One Night with a Hero by Laura Kaye Page A

“Let’s see how these go first. I hate puking.” He finished his seconds and slid down against the pillows. “You don’t have to stay, you know.”
    “I just don’t think you should be alone yet. You were at almost 104 earlier. That’s into the scary range.”
    He nodded and turned onto his side. “Sleep more,” he said, his voice already fading.
    Joss took the opportunity of him sleeping to pop back over to her own house and make a quick sandwich. It wasn’t like she could forage at Brady’s place. Then she resumed her watch at the top of his steps to read her book and keep vigil.
    An hour later, Brady was hunched over the toilet, throwing up a dribble of orange and dry heaving so hard Joss’s stomach hurt for him. Finally, he flushed. “You should go. Get sick, too.”
    “Stop trying to chase me away,” she said gently. “I’m staying as long as you need me.” She trailed him into his room. Perched on the edge of his bed, she said, “Let’s check your temp again.” She slipped it from his mouth when it beeped. “Man. One-oh-two.”
    He stroked a finger against her knee. “Thank you.”
    “No biggie. Take these.” She handed him more Tylenol and the ginger ale. “Just sip enough to get the pills down.” His body had warmed the towel she’d given him earlier, so she soaked it in cool water again and settled it on his head and neck.
    “I mean it. Above and beyond.”
    She shrugged. “It’s what anyone would do.”
    “No, it’s not, Joss. It’s not.”
    “Shh. Sleep now and kick this thing’s ass.”
    The corner of his lip quirked up. “Yes, ma’am.”
    She settled on the step again, her back none too happy about it. Before long, she finished her book. Outside the bathroom window, the evening light dimmed into twilight.
    Brady opened his door and gave her a small smile. “All that furniture I just bought isn’t doing you a bit of good, is it? Sorry.”
    His words resurrected the awkwardness she’d felt yesterday, so she just shook her head. “How you doing?”
    “Maybe better. I’m gonna shower. Would you mind making me some soup?”
    She smiled. “Not at all. Still have a fever?”
    “Might be gone. Feel me.”
    She heaved herself off the step and rolled her eyes when he weakly grinned. “You’re a mess, you know that?” She pressed her hand to his forehead, then cheek. “Definitely cooler. I don’t think it’s gone though. Shower’ll help.”
    He disappeared into the bathroom.
    Joss made a quick trip to her place to eat another sandwich, heat up the chicken noodle, and grab a tray, then returned to his house and arranged a spread of things to take up to him—soup, a fresh ginger ale, and some cinnamon applesauce.
    She carried everything upstairs and settled the tray on his bed. Footsteps sounded behind her and she turned.
    Brady stood in the doorway, water droplets on his bare chest, hand fisted at the hip holding a towel in place.
    Just…wow. Even sick he was gorgeous. Abs ridged. Chest solid. Shoulders mounds of banded muscle. “Sorry,” she said, cutting her gaze back to the tray. “I’ll just…” She thumbed over her shoulder.
    “Stay right where you are,” he said, a hint of amusement in his voice. “And I’ll make myself decent.”
    “Er, okay.” He’s sick he’s sick he’s sick , she chanted to distract herself from the fact that he was getting naked five feet from her. The rustle and slide of fabric sounded loud in the room.
    “Smells good,” he said coming up behind her. He propped the pillows up again and sat against them wearing only a pair of gym shorts. “Have you eaten?”
    Joss nodded. “I got a sandwich.”
    Brady grabbed the thermometer, took his temperature, and handed it to her when it finished. His temp was 100.4. “I think I’ll live.”
    “Good.” She passed him the bowl of soup and a napkin. Then yawned so big her jaw cracked.
    “I’m sorry I’ve kept you here all day.” He took a sip of broth.
    She waved his apology