My phone beeps, and I force my eyes open. The sun is streaming into my hotel room's window and casts long, soft beams across the bare, beautiful shoulder of the goddess asleep next to me. Last night had been like a dream - a visceral, vivid one. In it, the most beautiful woman in the world bewitched me on a beach at sunset.

I’d brought her home with me afterward and we fucked. Hard and desperate, until neither one of us could move. Our bodies sticky with sweat, our chests heaving, our limbs tangled.

She's lying on her side facing me. I reach out to push the riot of chocolate brown curls that have spilled across her face away. There are copper streaks in it that burn bright in the morning light.

But before I can, I feel the soft scrape of toes tickling the hairs on my shin. My hand tangles in the soft mass of her hair and pushes it away in slow, unhurried strokes. She steals my breath every time I look at her. She’s just so damn lovely. Her eyes are closed and her thick lashes rest on the tops of her cheek bones. Her full, wide mouth is curved into a smile. A deep, gratified sigh escapes her lips when I cup her chin and stroke her cheek with my thumb.

I jerk my hand back, and her eyes pop open.

"You're burning up." I murmur, putting my hand back, this time feeling the light sheen of sweat at her brow.

"I know. I'm sick." She mumbles, "I think it was the food from the beach. You're a heavy sleeper, I got up twice to be sick." She rolls over and groans as if the movement pains her.

"The food? I ate the same thing, I feel fine." I get out of bed and walk quickly to the bathroom. I grab a washcloth and run it under the cold water.

When I get back to her side, she's lying on her back, the flush of fever apparent now. I can see the places on her neck where I sucked hard enough to mark her. The rapid rise of her chest and her compressed lips are signs of the effort she's exerting trying to sit up. My mouth goes dry with worry, but I keep my voice even.

"Hey, let me go downstairs and have them call a doctor." I lay the cool wash cloth on her forehead and she moans, a soft sound of relief.

"Call -" her voice croaks and she stops to clear her throat and lick her lips.

I grab the bottle of water by my bed and sit down, putting it to her mouth so she can sip.

She grabs it from me "I'm not dying. Please. Just call Bambi. She'll know the doctor to call. You can't call any doctor." She says. A twinkle of humor in her eye, despite her labored breathing. This is definitely not food poisoning.

"Okay, I'll call her. Should I use your phone?" I reach for it. She moves so quickly that I don't even realize she has until I see her hand snag the phone from the bedside table.

"I'll call her. And I'll have her come for me. I should probably go back to the house." She says scrolling through her phone.

"Is the electricity back?" I ask her, pointedly.

"It's not off all day, just most of the day." She says defensively, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Stay here." I blurt before I can think better of it.

Her eyes shoot to me, they're wide with surprise, but even that can't disguise the heaviness in her lids and the glassiness of their whites.

"I can't. It's okay. I'm sure it's one of those twenty-four-hour stomach bugs." She swings her legs over the edge of the bed and presses the phone to her ear, her back to me as she starts to talk. She's speaking quietly, but vehemently.

I pull on the shorts that I left draped over the chair last night as she starts to speak in a hushed tone. By the time I've pulled my shirt over my head, her head is shaking in disagreement. She uses her free hand to sweep her hair over her shoulder, looking up at the ceiling, frustration fueling the huge sigh that leaves her mouth.

She's naked and I marvel at her body. Last night, we were together in the dark and she's always covered up. With the sun brightening the room, I realize this view of her bare back is the most of her body I've ever seen. Her back is strong, elegant- from the delicate bones of her shoulders to the knobs of her spine.

She has a tattoo in the middle of her back. In that spot where no one can reach, no matter how limber. I peer at it, unable to decipher what it is. Some sort of symbol. An outline of an "X" with something on the inside.

I take a step toward her, wanting to get a closer look at it. Even though I move silently, my bare feet on the hardwood floor, her head whips around to look at me. Her eyes narrow, her gaze intensifies and I stop my approach. Satisfied that I'm staying where I am, she turns back around to continue talking. I join her on the bed and she stiffens slightly when she feels the mattress dip under my weight, but she doesn't turn around.

"I can't." She grits out, frowning and rubs her temples with her thumb and middle finger.

I trail my fingers over her tattoo, tracing it with lightly. She jumps a little but then sags into my touch. She doesn't turn around.

"If you don't come for me, I'll come home myself." She threatens, but her voice is weak and lacks any real force.

I press a kiss to the slope of her shoulder, right where it meets her neck. The heat of her skin reminding me that despite her show of strength, she's not well. Her hand reaches to grasp my head, her fingers sift through my hair. I continue kissing, tasting, and nipping her.

She hums her approval and lets out a heavy sigh.

Her hand falls from my hair, but from exhaustion and not because she wants to.

I grasp her shoulders and gently force her back down. She doesn't put up a fight and her eyes are closed by the time she nestles into the pillow.

“Bambi! You're crazy. I'm calling your mother." She laughs, but it’s weak and appears to sap all of her strength

She yawns, and opens her eyes to slits to look up at me. Her hand comes up to stroke my face, an absentminded, tender touch that surprises me. When I turn my head to press a kiss to the inside of her wrist, her eyes widen, trained on her hand as if she doesn't recognize it. She pulls it abruptly away from my face and closes her eyes again.

"Fine. But only until later. I'm tired. I'll take a quick nap and when I wake up, I'll call you again and next time no arguing."

"Whatever. Bye." She drops her phone as if she doesn't have the strength to hold it.

"Can I just take a nap here?" She asks, nestling deeper into the bed, her eyes closed. "Bambi said she'll call the doctor to come here, but his clinic doesn't open until ten." She yawns, a huge gaping yawn and shivers slightly. I pull the sheets up her to neck.

"Yes, rest. But before you do, I'm running down to the pharmacy in the lobby to get you some paracetamol for your fever.” She groans and turns over, pulling the pillow over her head as if to block out my voice.

I walk back to the bed and yank the pillow away.

"Ohmigod," she mumbles into the mattress, "are you a sadist? Leave me alone."

I look at her, eyes narrowed as realization dawns. "Are you taking your malaria tablets?"

"No. They give my nightmares." She says, face still pressed into the mattress.

"Um. Okay. But you still have to take them. You said you were sick after we fell asleep. What do you mean sick?"

When she doesn't respond, I poke her shoulder with my forefinger.

"Please, my stomach hurts, everything hurts. I just need to sleep." She groans, again.

I relent. It’s obvious she’s really unwell.

"Listen, sleep, but when you wake up, I'm taking you to the Sanford Clinic unless Bambi has a doctor to recommend. Kojo said that's where he goes for medical attention when he's in Cape Coast and recommended it to me."

"Okay. Fine." She concedes, the lines between her eyebrows, the pucker of lips reminding me that I need to get her something to help her get comfortable.

"I'll go get your medicine and then I'll let you sleep. I've got a breakfast meeting in about thirty minutes. But I'll be back."

I grab my phone and walk out of the room, googling "Is Malaria contagious?" as I go.