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“I’ll wake you in a couple of hours,” I promised, pulling the white satin duvet up around her and drawing the champagne-colored drapes to shield her from the bright sunlight.
I quietly closed the door behind me as I left the room. My coat was draped over one of the rusty gold side chairs, and I reached into the inside pocket to retrieve the engagement ring I’d planned to give Erika tonight. It would have to wait, though. I wanted her to be well before I proposed.
I slipped the ring back into my coat pocket and opened my suitcase to find a pair of shorts to change into. The suite had become uncomfortably warm. The cloudless day outside beckoned, and I wished we could be lounging by the private pool instead of stuck indoors. Killing time until I promised to wake Erika, I sank into one of the loungers facing the cool blue water and slipped on my sunglasses, trying to enjoy the peaceful moment amidst the turmoil.
“How do you feel?” I asked as I gently shook Erika awake. Her face was pale, and her sleep had been restless.
“Like a truck hit me,” she mumbled, her voice barely more than a whisper. She blinked at me, eyes heavy with fatigue. “I’d like to take a shower.”
I tried to hide my smile. “I think you can skip bathing for now.”
“I feel gross,” she insisted, scrunching up her nose as she tried to sit up.
“You’re beautiful,” I said, trying to ease her discomfort.
“And you’re blind. My hair’s a mess, and I smell,” she retorted, her voice a mix of exasperation and amusement.
“Hardly. Stop obsessing over your appearance. All I care about is you getting better.”
“I am feeling better,” she said, though her eyes betrayed her exhaustion. “But I didn’t shower this morning, and we—” She trailed off, a faint blush coloring her cheeks.
“So?” I asked, my curiosity piqued.
“Humor me,” she replied, giving me a tired smile.
“Would you rather take a bath?” I suggested, trying to meet her halfway.
Her eyes twinkled with mischief. “Would you join me?”
“Only to bathe. I have no plans to touch you,” I said, trying to sound firm, but I could feel my resolve slipping.
“Suppose I wanted you to touch me?”
I shook my head, frowning at her playful challenge. “You just told me you feel like you’ve been run over. Why would you even think about sex right now?”
“Because you’re sexy and very arousing. Put some clothes on, Elliott,” she said, her tone light but insistent.
I glanced down at my dark green shorts, feeling suddenly self-conscious. Erika’s gaze followed, lingering where it shouldn’t.
“No,” I said, feeling both amused and exasperated.
“Party pooper,” she teased, a faint smile playing on her lips.
“A bath and maybe some soup for dinner,” I said firmly, steering the conversation back to practicality.
“I don’t want soup. It’s too hot,” she protested.
“Then what?” I asked, willing to entertain her whims.
“Ice cream. Chocolate,” she said with a hopeful look.
“Absolutely not,” I countered. “You’ve got a stomach virus, and the last thing you need is a rich, creamy dessert.”
“Mmm, I could think of another creamy dessert I like,” she said, her eyes sparkling with mischief.
“Christ, Erika, you are the worst patient,” I said with a laugh, shaking my head. “I’ll get your bath ready.”
“I want a bubble bath. I saw vanilla bath beads. Can you put some in the water?” she asked, her tone softening with genuine need.
