The Billionaire's Bought Bride and Instant Mom Chapter 30

Aveline

Panic shot through me. This level of fever could be dangerous. My eyes darted around the room, and that's when I spotted it—on his nightstand, a small bottle of fever reducer sat next to a glass of water, clearly prepared but unused.

So he'd known he was getting sick. Typical male stubbornness—he'd probably thought he could power through it, only to end up burning with fever and unconscious anyway.

"What a child," I muttered under my breath, reaching for the bottle. "All that arrogance and you still can't take care of yourself properly."

I grabbed the ibuprofen and ran cold water over several washcloths, my hands shaking slightly as I returned to his bedside. I quickly crushed two tablets and mixed them with a small amount of water, creating a solution he could swallow more easily in his unconscious state.

"Come on," I whispered, carefully lifting his head and coaxing the dissolved medication past his lips. He swallowed reflexively, though he remained unconscious.

I placed the cool cloths on his forehead and neck, changing them every few minutes as they warmed from the heat radiating off his skin. When his shirt became soaked with sweat, I hesitated for only a moment before carefully removing it, trying not to notice the defined muscles of his chest and shoulders.

Gradually, mercifully, his pained groaning began to quiet. His breathing became less labored, the lines of distress smoothing from his face. The fever was breaking.

I continued the cycle—cooling cloths, checking his temperature, small sips of water when he seemed aware enough to swallow. Slowly, his body relaxed into more natural sleep.

Only when I was sure he was stable did I allow myself to sink into the chair beside his bed, exhaustion finally catching up with me. I'd just spent hours playing nurse to a man who wasn't my patient, wasn't my responsibility. But somehow, seeing him vulnerable and in pain had triggered every caregiving instinct I possessed.

As I watched his chest rise and fall in a more natural rhythm, I found myself studying his face in the moonlight. Without the sharp intelligence in his eyes or the controlled mask he usually wore, he looked younger, almost peaceful. The strong line of his jaw, the way his dark hair fell across his forehead—he really was devastatingly handsome.

My eyes grew heavy as the adrenaline finally began to fade. Just a few more minutes, I told myself. Just to make sure his fever didn't return.

That's when he moved.

In his sleep, Orion rolled toward me, his arm coming around my waist and pulling me down onto the bed beside him. Suddenly I was pressed against his chest, his face inches from mine, his warm breath ghosting across my skin.

The contact sent a jolt of recognition through my entire body. This position, this closeness—it was exactly how we'd been that night in the hotel. My body remembered his warmth, the solid strength of his arms, the way I'd felt so perfectly aligned against him.

But this was different. This was innocent. He was feverish, unconscious, just seeking comfort in his delirium.

I tried to push away gently, not wanting to disturb his rest, but his arms tightened around me unconsciously. And then—God help me—I felt it.

The unmistakable hardness pressing against my hip. Even in his fevered sleep, his body was responding to my proximity with devastating honesty.

Heat flooded my face, and lower. My treacherous body began to respond despite every rational thought screaming at me to move away. I could feel my pulse quickening, my breathing becoming shallow.

What was wrong with me? He was sick, vulnerable, completely unconscious. And here I was, getting aroused by accidental contact with a patient. Because that's what he was right now—someone under my care, someone who couldn't consent to whatever twisted feelings were coursing through me.

I was no better than the women I'd criticized, the ones who saw him as an object rather than a person. Worse, even—at least they didn't take advantage of him while he was unconscious and feverish.

"I have to go," I whispered to myself, finally managing to extract myself from his unconscious embrace.

But as I started to rise from the bed, his hand shot out and grabbed my wrist with surprising strength. Even unconscious, his grip was desperate, almost painful—so tight I could feel it would leave marks.

"Don't go," he murmured, his voice thick with sleep and fever. "Please... don't go."

The words were barely audible, spoken to some dream figure I couldn't see. But the raw vulnerability in his voice, the almost desperate way he held my hand, made something crack open in my chest.

I should leave. I should go back to Ryan's room, pretend this never happened, maintain the professional distance that was already dangerously compromised.

Instead, I found myself settling back into the chair beside his bed, letting him keep hold of my hand.

"Hey," I whispered, trying to gently pry his fingers loose. "I'm not going anywhere."

After a few minutes, I shifted my position, moving to perch on the edge of his bed for easier access to check his temperature. But I couldn't help stealing another glance at him. His expression was peaceful and serene, almost secure in a way that made him look fragile. Nothing like the intimidating businessman who'd dominated every room he entered.

"One salary and I have to take care of both of you," I murmured to myself, but there was no real annoyance in my voice. If anything, seeing him this vulnerable made something tender unfurl in my chest.

As I adjusted the cool cloth on his forehead, my hand accidentally brushed against his bare chest. The contact was innocent, fleeting, but it made me smile despite myself—a small, guileless expression in the moonlit darkness.

"Well," I whispered, my voice barely audible, "I suppose touching you a little more won't hurt."

My hand lingered on the warm skin of his chest, feeling his steady heartbeat beneath my palm. The exhaustion of the day—the emotional rollercoaster of our confrontation, the terror of finding him burning with fever, the relief of his recovery—finally caught up with me.

My eyelids grew heavy as I sat there beside him, and then everything went black.