsing, but she goes down hard.
I catch her just in time, making sure to cradle her head and neck in the crook of my arm so they’re properly supported. She’s breathing shallow and quick, completely different from how she was breathing earlier today.
“Oh my god,” Lydia says, her voice pitched high with worry. “Is she okay? She looked sick just a second ago?—”
“I’ll get her some water,” Hayden says, already heading for the kitchen.
Gabriel immediately arranges the pillows on the couch so I can set Maeve gently down on it. As she slumps against the cushions, stirring a little, I feel her forehead with the back of my hand. She’s sweaty and running too hot.
Fuck. I should have noticed this earlier.
I shouldn’t have let her go on so many activities with us. I know my mom likes to cram a lot into one holiday since it’s the only time she gets with all of us, but Maeve is already overworked enough as it is, being the assistant to three CEOs.
“She doesn’t need water,” my father says dismissively. “She needs a stiff drink.”
“Oh, please,” I snap at him. “Look at her. She needs proper fluids, not a pick-me-up. It’s not like she swooned like a Victorian maiden. She’s actually sick. Something’s wrong.”
Hayden returns with the water as Maeve stirs again, her eyelashes fluttering. I watch, stomach in knots, as her eyes open and her gaze sharpens. She looks around and immediately tries to push herself back up.
“No, no.” I guide her back down against the pillows. “Rest for a second, get your bearings.”
“It’s probably low blood sugar,” Liam says. “She just needs a snack.”
“She’s feverish,” I snap back.
Hayden helps Maeve drink the water. “Thank you,” she says, her voice soft and tired. “I’m sorry, I—please don’t make a fuss. I’m fine.”
“I’m getting you up to bed.” I wait until she finishes drinking the water, then pick her up, her head resting against my shoulder.
She’s so soft and warm against me. Maeve’s a curvy woman, and I like her that way, but right now she feels incredibly small and fragile in my arms. “You need rest.”
“I’m sorry.” Maeve still sounds out of it. “Please don’t let me ruin anything…”
“You’re not ruining a thing,” my mother insists kindly. “Let’s check your temperature and see what’s what, shall we?”
Mom loves having a purpose and a plan. I let her fetch the thermometer while I carry Maeve up to our room. She’s groggy and doesn’t really say anything as I get her situated. I find her a soft bathrobe.
“I’m sure I’m fine,” Maeve insists, even though she clearly isn’t. “A little nap and I’ll be right as rain.”
“Even if that’s true, you’re not napping in your clothes. Put on something comfortable.” I turn away to give her privacy, but I can hear the slow, shuffling way she moves as she undresses and puts on the robe.
Yeah, something is definitely off.
Mom appears with the thermometer, and Maeve, cowed by my mother’s nurturing manner, obediently takes it in her mouth. I sure wouldn’t stand a chance against my mother insisting on taking care of me, either.
The thermometer beeps, and my mother takes it out of Maeve’s mouth, studying the display. “Yes, dear, you are definitely running a low fever. Cold or flu, not sure which.”
Great. “I’ll tell the others.”
Everyone stands up when I re-enter the living room. Even Liam looks concerned, which—it’s too damn late for that. He should’ve been concerned about Maeve back when she was his girlfriend and it was his job to care about her.
“It’s a cold or flu,” I announce. “Seems mild, or at least the fever’s not too high.”
“She’ll want soup,” Gabriel says immediately.
“Chicken noodle?” Lydia asks, eager to help.
“No—I mean, yes, but she prefers miso soup, and there was this Asian one, I think Thai—I’ll speak to the chef. I’m sure if I describe it he’ll know what I mean and can make it for her.” Gabriel heads toward the kitchen.
“You can get her some Tylenol and Powerade or Gatorade, whatever we have,” I tell Lydia. I know she wants to help, and I don’t want her to feel left out just because she doesn’t know Maeve as well as we do. “She’ll need electrolytes. And it’ll help the medicine go down easier.”
Lydia jumps up, happy to be useful. Hayden gives me a meaningful look and follows her, apparently supervising to make sure she does it right. I can’t blame him. I get it. I’m protective of Maeve too.
“Mom,” I ask, turning to her, “where are the extra blankets kept?”
I swear every time I’m here, she’s rearranged where everything is stored.
“Oh, of course, right this way, sweetheart.”
My mother leads me to a closet where I grab a couple of blankets of varying weights for Maeve. By the time I bring them upstairs, Hayden is helping to tuck Maeve in while she makes a face.
“The medicine isn’t that bad,” he says, aiming for his usual teasing tone and failing miserably. He’s clearly too wound up with concern.
“Hm. You’re not the one who has to take it.” Maeve’s voice is groggy as she settles back into the pillows as Hayden arranges and fluffs them.
Something in my chest twinges as I watch him take care of her. The flash of jealousy I feel isn’t exactly surprising, but it isn’t welcome either. I don’t like the idea of being jealous of Hayden, or Gabriel, for that matter. These men are brothers to me, far more than Liam ever has been.
But there’s another feeling in my chest too, and it takes me a moment to identify it. It’s… relief. I’m relieved that Hayden is taking care of her, that it’s not just me, that someone is with her even when I step away.
I don’t have time to analyze that thought, so I brush it off as I step into the room and announce, “I’ve got more blankets and a hot water bottle.”
I don’t sleep much that night.
Mom gets another room ready for me, but I don’t want to sleep apart from Maeve in case she needs something. There’s concern about me catching whatever she has, but I don’t care. I’m going to make sure she’s looked after all night.
I do doze fitfully, but I check on her often. She sleeps restlessly but without fully waking, so I take the win. She needs as much rest as possible. Sometimes I can tell she’s starting to surface, and I soothe her until she slips back into deeper sleep.
In the morning, everyone else gets up. I can hear Hayden and Gabriel moving around in their rooms. I should get up and grab something to eat—I’m starving—but I’m transfixed watching Maeve sleep.
She’s no longer restless, and looks lovely in the warm morning light. Not as vibrant as she usually does, obviously, since she’s sick. She’s pale, and her skin has a slightly waxy look from the fever.
It makes my chest ache. I don’t know what to do with this feeling.
I’ve never felt so protective over someone before.
She looks so vulnerable and small like this.
Soft and delicate. Maeve carries herself with such elegance, and she’s always looked wonderfully feminine.
But I know full well how fiercely she can stand up for herself.
To see her this way is new, and so is this overwhelming desire to look after someone. It’s dangerous territory.
As if startled by something, Maeve stirs and blinks, opening her eyes. She stretches slightly and I reach for the glass of water. “Hey there, Spitfire.”
“Ugh.” Maeve lets me help her sit up and sips at the water. “Thank you.”
Her voice is raspy. I feel her forehead—she still doesn’t feel right. “How are you feeling?”
“I’m okay.”
“Don’t lie to me,” I tell her sternly.
She sighs. “Okay, I don’t feel great. Just general… awfulness.”
I set the water down. “Well, why don’t we?—”
Her expression changes suddenly and she leaps out of bed with more energy than I would’ve thought possible, then dashes for the bathroom.
Oh, shit.
I hurry in after her just as she reaches the toilet, and I quickly hold her hair back as she vomits. Poor thing is shaking. I wish I had a washcloth to cool her forehead, but I don’t want to leave her side. I stay where I am and just keep her hair out of her face.
After a minute, she pulls back, still looking shaky. “Sorry,” she stammers.
“Don’t apologize.” I help her to her feet and get her the water from the bedroom. “It’s not like you could control it.”
“It’s just so embarrassing. This whole thing is embarrassing. I’m not supposed to be taking up attention and being sick like this. I’m supposed to be helping you.”
“You can’t prevent getting sick. It’s not like you chose this. Did throwing up at least help you feel better?”
“A bit, actually, yeah.” She seems to consider that. “My stomach feels more settled.”
“Good.” Sometimes you do need to purge whatever nasty bug is wreaking havoc inside you. “We’ll get you some more soup. Is there anything else you need?”
“Um.” Maeve thinks for a moment. “I usually just soak in the tub when I’m sick. I heat up canned chicken noodle soup—it’s not my favorite, I’m a total snob about it, but I just don’t always have the energy when I’m sick to make anything from scratch—and then I soak in hot water with the steam.”
Perfect. I start filling up the tub. “All right. Strip.”
“Um. Excuse me?”
“I don’t recommend getting into the bath fully clothed.” Once the water’s running hot, I put in the stopper so the tub fills.
“That’s not what I mean, and you know it. I’m not getting naked in the tub with you here.”
“Oh, please, it’s nothing I haven’t already seen.”
“Yes, yes, you’ve been with many women, all of them beautiful and charming and probably Victoria’s Secret models…”
“You’re feeling well enough to give me attitude, I see. And I meant when you told me to turn around yesterday, you positioned me right in front of the mirror, Spitfire.”
Maeve’s eyes go wide. It’s adorable. “Oh,” she says quietly.
As tempting as her beautiful, naked form is, that’s not where my focus is right now. I want her to get better. “I promise, I don’t have any ulterior motives.” For now. “I just want to help you feel better.”
She sighs. “The terrible thing is, I actually believe you.”
“You have so little faith in my character.” I wait until she strips, then hold out a hand so she can grab onto me for balance as she gets into the tub.
She really is beautiful. Generous curves, soft skin, and god, her breasts… but I’ve never done anything with a woman who wasn’t in the mood, and I don’t plan to break that streak now. And I’ve yet to meet anyone in the grip of the flu who was interested in sex.
Besides, that would be a disastrous idea for so many reasons.
Maeve lets out a sigh of contentment as she sinks into the water. “How’s your head?” I ask.
“Feels heavy. I think I’m still groggy. But okay.”
“Here.” I grab some shampoo and pour it into my palm. “Let me help.”
She’ll feel better with a proper scalp massage to ward off a headache. I can’t stop her from being sick, but I can make sure she’s as comfortable as possible and minimize the symptoms.
“Are you sure?” She eyes my soapy hand.
“I won’t bite. I promise.”
“Very funny.”
It only takes a few moments of gently working the shampoo through her hair for Maeve to melt into it. She makes small sounds of appreciation as she relaxes deeper into the tub and lets me massage her scalp and work the soap through the strands of her hair.
God, her hair really is gorgeous. She can’t fail to stand out in a crowd with that color.
How did this woman ever think she wasn’t a catch?
I’m sure my brother is partly to blame for that toxic mindset.
But I think Maeve’s hair is beautiful—and I’d also love to get some of it wrapped around my fist so I can tug on it, tilt her head back, and hold her in place while I kiss her thoroughly.
It’s far too easy to imagine this as a completely different scenario. One where I’m not just pretending to be engaged to her. One where we’re not at my parents’ house, and she’s not sick, and I can bend down and kiss her soft lips, then scatter more kisses down her neck…
Down, boy , I think as my cock gives an interested twitch. This isn’t the time . But even so, I can’t fully shut off my imagination.
Maeve looks half asleep by the time I rinse out her hair. “You know, I can skip the meeting with Silver Start,” I tell her. “Cancel it entirely. Whatever you need. If you’re not feeling well?—”
“What?” She opens her eyes. “No, no, I’m fine. I can do this. I’m sure this is just a twenty-four-hour bug. I’ll be able to handle the meeting.”
I frown. “All right. If you’re certain.”
I don’t give a damn about her making the meeting. In fact, fuck the meeting entirely. I’m worried about her, and I don’t want her stressed or pushing herself.
But I can’t tell her that. I’m already walking a dangerous line. So I just keep my mouth shut and focus on taking care of her hair.