Chapter 41 - Sunshine
I opened my eyes and everything was bright.
For several seconds, I didn't move.
Sunlight was coming through the windows.
The room was quiet.
Warm.
And I was extremely comfortable.
Which should have been my first warning.
I blinked.
Then realized I was lying down.
In Adrian's bed.
Under Adrian's blanket.
Beside Adrian.
Oh.
Oh, no.
I stared at the ceiling.
How the hell had this happened?
The last thing I remembered was sitting against the headboard beside him, holding his hand while he slept.
Apparently at some point my body had made an executive decision without consulting me.
I turned my head.
Adrian was awake.
He was lying beside me, watching me.
Of course he was.
"Oh. You're awake."
"Yes."
His voice was still rough.
I looked at him suspiciously.
"Since when?"
"A while."
"A while?"
"Yes."
"And you've just been lying there?"
"Yes."
"Watching me?"
A pause.
"Yes."
Wonderful.
I looked down.
The blanket was pulled over me almost to my shoulders.
I definitely hadn't done that.
"Did you put the blanket on me?"
"Yes."
"Why?"
"You were cold."
I said nothing.
Because apparently there were limits to how many things my brain could process before breakfast.
I reached over and put my hand against his forehead.
Still warm.
But not burning.
Better.
I let out a breath I hadn't realized I was holding.
"Your fever's down."
"I know."
"You don't know. You were sleeping."
"I can tell when I'm being attacked with a thermometer every thirty minutes."
"It wasn't every thirty minutes."
"It felt like it."
"You had a fever of one hundred three."
"I remember."
My hand stopped.
Just for a second.
He remembered.
I looked at him.
Adrian looked back at me.
Neither of us said anything.
Then I pulled my hand away.
"Breakfast."
His eyes stayed on me for another second.
"Okay."
By the time we'd both showered and eaten breakfast, Adrian looked marginally more human.
Not healthy.
Definitely not healthy.
But less like a man actively negotiating with death.
His fever was lower.
He ate without me threatening him.
He even walked around the penthouse without me following three feet behind him like an anxious security guard.
Mostly.
I cooked lunch.
We ate together.
And somehow the entire day became strangely ordinary.
I cooked.
He complained that I was making too much food.
I told him sick people weren't allowed opinions.
He informed me that being sick had not legally transferred ownership of his penthouse to me.
I told him I would consult an attorney.
By the afternoon, we were on the couch watching television.
Adrian was sitting beside me, leaning heavily against the back of the couch.
I had stopped checking his temperature every fifteen minutes.
Progress.
I was watching the television when he moved.
I assumed he was adjusting himself.
Then Adrian turned.
Lowered himself.
And put his head directly in my lap.
I froze.
Completely.
My eyes dropped.
Adrian Vale was lying across the couch with his head in my lap.
His eyes were closed.
Excuse me?
I stared at him.
He didn't move.
Didn't say anything.
Just settled there like this was somehow a perfectly normal thing for him to do.
My hands remained suspended uselessly beside me.
What exactly was the protocol here?
Was I supposed to-
No.
Absolutely not.
Except...
Something wasn't right.
I looked at his face again.
There was more color in his cheeks than there had been twenty minutes ago.
I put my palm against his forehead.
Warm.
Too warm.
I frowned and kept it there.
Definitely warmer than this morning.
Oh.
My shoulders relaxed.
That was why.
His temperature was going back up.
I looked down at him again.
His eyes remained closed, his head heavy against my thighs.
Apparently Adrian hadn't suddenly decided that my lap was his personal pillow.
He was just feeling worse again.
That explanation should have made the situation considerably less dangerous.
It did not.
For a while, I didn't move.
Mostly because I wasn't entirely sure what movement was appropriate when your boss was asleep with his head in your lap.
The point was, Adrian Vale's head was currently resting on my thighs.
And that seemed like the more immediate problem.
I looked down at him.
His eyes were still closed.
His breathing had settled into something slow and even.
Apparently he was actually going to sleep there.
Okay.
I could handle that.
Probably.
I shifted slightly against the couch.
Adrian moved with me.
Just a little.
His head turned, settling more comfortably against my lap.
I stopped moving immediately.
He didn't wake up.
A few strands of dark brown hair had fallen across his forehead.
Without thinking, I reached down and pushed them back.
My fingers stayed there.
Then moved through his hair again.
Slowly.
Once.
Twice.
I didn't even realize what I was doing until my fingers were already running through it for the third time.
I stopped.
What was I doing?
I stared at my hand.
Then at Adrian.
He was asleep.
Obviously.
I should remove my hand.
Instead, my fingers moved through his hair again.
Apparently my hand had stopped accepting instructions from management.
Fine.
He was sick.
This was comforting.
Probably.
I let my fingers move slowly through the thick strands.
His hair was softer than it looked.
I'd learned that last night.
Along with several other things I absolutely did not need to think about right now.
My eyes moved over his face.
He looked different like this.
Not just because he was sick.
Adrian was usually clean-shaven enough that the faint shadow along his jaw never had time to become anything more.
After several days of being sick, it had.
Dark stubble covered his jaw and chin now.
It should have made him look terrible.
It didn't.
Of course it didn't.
Because apparently even illness couldn't make Adrian Vale unattractive.
It just made him attractive differently.
Less polished.
Less controlled.
Rougher.
I frowned down at him.
"That seems unfair."
He didn't respond.
Good.
I continued looking at him.
Which was also a mistake.
His face was relaxed in sleep.
No intimidating expression.
No narrowed eyes.
No CEO stare.
Just Adrian.
Warm forehead.
Messy dark brown hair.
Stubble.
And-
My eyes dropped to his lips.
No.
Immediately no.
I looked back at the television.
The television had become extremely interesting.
I had no idea what was happening on it.
Because my brain had already betrayed me.
Warm lips against mine.
Soft.
Hot from the fever.
One tiny press.
My face heated.
Oh, for God's sake.
I looked down at Adrian again.
Still asleep.
Completely unaware that my brain had apparently decided to replay last night in high definition.
He probably didn't even remember it.
That thought should have been reassuring.
He had barely been conscious.
His fever had been over one hundred three.
He'd opened his eyes, but there hadn't been much awareness behind them.
He probably had no idea what he'd done.
Which meant I was sitting here getting embarrassed over a kiss the other participant probably didn't even know had happened.
Excellent.
I looked back at the television.
My fingers were still in his hair.
I hadn't even noticed.
I should stop.
I didn't.
The afternoon passed like that.
Adrian slept.
I watched television.
Or pretended to.
Every once in a while, I checked his forehead.
Still too warm.
But not frighteningly hot.
Sometimes he shifted.
Once his head moved farther into my lap, and my entire body went rigid for approximately thirty seconds before I forced myself to relax again.
He never woke up.
And somewhere along the way, running my fingers through his hair stopped feeling like something I needed to consciously decide to do.
My hand simply did it.
Slowly.
Absentmindedly.
Like it belonged there.
That realization was dangerous enough that I immediately stopped thinking about it.
Outside the windows, the afternoon light gradually changed.
The television moved through three different shows.
My legs went numb.
I didn't move him.
By the time evening settled over the city and the white lights of the penthouse had come on, Adrian had been asleep for hours.
Then he moved.
His brow tightened slightly.
His eyes opened.
For a few seconds, he didn't seem to know where he was.
Then his gaze lifted.
To me.
I looked down at him.
"Welcome back."
He blinked.
Then seemed to register exactly where his head was.
Neither of us moved.
Interesting.
I waited.
Adrian looked at me for another second.
And stayed exactly where he was.
Oh.
He was awake now.
Fully awake.
And his head was still in my lap.
Apparently being unconscious was no longer an available explanation.
My fingers had stopped moving through his hair when he woke.
I looked at him for another second, then put my hand against his forehead.
Still warm.
But better than before.
"Your fever came down again."
Adrian looked up at me.
Then at my hand against his forehead.
He still didn't move.
I removed my hand.
His eyes closed again.
Not asleep.
Just... comfortable.
Something warm and ridiculous moved through my chest.
Slowly, I let my fingers move through his hair again.
He didn't say anything.
Neither did I.
We stayed like that for a while.
Him lying there.
Me running my fingers through his dark brown hair.
Both of us apparently pretending this was completely normal.
Eventually, Adrian opened his eyes again.
He looked up at me.
Then, with absolutely no urgency whatsoever, he slowly sat up.
My lap suddenly felt strangely empty.
I ignored that.
"Feeling better?"
"A little."
His voice was rough from sleep.
My phone started ringing.
I glanced toward the coffee table.
Maya.
Of course.
I picked it up.
Adrian leaned back against the couch beside me as I answered.
"Hello?"
"Are you guys coming back, or did you both resign?"
I blinked.
"Of course we're coming back."