High-Risk Fever by Lea Bronsen Page A

waiting.”
    “Are you sure?”
    “Yes. A Dieux vat. ”
    The wind whistled angrily in the treetops around the house, causing shivers to creep up her spine. She stared at him. The future was indeed in God’s hands. With a storm like that, it would be too dangerous to drive home. She had no choice but to sleep here, call Brian in the morning, and hope for improved weather tomorrow.
    The doctor stepped past her, giving her arm a push. “ Au revoir, madame .”
    “Au revoir, docteur. And be careful.”
    “Always.”
    She turned to see him leave. When he pressed the handle, the door blew open so fast, it looked like he had yanked it open. Air gushed in with a whoosh , blowing into his face. He bent his head before stepping out into the night and forcing the door shut.
    All muscles rigid with tension, she headed to the dark room he’d come out of, and peeked inside. The hall light revealed the contours of Mica’s body curled on a single-person bed. Despite the trembling of the window shutters, his torso heaved peacefully, as if he was unaware of the raging storm.
    She stepped into the small room, took off her shoes, and on feet as light as cat paws, went to the other side of the bed. There wasn’t much space for two, but, overcome with exhaustion, she didn’t want to think about what their closeness might engender. She lay on top of the sheets with her back to him, though not so near their bodies touched.
    Waiting for sleep to take over, she listened to his breathing and the furious gusts of wind outside.
    She deplored not being able to notify Brian. Hopefully he would understand why she didn’t make it home tonight. She prayed he wouldn’t ask too many questions. At least she could tell him about the baby, and how she’d been allowed to take care of it.
    Oh God . She already missed holding that little bundle. Her chest constricted. Tears rushed again, so fast, so easily. She closed her eyes and barely held back a gasp.
    She wanted to forget about this whole thing—Brian, the bicyclists, the storm, the baby, the…. It was too much. She didn’t know how to handle anything anymore. She was losing it, didn’t know who she was, or what she wanted, or the purpose of her life.
    The mattress moved. Mica’s warm body snuggled against hers, molding to her back.
    She froze, stopped breathing.
    “Why you crying?” His warm breath brushed her neck. A hand sneaked between her arm and chest, wound around her stomach, and pressed them closer together. Long fingers moved to her lower stomach, spreading on the shirt.
    A rush of lust charged through her like a bolt of lightning, merciless, searing, and all-consuming. She stiffened and held back a whimper. At the same time, his hoarse voice sent strange shivers down her spine, making her ache for something else. Warmth, perhaps. Comfort, reassurance.
    He asked why she was crying. Was he to be considered a friend, someone in whom she could confide?
    She wanted to turn around and touch him, smell his scent, taste his skin, dive into him as if he were liquid, and become one with him.
    Sizzling with need, stiff and numbed by excitement, she rolled onto her back, eyes wide but barely noting details in the dimly lit bedroom’s ceiling. His hand slid to the other side of her waist, leaving his forearm to rest heavily on her tummy. She couldn’t help arching up as her pussy muscles contracted with desire. His warm, regular breaths brushed her ear, their calmness urging her on.
    Again, she rolled, as if programmed to, until their knees and chests collided and her hand found his shoulder, nails digging into the woolly fabric of his pullover. Light from the hall behind him caressed the silhouette of his temple and cheeks, but rendered the rest of his face invisible in the shadow. Only his eyes glimmered from the low light that sneaked into the room. Soft breaths from his nostrils mingled with her own erratic, needy breathing.
    While his arm slid farther around her waist, fingers pressing