"Mom, I'm fine." I say for the third time.

"Fine is not defined by being hospitalized with Malaria, Lillian. Why didn't you take the pills? You think you're immune to everything. God. What am I going to do with you?” She moans as if she's the aggrieved person.

"I'm only in the hospital because I'm dehydrated. I'm not dying. I'll be out in a couple of days." My head throbs though I don't know if it's from the malaria or the constant phone calls from my parents and sisters, each of them scolding me for not taking my medicine. Each of them threatening to come to Ghana. They're empty threats. Platitudes and pretend. They're not coming all the way here. They didn't fly the three hours it would have taken to get to Miami when they knew something was seriously wrong with me. They’re not flying across the Atlantic Ocean now because I'm a little sick. My headache intensifies.

"Fine. But call me later, let me know you're okay. I don't trust hospitals in Ghana." She sighs, the weariness in her tone makes me feel guilty. I always feel guilty when I talk to my mother.

"Okay. You don't trust hospitals anywhere." I look out of the glass louvered windows, relics from a different era and gaze out into the beautifully manicured courtyard of the hospital. A sudden wave of fatigue overtakes me and I yawn.

"Oh, you're tired my baby. Get some sleep." Her tone is cooing and it grates at me. "Please make sure they have mosquito netting on the hospital windows." She adds quickly, as if she's afraid I'll hang up before she can finish.

"Okay mom. I'll make sure. If they don't I'll find a way to make sure they put some up, just for me." I say dryly.

"I'll attribute your rudeness to your illness and fatigue Lillian Adjoa Hassan." She uses my full name and I want to laugh, although I know she meant for me to feel contrite. I feel a pang of loneliness when I realize how little she really knows me.

"Okay, mom. I love you. I'll call you later." I hang up before she can respond. If she complains, I'll blame it on the poor connection.

I close my eyes and take a deep breath to try and quell the pounding in my head.

I've been here for three days. I only called my family yesterday when I could talk without throwing up.

Harry had been right. It was malaria and a bad enough case that I need intravenous antibiotics and hydration. I haven't eaten since I got here. I can't hold anything down.

The doctor keeps telling me I'm lucky my symptoms manifested while I was here. “They don't know how to treat Malaria in America. You might have died." He’s said every time he's come into my room and I'm showing improvement.

I was scared when I woke up that morning in Harry's hotel room. The second time, I woke up. The sun was casting long shadows across the room and I knew it was late in the afternoon. My head felt like it was being crushed in a vice and my nausea brought me to my knees. Harry had been working at the desk in the other room of his suite and I could hear the furious clacking of keys on his keyboard. I'd tried to take myself to the bathroom without disturbing him. I'd failed miserably.

The world had pitched sideways when I stood up and I'd thrown up all over his hotel room floor.

I close my eyes, speeding past the memory of him finding me on my hands and knees, covered in vomit. And how he'd not missed a beat helping me up, putting me in the shower.

Even now, I can feel his hands running over me as he washed me, dried me. He even stopped to put lotion on me when I told him that I couldn't bear to get dressed without it.

Porsha had arranged for me to see a Dr. Halm. She came and insisted on taking me to the hospital herself and I’m glad she did – I almost checked in under my real name. I also thanked God that in Ghana, if you have cash to pay, they don’t care about your ID. I was able to check in under the name Emma Scott. Kojo and Harry brought me here and I was too weak to protest the entourage.

I've been in the hospital since. Bored out of my mind. But Porhsa's been here almost every day. She had to leave today, she's already missed the first two days of lectures in order to stay with me. But now that I'm clearly out of the woods, she has to go back.

"How's the patient?" Harry's deep voice interrupts my daydream. The butterflies that live inside me only come to life when they hear his voice; they spread their wings. When I turn my head from the window to look at him, they take flight. I don't even know who I am anymore. I've never been so happy to see anyone. And Harry, who turns every head, who is kind and demanding and persistent, only has eyes for me.

For me.

"I'm fine. I was talking to my mother. What do you have there?" I smile and point at the small, white plastic bags dandling from his hand. The aroma wafting from them answers the question for me. My mouth waters instantly as I smell the spicy, slightly charred scent of the rice and beans dish that I told him yesterday was my favorite thing to eat while I was in Ghana.

"You need to eat. So I got you something I didn’t think you’d be able to resist. I hope I got it right, I couldn't even remember what it was called." He drops the packages onto the table and turns toward me smiling.

"Oh, I can't wait." I practically leer at the food. "You need to eat. That was just an appetizer." He winks and stands up.

"Harry." I say sternly.

"Emma." He responds in kind and just like that, the bubble is burst and I'm reminded of my duplicity and the impossible situation it's created.

"Fine, let's eat." I grumble.

"Let's get you out of bed, shall we?" He starts to lower the guardrail on my bed and I protest.

"I want to try and do it myself. If I can get up myself, they'll let me go home as soon as tomorrow."

He steps back to let me, but hovers over me.

I manage, even though my muscles feel like they've started to atrophy in the three days I've been lying in bed.

"I was supposed to go back yesterday, but I can't leave you in the hospital, and my travel plans are flexible." He says easily and gratitude blooms in my chest.

"Thank you. I can't remember the last time anyone changed their plans for me." I say, with more candor than I should. I want to tell him my name. I want to have an honest conversation with him and that realization creates the first real pang of regret I've felt since I met him. I've already doomed any hope that this could be more than what it is.

"Really?" He glances at me sideways, his eyes full of interest and the beginnings of longing.

My butterflies start to swirl around at his expression and I duck my head to hide my smile.

"Well, I'd stay here all week if the window to submit paperwork to the customs office was more flexible. If I want to get our first shipment out of the country in time to meet our inventory demands, I've got to make sure everything's filed on time. Otherwise, I would stay as long as you needed me."

I want to crawl into his lap and just revel in all of the comfort and attention he's offering.

"You're a surprise, Harry." I tell him, my earlier candor seemingly contagious, my conscience clearly enjoying the exercise it was getting and wanting more.

His amused eyes slide in my direction – they hit me like a jolt of raw electricity. God, he’s ridiculously charming, kind, and so fucking sexy. He shoots me a lopsided grin, "You're a puzzle, Emma. One I want so badly to solve." And then his smile falls a little, and my heart constricts.

"Harry..." I say, warning him. Reminding him of our bargain.

"I know. But you are,” He says defiantly without apology.

"Okay, let's eat. I'm actually hungry and that waakye smells unbelievable"

"Oh, that's what it's called. Watch- ey" he pronounces it slowly, each syllable drawn out, but correct.

"Yes, get ready for a mind-blowing experience."

"Queen of the hyperbole." He rolls his eyes and strolls to my bathroom to wash his hands.

I don't bother to wait for him. I'm nervous about eating and how my body will handle it. But as soon as I smell it, I know I’m going to be fine. The rice is cooked with black eyed beans and red sorghum leaves to give it a dark red, almost purple color. It’s served with a spicy sauce made of dried shrimp, hot peppers, and onions all fried together and then stewed for hours. It's something my mother made regularly growing up, but like the plantain we ate the other night, something about the way it's cooked by the roadside chefs is inimitable.

I shovel the delicious food into my mouth, groaning when the flavors hit my palette.

"God,” he chuckles.

I glance at him, arch my eyebrow and says through a mouth full of food “what?”

“The way you eat... I feel like I'm intruding." He says wryly. He sits down across the table from me and unwraps his own little banana leaf packet of food. He peels each layer slowly, like he’s not sure if something’s going to jump out and bite him.

"This better not make me sick, Em, or you'll be sorry." He teases and I want to scream and tell him my real name. I regret lying, but don't know how to say it now. I also don't think it matters. Lilly's not here. Emma's the American with no baggage, she’s got cool job she's on vacation from. That's all I want him to know about me. He suspects there's more, but I can tell he doesn't want to disturb the peace by asking.

"So, Kojo is upset he can't drive Bambi back to Accra himself." He rests his elbows on the table and watches me eat.

"Doesn't he have work to do anyway? And don't you?” I ask him between bites. I know I'm eating like a total caveman, but the food is delicious and I'm starving.

"Slow down. You're going to make yourself sick." He says, eyeing me warily.

I only grunt in response. I eye his food and calculate whether or not he'll finish it and if I can eat what he doesn't.

"You're not eating!" I say to him. And he finally picks up his fork and takes a small bite.

His eyes widen and immediately fill with tears, "Bloody hell. That's fucking hot." He sputters reaching for his water bottle.

"No, don't drink water. That will only make it worse. Eat some of the rice that doesn't have any of the sauce on it,” I advise him, trying not laugh. Beads of sweat pop on his brow as he struggles to cool his mouth.

He takes a few more bites, beats his chest as if to dislodge something, and then takes a sip of his water. "Good Lord. How can you eat that?" he asks once he's caught his breath.

"What do you mean? It's delicious. I can't believe you didn't love it." I pout, because really, who doesn't love this dish?

"I'll find you a meal before you leave this country that blows your mind." I say, challenging myself.

He rolls his eyes, but doesn't say anything as he takes another bite of the food. I eat, not stopping until my stomach protests its fullness.

"Let me clear up the food, I've got some other stuff to show you."

"Ooh, like what?" I ask. I've been in the hospital devoid of any entertainment, besides the old Mills and Boones books one of the nurses brought at my request.

"Hey, don't throw that away, I'll eat the rest later." I protest as he starts to ball up his half empty banana leaf.

"Whatever," he says under his breath. He puts the food aside. "Let's get you back into bed."

"Oh, I want to sit here for a little bit," I say, but it's only perfunctory and I start to stand up before he manages to reach me.

He reaches into one of the bags and pulls out a small bottle and the food is immediately forgotten.

"You found some?" I ask, wide eyed with surprise and delight, "Let me see!" I exclaim, wriggling a greedy, eager finger in his direction.

"Damn. So food and lotion, huh" he says with mock disgust as he drops the bottle into my hands.

"Oh, it's my faaaa-vorite. I am frah-eeking out!" I sing as I look at the bottle of Orange and Bergamot Body lotion from Molton Brown. I clasp it to my chest like the treasure it is, "Where did you find it? How? This is amazing. Oh my God, I might cry." I squeal, the words rushing out. I hug it to my chest and close my eyes.

"Good Lord. I don't know, but Kojo didn't act like it was a Holy relic when I asked him to find some for me."

"I can't believe you did this." I say, staring adoringly at the bottle in my hand.

"Well you've talked about it almost every day since you've been in here. I thought," He rubs his hand on the back his neck and ducks his head a little, "it might be a nice surprise."

"Oh, Harry. It’s more than a nice surprise. This is...you're a coconut." I exclaim, so excited that I could burst.

"A coconut?" He asks looking completely bewildered.

"It's a compliment. Don't ask me the origins, but in my family, it's a superlative."

"I'll take your word for it," he says dubiously before he snatches the bottle from me.

"Hey, I want to put some on. My skin feels like sandpaper." I whine.

"Your skin has never felt like sandpaper. Probably not a day in your life. And I know for certain it doesn't now. But I want to put it on for you." He drawls and the sound washes over me like the butter on hot bread. I soak it up.

Intravenous drips, rats nest hair, oily face and all be damned. My body wakes the fuck up and I can only watch, my mouth dry and my heart tripping over itself, as he strides over to the door, only getting close enough to stick his foot out and kick it shut.

When he turns around to look at me, he's already pouring the lotion into one hand. The white creamy liquid pooling in his palm.

"Pull your sheets back, babe."

I do it. Even before he's finished asking my legs are exposed.

He walks over and sit down, leans forward and presses a kiss to my mouth, but when I try to kiss him back, he pulls away. "No. Later.”

He steps back shaking his head at me, his frown, his creased brow say he meant that as a reprimand, the desire in his eyes and the rapid rise of his chest say that he regrets having to stop.

He stops at my feet. “I wish we were back in my hotel room. I would peel you out of that fucking gown and make a meal of you." His voice is low, throaty, and sexy as all fuck. I gasp and my pussy does a cartwheel. He rubs his palms together and starts at my toes, massaging the lotion into each one. His eyes come up to mine and he holds my gaze and reminds me what a filthy mouth he has.

"I want to put my face in between your legs and rub it in your cunt. I want you to pull my hair and scream my name while you come over and over again. I want to live in the golden palace of your pussy. You taste so good.” He closes his eyes for a few seconds, as if he’s watching a mental image of what he’s describing. My breathing is labored, my whole body is vibrating. It’s crazy to have this kind of chemistry with someone I’ve known for such a short time. Oh, I feel dangerously giddy.

His grin widens. “Did you like it when I nipped your clit that night in my room?” His eyes travel up my legs. He strokes the arch of my foot and when I wriggle it away because it tickles, he clamps it in his fist. "You have such small feet for such a tall woman." He says as he presses his knuckle in to my arch.

"Ah, that feels good." I murmur. "It's from my dad's side of the family. He's six foot two, but he only wears a size 9.5 shoe. His mother was five foot eleven, taller than me even and her shoes are too small for me to wear." I say uselessly.

He lifts my foot to his face and presses his nose into my instep. "That's stuff smells nice." He says absentmindedly, “I can see why you like it. Are you partial to citrus?" His nose moves up into the soft dip on the top of my ankle. He presses a kiss there before he puts my leg back down.

"Harry?" I say, not sure what else I have to add.

"You've got great legs. So toned. You run?" he asks as he caresses and kneads my calves.

“I used to swim a lot,” I murmur lazily.

All of the blood in my body seems to be rising to meet his touch, I feel a trail of heat in the wake of his touch.

"I like touching you. Almost as much as I like fucking you. And I like that almost as much as I love kissing you."

My lips feel dry. The heat in his eyes ignites a fire in my veins.

"I can't wait for you to get better so I can fuck you again. You liked it when I took control and lifted you up and down on my cock " His hands round my knees. And his head snaps up, his dark eyes smoldering almost black with lust. I remember how he’d lifted me like I weighed nothing, over and over again, impaling me on his cock until I came so hard I blacked out for a second.

"Didn’t you?" He prods and his fingers tightening the grasp as he pushes his hand up my thigh.

I nod. He holds my gaze, as his hand massages my thighs.

"You don’t want to be in control, do you? You want to let go and not think. To maybe have a chance to just be taken care of?”

I nod. But my eyebrow lifts quizzically.

"How do I know?" He asks as if I'd spoken aloud.

“Yes, how do you know so much?”

I laugh, so genuinely pleased by his insight.

"A fucking conundrum. But I’m determined to figure it out. So I watch you very closely." His hands trail back down to my knees.

"If I touched your pussy..." he says pussy slowly, hungrily. I want him to fuck me, right now. Malaria be damned. "You'd be soaking wet. Am I right?" His voice is almost a whisper.

I nod.

"Touch yourself and then put your fingers in my mouth."

My hand, the one without all of the needles sticking in it, moves between my legs and I touch myself. My fingers skim my clit. It’s so swollen and sensitive that an unbidden moan rips from deep in my throat. I stroke it a few times and then slip two fingers into my pussy. I whimper at the delicious friction.

"Fuck,” Harry says and I open my eyes. “I wish you could see your face. It's so fucking beautiful. When we get out of here and I get to fuck you again, we're going to do it in front of a mirror so you can see how damn perfect you look when you're taking my dick."

"I'm not perfect." I say, almost reflexively.

"This is my fantasy, not yours." He clips. "Give me your hand." He commands and I pull my hand from between my legs.

He encircles my wrist with his and brings my fingers to his mouth. His tongue captures the first one and then the second and he closes his eyes again. The wet, rough scrape of tongue on my fingers is making me crazy.

I need him to make me come. I'm about to tell him that I can't take it anymore when he pulls away. I open my eyes and find him watching me, a wide smile on his face.

"What? Why'd you stop?" I ask, my voice full of consternation and need.

He licks his lips and says, his voice full of promise, "Because, I can't go on." His eyes twinkle with satisfaction and heat.

I raise my eyebrow, twist my lip and look at him with confusion.

"Can I join you?" he says without answering my silent query, "I need to lay down for a few minutes."

Without waiting for me respond, His scoots up the bed, stretches his long, muscular body out next to mine. He puts his arm around me and tucks me into his side.

I'm startled, but his weight is delicious and comforting and my body curls languidly into him. I let myself relax, acknowledge the part of me that's rejoicing that he's here. His hand comes up to my face, fingers tracing my hairline, sifting into my hair and massaging my scalp.

Everything slows, I don't know what's happening between us, but I’m feeling things for him that I have no right to. Yet, I can't seem to do anything to stop myself. My eyes drift closed and I feel the lull of sleep pulling me away.

"Emma, guess what happened?" He whispers into my hair, his lips at my temple.

"Mmmm, what?" I murmur sleepily.

"Mind. Blown."

Me, too. My mind says.

My mouth only says "Finally."