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“Bumblebee, I didn’t mean anything by that. I’m just… fuck, I’ve been awake all night worrying about you.”
Surprise filled her face. “You have?”
“Yeah, baby, I have.” He ran his gaze over her pale face, the dark marks under her eyes. She looked like she’d lost weight. How was that even possible? It was only a few days since he’d last seen her.
She looked so small in the bed, her dark-blonde hair lank and messy, her nose red from blowing it too often.
His poor girl appeared to be so damn miserable.
A wave of affection and caring caught him by surprise. He wanted to pick her up, cradle her close. Tell her that he would take care of her, wouldn’t let anything or anyone touch her.
When was the last time he’d put someone ahead of himself? Someone who wasn’t a member of his family?
He couldn’t even remember.
Yeah. He’d categorically turned into a selfish asshole.
Time for that to change if he was going to convince her she belonged to him.
“Guess I look like shit, too, huh?” he said with a grin.
Her lips twitched. “It’s not a competition. But I definitely look worse than you.”
“Not possible. I’ve got bags under my eyes to rival a 747.”
“Well, I’ve got a nose that puts Rudolph’s to shame,” she told him.
“I’m more pasty than a snow cone without a flavor.”
“Well, I… have…” she started coughing before she could finish that sentence.
Brand reached over and grabbed the glass of water the nurse had picked up and took it from her. Then he slid one hand behind Jolie’s head while holding the glass up to her mouth. “Drink slowly, baby.”
Fuck. What did he know about taking care of someone who was ill?
Pretty much zilch. But hey, he could always call his mom. She’d taken care of him plenty when he was sick. Or one of his sisters. His nephews always seemed to be coughing or snotty or something.
He had this.
He totally had it.
Jolie drew her head back, staring up at him in amazement. Yeah, he knew he deserved that look. He slid his hand away from the back of her head, laying her back down.
“Do you need some more water?”
She shook her head, then winced as though that had hurt.
“What is it? What’s wrong?” he demanded, glaring over at the older man and woman.
“Do you have a headache, Jolie?” the man asked.
“Just a bit of one.”
Which probably meant it was killing her. He’d noticed that when it came to her own comfort and care, she tended to downplay everything.
“She needs painkillers,” he barked.
“Brand, meet Doctor Nelson and Nurse Beverly. They’ve been taking care of Jolie.” There was a note of censure in Derek’s voice.
