Chapter SIXTEEN

FINN STRETCHED out on the bed and blinked a few times in the dim light of the bedroom. It took a moment to focus, but once the numbers came into view, the digital alarm clock showed it was nearly six. He felt weighted with exhaustion but dragged his heavy body into a sitting position and tried to shake off the lethargy. He peered closer at the clock. The little green light was displayed against the “p.m.” Six in the evening! I’ve slept the whole day?

The memories came back in a rush: the signs of a migraine coming on, the pain gradually worsening until Finn could hardly think by the time he arrived home.

He looked around the room. The bed was rumpled, the sheets puddled on the floorboards at the foot of the bed. The bedside table held a full glass of water and a bottle of his pain medication. His pile of paperbacks was on the floor, the small tower balancing a bowl that sat on a folded towel. Finn scowled in confusion, the small movement reminding him of the faint headache that remained.

Finn picked up the pill bottle but decided he’d take some Nurofen rather than the stronger stuff he used during the onset and peak of each episode. Thankfully the migraines were few and far between, so much so that he hadn’t refilled his prescription in ages and was lucky there were enough pills to see him through. He looked at the bottle in his hand again and gave it a slight shake before opening and staring in confusion. The bottle had been opened but was nearly full.

“Oh, you’re awake.” Mitch spoke softly, but his voice still caused Finn’s heart to race as he looked to the door in surprise.

“Ah. Yeah,” Finn managed to respond, his own voice rough and his throat dry.

Mitch moved into the room. “I wondered when you were going to emerge. How are you feeling?”

“Better.” Finn took a sip of water, as much to soothe his throat as to get his jumbled thoughts in order. “Tired more than anything. Confused.” What is Mitch still doing here?

“You’ve been in bed since Monday night, and it hit you hard. It’s no wonder you feel like shit.”

Finn snorted. “Like I’ve been run over by a Mack truck. And today is?”

“Today’s Wednesday.”

Jesus, I’ve been down for two whole days.

He stood and wobbled slightly on his feet. Mitch immediately took his elbow, and in a move that felt natural, started guiding him toward the door. Finn allowed himself to be led from the room, not even questioning where they were going.

“You need to take it easy and give yourself a few days to recover,” Mitch said. They stopped at the bathroom door. “You take a shower, clean up, whatever it is you need to do. But maybe don’t lock the door.” Finn raised a brow. “That way I’ll be able to come in if you need anything, or if something goes wrong,” Mitch said in answer to his unasked question. “Just call if there’s anything I can do, okay?”

Finn nodded, unsure how to respond to Mitch’s kindness and the warmth that filled his chest. It was overwhelming to have someone show that much care and worry about his well-being. Finn blinked to hold back the tears. Mitch smiled, then headed to the living room, giving him some privacy.

Finn grimaced at the sight that met him in the bathroom as he stared at his reflection. The mirror on the cabinet door was streaked, but even that couldn’t be blamed for his washed-out appearance—pale skin, unwashed hair, and uneven stubble across his jaw. He had enough presence of mind to groan at the thought Mitch was seeing him look like this. But then memories flooded back, visions of Finn kneeling in front of the toilet and Mitch cleaning him with a damp washer. Finn leaning into Mitch’s soothing touch, seeking comfort in his arms. The flood of embarrassment wiped out the warm feelings thinking of Mitch’s tenderness elicited. God, what must he think of me? A vomiting mess, weak as a kitten, falling apart in his arms….

Finn turned abruptly, peeled off his briefs, and turned on the shower. He stepped in, allowing the water to wash away two days of staleness and wishing he could scrub away his feelings. He was a mess—wrung out, emotional, and obviously not thinking clearly. The hot water pounded on his back as his emotions swirled in turmoil.

But no one had ever looked after him like that before, not since his mum died, and that was years ago. Since then he’d managed fine on his own. So why the yearning for more of that comfort? Finn usually pushed people away, and it grated on him when he wasn’t treated like a grown man who could stand on his own two feet. So why now was he wanting someone to lean on? He squeezed his eyes shut, trying to stop his thoughts, but immediately a vision of Mitch appeared behind his closed eyelids. He opened his eyes in a flash as frustration surged through him. He turned off the water, grabbed a towel, and briskly toweled dry—better to focus on the mundane task of getting ready and not the bullshit emotions he seemingly couldn’t control.

Twenty minutes later, clean-shaven, fresh smelling, and dressed in comfy track pants and a T-shirt, Finn entered the kitchen and headed straight for the drawer where he kept his medications. He shook a couple of Nurofen into his palm and accepted the glass of water Mitch passed to him, moving to the table when Mitch nudged him in that direction.

“It’s not much. I wasn’t sure how up to eating you’d be, whether you’d have an appetite, but it’s important you eat, given the medication.” Mitch gestured to the pills resting in Finn’s palm. “I kept it simple, so hopefully it’ll stay down.”

Mitch’s gentle smile helped clear away the brief moment of embarrassment at the reference to his throwing up. The grilled cheese on toast looked surprisingly appetizing, and Finn was suddenly ravenous. “Thanks. It looks great.”

Mitch brought his own meal to the table before fetching two mugs of tomato soup. Tears prickled as Finn thought of his mother doing the same thing—making him soup for an afternoon snack on a cold winter’s day.

God, I really am falling apart.

He looked down and focused on swallowing the pills, hoping Mitch couldn’t read the emotions that no doubt showed on his face. By the time he met Mitch’s gaze again, he felt more composed.

The simple meal was delicious, and it was only when he was half-finished that he wondered where the food had come from.

“The fridge.” He nodded toward the old Kelvinator, a relic from the sixties or seventies. “There wasn’t much in it. And certainly no cheese. Where did this come from?”

“I did a little shopping. I left when you were sleeping, but you’d just had some pills—the last of the bottle—so I figured you’d be out for a couple of hours, otherwise I wouldn’t have left you alone.” Mitch sipped his soup. “There’s a great little shopping center down the road a bit, although I guess you know that. Chemist, butcher, greengrocer. It didn’t take long to get what I needed, and there’s plenty left over.”

“You went shopping?”

Mitch raised a brow. “Sure. How else was I going to get food?”

Finn thought of the nearly full pill bottle and the mention of the pharmacy. “And you got my migraine pills?”

“I hope you don’t mind. There were only a couple left, but there was a prescription in the drawer over there where you keep the bottle. That was okay, wasn’t it?”

Finn nodded. “I don’t know what to say. Thank you.”

“You don’t have to say anything. Just part of the service.”

Mitch winked as he stood, but Finn was immediately reminded Mitch was paid to be his driver, his protector. Maybe that duty extended to nurse, personal chef, and housekeeper? He’d been letting himself think Mitch really cared.

Stupid!

Finn pushed himself to his feet and reached for his plate, but Mitch picked it up first. “You go sit down for a bit, maybe put the television on. You look dead on your feet.”

“I’m not totally useless, you know!”

Mitch looked taken aback for moment, then shrugged. “Yeah, I know.” His voice softened. “Just go take it easy, Finn. It’s only a couple of dishes, and you’ll recover quicker if you don’t push it.”

Mitch didn’t wait for his response, just headed to the kitchen bench, leaving Finn to look at his broad shoulders as he leaned over the sink. Mitch looked back over his shoulder, and Finn flushed at being caught staring but met Mitch’s gaze.

“Grown men sometimes need looking after too, Finn. It isn’t a weakness.”

BY THE next day, Finn felt 100 percent better. There was no sign of a headache, and all the nausea had disappeared entirely. His appetite had returned to normal, and the lethargy—the migraine hangover—was a thing of the past. It probably helped that he had gone to bed early the previous night, not long after eating the light dinner Mitch made him. The full belly and the meds ensured he slept long and soundly, and as a result, Finn felt like his usual self. He contemplated a shower, but his stomach had other ideas, so he padded in his bare feet toward the kitchen, hoping there was enough bread left to make toast.

Finn came up short at the sight of Mitch asleep on the couch. He hadn’t even given a thought to the fact Mitch was sleeping in the house and that the guest room didn’t have a stick of furniture, let alone a bed in it. Ridiculous, really—where else would Mitch be sleeping, given he’d been looking after him for the last couple of days? Damn! Mitch had been so good to him, and in return, he was sleeping on the crappy old couch. Thank God he’d obviously found some spare linens and a pillow so his face wasn’t pushed into the aging fabric.

Mitch looked different in sleep. He was usually so alert, his eyes taking in everything going on around him. Finn didn’t think he’d ever seen him truly relaxed or letting down his guard. Sleep softened Mitch’s features, and his mouth was slightly open, gentle, snuffling snores escaping. Finn couldn’t help but smile.

He let his gaze roam farther, only slightly ill at ease due to the fact he was ogling Mitch in his sleep. Dark stubble shadowed Mitch’s strong jaw, the same dark color as the hair scattered across his chest. His skin was deeply tanned, partly due to his olive complexion and partly as a result of time spent under the summer sun. There was some kind of mark on his left pec, a tattoo of some sort, but Finn couldn’t see the details from across the room. The hair on Mitch’s chest tapered into a treasure trail, disappearing under the waistband of a pair of red underwear only partly covered with a crumpled sheet. Mitch had obviously started the night with the sheet covering him, but it was now in a tangled mess, leaving one long, muscled leg exposed. The underwear did nothing to hide Mitch either, displaying a generous bulge.

Finn bit back a groan as desire flashed through him. Yep, he was definitely feeling a lot better. The temptation to wander closer, to get near enough to touch, was strong.

Instead Finn turned on his heel and retreated the way he came. He ignored his erection as he peeled off his briefs, turned on the tap, and stepped into the shower. The water cascaded down his body, but he didn’t stop to enjoy it. He washed quickly, focusing on the task at hand—lather, wash, rinse. By the time he completed his shower and finished shaving, he’d gotten himself pretty much under control. It was a dangerous world he lived in, and he couldn’t afford to let his attraction start ruling his thinking. There was too much at risk.

Damn! He looked at his briefs where they lay on the tiled floor. No other clothes, just what he’d worn into the bathroom. Finn wrapped the towel around his waist, ready for the dash across the hall to his bedroom. He opened the door and ran straight into Mitch. The air was knocked from his lungs, and if it weren’t for Mitch’s arms wrapped around him, he would have ended up on his arse. His body tingled from the contact. Oh God!

“Sorry—”

“I didn’t—”

They spoke at the same time.

Mitch’s grip around his biceps was firm. Their faces were inches apart. Mitch wasn’t letting go. Finn wasn’t moving away. He couldn’t tear his gaze from Mitch’s eyes. They were close enough that he could see each clearly defined dark eyelash and the golden flecks in Mitch’s brown eyes. Mitch’s nostrils flared, and Finn’s breath hitched. He was operating on a hair trigger, and just the thought of Mitch these days was enough to set him off, let alone the warmth of his body and the scent of his skin.

Blood rushed through his veins, thundering in his ears as desire pooled in his belly. His cock lengthened as every fiber of his being focused on Mitch in front of him.

“I….” Oh, God. The words stuck in his throat.