Perfect Partners by Carly Phillips Page B

until his eyes adjusted to the light. “She’s fine. She woke up, played all afternoon, watched a video or two, and went back in for the night.”
    He ran his fingers through his hair. “And I slept through all that?”
    She nodded. “You look awful.”
    “Thank you. I can’t remember the last time a woman’s compliment turned my head like that.”
    “Be serious. Your eyes are glassy, your face is flushed. How do you feel?”
    “As lousy as I apparently look.”
    “Where do you keep the Tylenol around here?”
    Grateful that she seemed to be taking charge, he gave in to his aching muscles and leaned back onto the pillows. “Bathroom medicine cabinet. Through that door,” he said, and pointed to the master bath.
    “Someone should have told me that baby-sitter and nursemaid would be part of the partnership agreement. I would have upped my percentage.” He was about to dispute that, then realized he couldn’t. Apologizing seemed like the next best alternative. But she softened her words with a genuine smile before heading in the direction he’d indicated.
    “You probably caught some form of what Alix had. Open up,” she said, upon exiting the bathroom.
    He complied and she cut off any answer by sticking a thermometer in his mouth. “Don’t go anywhere. I’ll be right back.”
    She left as briskly as she’d come, giving him only a brief moment to view her from behind. Her jeans fit like a coating of paint and those legs seemed to grow in length each time he looked. If he felt feverish before, he’d hate to view the thermometer now. He closed his eyes and settled in to wait.
    “Open,” she said a few minutes later.
    “You sure you weren’t a drill sergeant in another life?”
    “Cute.” She paused to read the thermometer and frowned. “You’ve got a fever, Griff.” She handed him a glass of orange juice from the nightstand. “You stay put.”
    “And who takes care of Alix?”
    “As if you didn’t already know. It’s Saturday night, so neither one of us has any pressing work engagements tomorrow. Give yourself twenty-four hours for the fever to break. By then, you’ll be on your feet and Mrs. Baxter will be back first thing Monday morning.”
    “She’s out till the following weekend.”
    Chelsie shook her head. “She called to check in. I told her what had happened and she’ll be back.”
    “Good.”
    “But for the next twenty-four hours, you’re stuck with me.”
    It was what he’d wanted all along, but her physical presence wasn’t all he needed, and her no-nonsense attitude irritated the hell out of him. Never mind that he’d caused her to withdraw. He desired the woman who melted in his arms, not this wind-up nurse doll.
    She grabbed the empty glass from his hands and her gaze raked him over from top to bottom.
    “You’re still in last night’s clothes. Change and I’ll make you something light for dinner.” She turned towards the door. “I can last a measly twenty-four hours,” she muttered.
    He knew she hadn’t intended for him to hear.
    “Chelsie?”
    She glanced over her shoulder. He smiled as he devoured her with his eyes. “You’re about to find out how long twenty-four hours can be.”
    *     *     *
    Chelsie knew Griff’s prediction of a long twenty-four hours had been said with the express intent of making her squirm. Despite his illness, the predatory look in his eyes accomplished his goal. However, he hadn’t counted on his fever rising and his comfort level declining, making him ill equipped to do more than groan, complain, and drive her crazy. Amazingly, Alix slept on. After dinner, Griff, too, had fallen asleep.
    By the time Chelsie had unpacked most of her office, cleaned up the kitchen, and finished the laundry she’d found piled in a heap on the floor, the clock read nearly midnight. After looking in on Alix, she decided to check Griff once more before collapsing on the couch in the den. They hadn’t discussed sleeping arrangements, and