With Me in Seattle Bundle One (119 page)

“Are you okay?” he asks softly.

“It’s stopping,” I whisper. “I need the bed.”

“Come on, I’ll help.” He takes my hand to help me to my feet, stands guard while I rinse my mouth again, and then scoops me into his arms and heads for my bed.

“You shouldn’t be here, Leo. I’m a mess, and I can’t talk to you when I’m like this.”

I rest my head on the soft cotton T-shirt covering his shoulder and enjoy his warm, strong arms around me. He kisses my forehead and frowns down at me.

“Your temp is still high. Did you take some Tylenol?”

“I don’t have any,” I whisper, my eyes falling closed. I’m just so weak, I can’t keep my eyes open.

“I brought some.” He tucks me into the bed and leaves the room, returning quickly with a glass of water and pills. “Take these, and then I want to take your temp.”

I comply, too weak to argue. I should kick his ass out of here, but I’m too weak for that, too.

He takes the water from me and sticks the thermometer into my mouth, sitting at my hip on the side of the bed. His fingers are trailing down my cheek and then my neck, softly, soothingly. He’ll put me to sleep.

God, I just want to sleep.

“One-oh-two,” he mutters and exhales deeply. “Too high, sunshine. The Tylenol should work. Get some sleep. I’ll wake you in a few hours for more and to take your temp again.”

“Don’t need you to stay,” I whisper. “Don’t want you to see me like this.”

“I’m not leaving, and you’re too weak to kick my dumb ass out of here, so deal with it, sugar.” I feel his lips on my forehead again and then nothing as sleep finally claims me.

***

“Wake up, baby. Sam, wake up.” A cool cloth is being rubbed on my forehead, and Leo’s smooth voice is calling to me. “Sam, I need you to take more medicine. Wake up.”

I open my eyes, and there he is. He wasn’t a dream. His eyes look worried, and his hair is messier than usual.

He looks tired.

“What time is it?” I ask, my voice hoarse.

“About two in the morning. Here, take these.” He hands me two small white pills and water and then takes my temp again. “One hundred even. It’s coming down.”

“I’m a sweaty mess,” I mutter in disgust.

“Do you want a shower?” he asks.

“Yeah.”

“Let’s go.” He pulls the covers back and helps me to my feet, but I’m wobbly with weakness.

Fuck, I hate feeling like this.

“A bath it is.” He smiles down at me and lifts me into his arms.

“I thought I dreamed you,” I whisper and bury my nose in his neck.

“That explains why you were telling someone in your sleep that they were sexy and talented and wonderful.” He winks down at me, and I can’t help the small smile that finds its way across my lips.

“That explains it,” I agree.

He sets me gently on the toilet while he runs the hot water in the tub, pulls the soaked T-shirt over my head, helps me out of my panties and pulls me back into his arms so he can lower me into the water.

“It feels cold.” I frown at him.

“I can’t give you a super hot bath, honey. I’m trying to break your fever.” He scoops up my dirty clothes and tosses them into my hamper. “Where are your pajamas?”

“Sleep shirts are in the top drawer of my dresser. Panties are in the second drawer down.”

He nods and leaves the bathroom, and I just push my hands through the water, watching it fall over my knees. He’s really good at this taking-care-of-someone stuff.

“Where did you learn to be a caretaker?” I ask him.

“I took care of Meg for a long time.” He shrugs and smiles down at me sweetly, that piercing catching my eye, and I can’t help but remember what he can do with that little piece of metal.

He holds up another Nash T-shirt. “What’s with all the concert T-shirts?”

“I see a lot of concerts.” I look back down at the water, embarrassed that he’s seen all of my Nash shirts. “I always get a T-shirt and use them for pajamas.”

“You have quite a Nash collection.”

“They’re my favorite,” I whisper, my eyes falling closed again. “Happy now?”

“Getting there,” he whispers and kisses my forehead. “Come on, baby, let’s get you back in bed.” He scoops me out of the bath, and I gasp at the cold air that feels even colder on my overheated skin.

“So cold.”

He wraps a towel around me as I start to shiver.

“I’m sorry.”

“Why are you sorry?” he asks.

“That you’re taking care of me.”

“I’m not sorry about that.” He briskly dries me and slips the soft cotton T-shirt over my head, lifts me in his arms again and delivers me to the bedroom. “I
am
sorry about the other night, Samantha. Jesus, I am so sorry. I would never use you.”

“I know. I’m sorry, too. I’m so mean when I’m scared,” I whisper and snuggle down in bed.

He brushes his fingers through my hair, rhythmically, gazing down at me softly.

“I’ll sleep in the spare room,” Leo offers and starts to stand, but I grab his wrist to keep him next to me.

“I don’t have a spare room.”

“This is a two-bedroom apartment.” He frowns down at me, and I offer him a small smile.

“I converted the other bedroom into a closet. No bed there. Sleep here.” I yawn, sleep pulling me back down. “Where’s my cat?” I ask.

“He’s been following me around. I fed him. Just sleep.”

The bed dips as he climbs under the covers behind me, fully clothed, and pulls me against him, his arms around me.  I let sleep take me over.

***

Sunlight is spilling over my face as I wake and look about the room. I’m in bed alone again, aside from Levine, curled up at my feet, snoring.

I feel better. I don’t feel like a night out on the town, but I think my fever has broken, and I don’t need to throw up.

Progress.

I can hear someone playing my piano, and I smile. Leo is still here.

I use the restroom, brush my teeth and drape a throw blanket around my shoulders before I go find him sitting in my living room, in the same black T-shirt and jeans from last night. His feet are bare, and he has a pen gripped in his teeth.

His hair is standing on end from his fingers.

Leo is here.

I cross to him and kiss his head. He shifts to the left, making room for me on the bench, and I join him.

“Hi.”

“Hey. How are you feeling?” He leans down and kisses my forehead twice, checking for fever, and must be happy with what he feels because he backs away and grins at me.

“Better. I don’t want to be in bed anymore.” I look down at his long-fingered hands resting on the piano keys.

“Do you want some toast or anything?”

“Ugh, not ready to go there yet.”

“Okay, hang out with me.”

“What are you playing?” I ask.

“Something new.” His brow wrinkles as he concentrates on the keys, playing a soft melody that I’ve never heard before.

God, he’s so talented.

“I didn’t know you play the piano,” I murmur.

“Not well, but I don’t have my guitar here.”

“You didn’t have to stay,” I whisper and lean my head on his shoulder as he plays.

“Yeah, I did. I thought about taking you to the ER there for a while.”

I look up into his stormy gray eyes in surprise.

“But you came through,” he says.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome.”

We sit in companionable silence as he plays the melody. Every so often he stops and writes something down, or switches the notes to suit him.

It’s fascinating.

“I can’t get the hook,” he grumbles, fumbling over the song. He stops and backtracks and tries to play it again, but he’s still not hearing it.

But I do.

I start to hum it, and his eyes shoot to me in surprise. “You play it,” he says and pulls his hands away from the keys.

I pick up where he left off, playing what I hear in my head for the hook of the song.

“Your turn,” I mumble and lean my head back on his shoulder as he mimics what I just played and smiles at me.

“You never stop surprising me.” He kisses my head and keeps playing, humming along.

I’m completely content here, sitting on my piano bench with this complicated, moody man. As the song comes to a close, he rests his hands in his lap and leans his cheek on my head.

“Did you write the whole thing while I slept?” I ask.

“Yeah.”

“Leo?”

“Yeah, sunshine.”

“So, not a one-night thing,” I whisper.

He chuckles softly and drapes an arm around me, pulling me closer to him.

“I’m glad you’re catching up.”

Chapter Seven

“What did you pick?” I ask as I wander into the living room from the bedroom. I’m fresh out of the shower, finally feeling normal again in clean clothes, my hair washed, and belly full of soup from my favorite deli down the block that Leo fetched me for dinner.

And I don’t even need to throw up.

If I don’t watch it, I could get used to being pampered.

The opening credits of a movie are paused across the TV.

“The latest James Bond.” He grins at me from the couch, and I plop down next to him. “Feel better?” he asks.

“Much, thank you.”

“No Nash T-shirt?” he asks with a raised eyebrow.

I look down at my shirt and back up at him with a sassy grin. “The Goo Goo Dolls are my favorite.”

“Right. That’s not what you said last night.” He pushes play on the remote, and Adele begins to sing the opening song to the movie.

I love Adele.

“I was delirious with fever,” I mutter and settle in next to him, leaning my head on his shoulder.

“Liar,” he whispers with a chuckle and kisses my forehead.

I enjoy having him here, in my space, among my things. I never thought I could be so comfortable with someone for long stretches of time. People usually annoy the hell out of me.

Hell, sometimes
I
annoy the hell out of me.

Leo and I have settled into a rhythm. The conversations are interesting. The silences aren’t uncomfortable.

And he likes to have me near him, which is a comfort to me, not just because I’ve been sick.

I link my fingers with his and rub my thumb over the ink on his skin. I love his tattoos. I can’t stop looking at them. I wonder what these on his hands mean to him.

I wonder if he’d tell me if I asked.

Leo clears his throat, and I realize I’ve been lost in thought. I look up into his smiling gray eyes. “What?”

“The movie isn’t playing on my hand.”

“Sorry,” I mumble and pretend to watch the movie.

“Don’t you like Bond?” he asks.

“Sure, I like it.”

“Why aren’t you watching it?”

I climb onto his lap and wrap my arms around his neck. “You know,” I begin and kiss his chin. “I haven’t made out during a movie since Ethan Middleton took me to see
Toy Story
in the eleventh grade.”

“What kind of a douche bag takes his date to see
Toy Story
?” Leo responds, wrapping his arms around my back.

“I had a big crush on Ethan,” I reply with a laugh and kiss his cheek. “I didn’t care what he took me to see.”

“Did he score that night?” Leo asks, his eyes happy and laughing.

“Hell no, but he got to second base. Play your cards right, and I’ll let you score a home run, sexy man.”

“Where is Ethan now?”

“I have no idea.” I shift so I’m straddling him, my knees planted on the couch at his hips. “The point is, I think we should make out.”

“You
are
feeling better.” He kisses my nose and then lifts me off his lap and dumps me back on the couch beside him. “Watch the movie.”

“I wanna make out.” I pout and cross my arms over my chest, earning a belly laugh from Leo, and my stomach tightens at the sound.

Even his laugh sounds musical. God, I could eat him with a spoon.

“You wanna make out, sweetheart?” he asks and shifts toward me, pushing me down onto my back on the couch.

“Well”—I shrug nonchalantly—“you know, if you want to.”

“You are so sassy,” he mutters and stares down at my lips. “I’ll make out with you if you want.”

“Oh, good, I was afraid I was going to have to track down Ethan.”

“I’m the only man for this job, baby.”

He plants his elbows on the cushion beside my head, rests his lower body against mine and leaves tiny kisses on my chin, my jaw, and then slides his nose against my neck, making me shiver and squirm.

“You have great lips,” I whisper and feel him grin against my ear. I run my hands down his firm back and pull his T-shirt up so I can feel his warm skin beneath my hands.

“Clothes stay on,” he whispers and continues with the small, sweet kisses.

“Why?” I ask and gasp when he bites my ear.

“We’re just making out.”

“For now.”

He pulls up to brace himself on his hands and stares down at me with shining gray eyes. “No, we’re just making out. No further than second base.”

“Uh, Leo, Meg’s the one with the three-date rule, not me. Remember?”

His face splits into a wide smile, and I smile back at him.

“She has a three-date rule?” he asks.

“Yeah, she about killed Will.”

“That’s my girl.” He chuckles proudly. “And I do believe you made me wait through about five dates.”

“Running isn’t a date.” Holy Mary Mother of God, if he licks my neck like that again, I’ll tear his shirt off his body and attack him.

“I bought you a meal each time. It was a date,” he whispers and moves to the other side of my neck to wreak the same havoc on the sensitive skin below my ear.

“Leo?”

“Mmm hmm?”

“Kiss me, please.”

“I am.”

I pinch his ass, and he bites my ear and glares down at me.

“Please.”

My eyes fall to his lips, his silver metal in his lower lip, and I’ve never wanted anyone to kiss me as much as I want him to right now.

He loops his fingers in my hair, tilts his head, and gently lays his lips over mine. I tighten my hands on his back, holding him tightly against me, and sigh deeply as he begins to move those talented lips. He nibbles and sucks, from one corner of my mouth to the other, leaving no piece of skin untouched.