Total pages in book: 151
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 144042 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 720(@200wpm)___ 576(@250wpm)___ 480(@300wpm)
The back of my neck grows hot and pinched. Not my business. Not my damn business.
The buzzer rings again. I set my guitar down and grit my teeth. Sweat trickles down my spine. All I see is Stella, her soft, freckle-dusted skin slowly being revealed as some wanker undoes her top—
“Mother fuck.” I stand and pace toward the door. To do what? Make a fool out of myself? Beg her to stop? Ridiculous. Utterly ridiculous. No way am I going to be That Guy.
I turn to walk away when some dude starts yelling.
“Hey? Hello in there? You don’t answer, you still owe me money!”
My muscles seize. Owes him money? Oh, hell no. What the ass is going on?
“Yo!” the irate guy in the hall shouts. “Hello?”
He leans on the buzzer again.
That’s it. I’m done.
A skinny, college-age kid flinches when I whip open my door, but he soon settles. “Hey, man. Sorry to disturb.” He glares at Killian’s door. “Your neighbor buzzed me in and then refused to open the door. Someone has to pay for this soup.”
He holds up a bag laden with takeout cartons as evidence.
For one instant, the relief is so strong I lean against my doorway to let it ride. Then concern takes its place because if Stella buzzed this guy up, she should be answering her door. I pull a few bills from my pocket, way more than the food likely costs. Slapping the money into his hand, I grab the bag and don’t give him another thought as I quickly punch in the code to Killian’s door.
“Stella?” I call out, stalking into the place.
She isn’t in the living room, and my pulse kicks into high gear. The meaty organ pounds in my chest as I set down the soup and call her name again. Louder this time. Kind of frantic, because fuck. “Stella!”
A weak noise from her room has me running up the stairs, my blood ice cold, my throat dry.
Hell, if this is even a taste of what my guys felt when they found me, I totally get why they mother me. I slam into her room and almost stumble on the rug as I skid to a halt.
Stella lies curled up on the bed, shivering, her hair matted and damp, her skin flushed.
“Baby.” I hustle over and touch her forehead. She’s burning up. “Shit. How long have you been like this?”
Sheets, ripe with the scent of sweat, twist around her body. With dull eyes, she looks at me for a second, then sags into the pillow. She doesn’t give me any info, just whimpers. And my chest constricts.
It’s been years since I’ve been around anyone sick. I think the last time was for Killian when he had the flu. I didn’t take care of him, though. That had been Brenna’s job back then. But I remember my childhood and how my mother would care for me.
“Come on, love,” I whisper as I scoop Stella up. “Let’s get you more comfortable.”
Her head lolls against my shoulder, and she whimpers again. The unhealthy heat of her body seeps through my shirt, and I bite back a curse. Gently laying her down on the loveseat, I hustle into Killian’s room where I know there’s a wet bar. I know this because the bastard stole the idea from me.
Armed with a bottle of cold water and a fresh glass, I head back and find Stella dozing. I use the time to change the sheets on her bed and get some painkillers. She makes a noise of protest when I pick her back up.
“It’s okay,” I tell her softly. “You’ll be okay.”
“Hurt,” she croaks.
“Where?”
“Throat. Everywhere.”
I set her down on the bed and unravel the dirty sheet. She’s dressed in a rumpled and sweat-soaked tank top and panties. Fuck. Running a hand through my hair, I hesitate for a second but then set my shoulders. She needs to be in clean clothes. End of story.
It takes some doing, but I wrestle a loose white T-shirt onto her and pull the tank off under it. Yeah, I’m being a prude. I’ve seen so many women nude, I’ve lost count. But this is Stella. It feels wrong to see her naked when she’s helpless and sick.
Not that she utters a word of complaint as I work. She just watches me with those dull, listless eyes. Her hand trembles when I give her a glass of cold water, and she only takes a small sip.
“More,” I tell her, pushing the glass back to her lips.
“Hurts.”
“I know, baby. But you need to hydrate.” I hand her two painkillers. “Take these.”
Her grimace hurts to look at but she does what I ask before flopping back onto the pillows. I cover her with a sheet and then find the thermometer.
It’s bad.
“One hundred and three?” I glare down at her. “Baby, you should have called me.”