Fever by Swan Joan

Author:Swan, Joan [Swan, Joan]
Language: eng
Format: epub, mobi
Tags: Fiction, Romance, Suspense
ISBN: 9780758266385
Publisher: Brava
Published: 2012-01-01T07:00:00+00:00

Alyssa floated out of sleep gradually, like a diver breaking the surface of the water. She didn’t open her eyes, but snuggled into the warmth surrounding her. She knew exactly where she was and whose lap her head rested on. And this time she didn’t wake fearing him.

He’d stayed in the living room with her all night, made sure she was warm, continually monitored her for fever, checked her stitches twice and plied her with ibuprophen and antibiotics. In between, he’d spent long moments with healing fingers stroking her injury, his palm laid over the stitches. Not once had he attempted to take advantage of the situation. Much to her disappointment.

In fact, he’d refused to climb back under the same blanket with her after his phone call and had taken up residence on the other side of the sectional sofa. At some point during the night, he’d fallen into the corner seat and laid his head back. Alyssa had seen the opportunity and scuttled close until her cheek lay against the supple warmth of his thigh.

Now, as she lay curled as close to him as she could get, the most comfortable she’d been in days, Teague’s fingers toyed with her hair. He picked up a strand, ran it through his fingers, then curled the tip round and round before doing it all over again. Continuously.

She didn’t know what it was exactly about the gesture that made her want to purr like a kitten. The touch was sweet and endearing, intimate and loving. It was something no man had ever done before. In fact, none of the other men in her life had ever acknowledged her softer side. No one except her father. Maybe that’s why Teague could see it, because he was the father of a daughter himself. One risking the very freedom he swore he’d never jeopardize to get back to his baby. A fact that twisted her image of the man a hundred and eighty degrees.

Alyssa repositioned her head on Teague’s thigh, rubbing her cheek against the muscle, tipping her nose to his skin and breathing him in. Warm. Masculine. She opened her eyes, and took a moment to let them drift over the small room. Since there was no source of natural light, it looked exactly as it had the night before. “What time is it?”

Teague lifted the cell he held in his hand and looked at the display. “Seven-fifty-seven.”

The tightness of his voice exposed the impatience he was stifling as he waited for his call.

Alyssa looked up at him. His eyes were as sharp as an eagle’s, clear and bright, the color she imagined the sky would be today. His jaw ticked beneath the stubble of overnight beard. The hair on his head was already half an inch long, and it was coming in lighter than she’d expected, more golden than brown.

“Did you sleep at all?” she asked.

“Some.”

“You’re in another talkative mood.”

His eyes flicked down to meet hers, then rolled away. “Don’t tell me you’re a morning person.

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