He frowned. Was she coming down with a bug? Thinking back, she’d been fine before she’d gone out to get their lunch. Sunny, bright and smiling. Cheerful. As beautiful as she always was. It scared the shit out of him just how dependent he’d become on her presence in his office. How integral a part of his day she was. Most people needed coffee in the mornings. He just needed Mia.
As he leaned closer to her, intending to feel her for signs of fever, he saw that her eyes were red and puffy and blotchy. As if she’d been…crying. What the hell?
What could have happened? What wasn’t she telling him? He was tempted to wake her and demand to know what the hell was wrong, but he didn’t want to disturb her. She looked tired. Deep shadows rested underneath her eyes. Had she looked this tired the night before? Had he been too hard on her? Too demanding? Was he the reason she was sick?
Dread pitted his stomach. Was this relationship too much for her? He couldn’t even promise to ease up, to back off. Instead of time begetting distance, with every passing day she became more of an overwhelming need within him. Time would only sharpen his desperation for her. Not alleviate it. He’d been a fool to ever think allowing another man to touch her would somehow prove that he wasn’t emotionally dependent on her. That it wouldn’t bother him.
He still wanted to beg her forgiveness every time his mind went back to that night in Paris. She’d already forgiven him, but just remembering had the power to take him to his knees.
He wasn’t worthy of her. He knew this well. But damned if he had the power to do the right thing and let her go. It would destroy him.
Checking his watch, he frowned. He was later getting home than he’d intended. It was close to the dinner hour and he wondered if she’d even eaten her takeout. He walked into the kitchen to find his answer on the counter. The bag was untouched. The box inside unopened. He cursed softly. She needed to eat.
He rummaged in his cabinets for a can of soup. His housekeeper kept the staples on hand for him, and he gave her a shopping list on Fridays for any weekend cooking he thought to do. But the simple matter was, he wasn’t home often enough to keep a fully stocked pantry.
After deciding he had nothing suitable, he picked up the phone and called down to the concierge to tell him what he required. After being assured the matter would be taken care of immediately, Gabe hung up and searched the medicine cabinet for a thermometer and appropriate medication.
The only problem was, he wasn’t certain what she was sick with. Or if she was running any fever. It could be a cold. Could be a stomach bug. How was he supposed to know until he could ask her?
Deciding it could wait until she awakened—he wanted her to rest as long as she needed—he walked quietly back into the living room. The blanket had slid down, uncovering the upper half of her body, so he pulled it back up and tucked the ends around her. Then he kissed her forehead, feeling for any sign of fever.
She was warm, but not overly so. Her respirations seemed fine.
He went to the fireplace, turned up the flame and then disappeared into his room to change into more comfortable clothing while he waited for Mia’s soup to be delivered.
There was plenty of work to be done—he’d left right after his meeting and he still had financials to go over in preparation for his meeting with Jace and Ash to discuss the construction bids—but instead he picked up his tablet and settled on the couch across from Mia.
She settled him. Made him think about more than just work and business. He liked just being in her company, doing something as enjoyable as reading a book in the silence.
She’d been thrilled when he’d presented her with a brand-new e-reader—the latest upgrade—along with an entire collection of her favorite books in digital, loaded onto the reader. She’d thrown her arms around him and hugged and kissed him so exuberantly that he’d laughed. But then he did that a lot around her. Laughed.
There was something quite irresistible about her. Her charm was infectious. She was his…sunshine. He cringed at how corny that sounded. He was acting and thinking like an overdramatic teenager. Thank God no one could see into his thoughts. He’d never be able to hold his head up at business meetings.
Men like him were supposed to be intimidating. Cold. Unreachable. Feared, even. If anyone had any clue that a petite brunette with a million-dollar smile was his absolute kryptonite, he’d be laughed out of town.
His cell phone beeped, and he dug it out of his pocket to see that the concierge had texted him to say that he was coming up right away with Gabe’s order. Gabe rose from the couch to meet the man at the elevator doors. They opened just as he arrived in the foyer. He thanked the concierge and then took the bag into the kitchen.
The soup was still steaming hot, so Gabe didn’t warm it further in the microwave. He poured it into a bowl and toasted two slices of bread. Then he dug into the fridge for Mia’s favorite soft drink. Black cherry soda. It was an item he’d told his housekeeper to keep stocked because Mia was addicted to it.
There were a lot of things he kept stocked now because of Mia’s preferences. He’d committed them to memory and then made certain he had the things she liked. He didn’t want to give her any reason not to want to stay over.
He put the soup, toast and her drink on a tray, and then carried it into the living room, placing it on the coffee table in front of her. He was still reluctant to wake her, but she needed to eat and he needed to determine her condition. If necessary, he’d call his personal physician and have him come over to see Mia here.
“Mia,” he said in a low voice. “Mia, wake up, honey. I brought you something to eat.”
She stirred, uttered a sleepy protest and then turned her head to the other side, her eyelashes fluttering as she closed her eyes again.
He chuckled. She never did like having her sleep disturbed.
He touched her cheek, tracing a path down to her jaw, enjoying the silky feel of her skin beneath his touch.
“Mia. Wake up, baby. Come on. Open those pretty eyes for me.”
She opened her eyes and her unfocused stare encountered his. To his surprise, fear registered, and something else he couldn’t quite put his finger on. Worry? Anxiety?
What the hell was going on here?
She yawned and rubbed her eyes, avoiding his gaze as she sat up. She clutched the covers around her in a manner that screamed self-preservation.
He had to bite his tongue to keep from demanding answers right here and now. There was something infinitely fragile about her right now. He hadn’t seen her this way since that night in Paris. His gut knotted just thinking about it.
“Hey sleepyhead,” he said in a gentle tone. “I brought you some soup. I see you didn’t eat your lunch.”
She grimaced. “I was cold and just wanted to get warm. Didn’t feel like eating.”