Chapter Seven
On Saturday morning, Alisha put the thermometer on the counter near the bathroom sink and looked at herself in the mirror. This is what I get for lying about being sick. Taking her temperature hadn’t been necessary. She shivered with cold, her face flushed, and her eyes glazed from fever.
She downed a couple of Tylenol and dragged her feet back to bed.
I’ll sleep it off and be fine by Monday morning.
Her phone beeped with a text. She groaned and rolled over to read it. Spencer wanted to talk. She dropped the phone beside her without answering him. He was fine not talking last week. He can wait another day.
Still on top of her bedsheets, she closed her eyes and drifted to sleep. Her phone beeped again. Rachelle wanted to know if she wanted to go to breakfast. Alisha typed back that she was sick.
Again?!? I’m worried about you. I’m coming over.
Alisha swore. She felt miserable. If Rachelle came over, Alisha would have to get up and try to look less like she wanted to die. Not because Rachelle wouldn’t allow her friend to wallow, but because Alisha wouldn’t want to put the weight of how she felt onto her.
Alisha had learned at a young age to hide her pain, smile when she wanted to cry, and put her feelings aside for others. She didn’t want to do that today. All she wanted to do was stay in her pajamas, leave her bed only to use the bathroom, and not think or worry about another person until Monday. She texted back. Please don’t. I just want to crash and sleep it off.
If Rachelle was put off by her blunt response, Alisha was prepared to apologize for it. Monday. She closed her eyes and instantly fell back asleep.
She woke to a pounding headache and the sound of her doorbell ringing over and over. At first she pulled a pillow over her head, but the ringing didn’t stop. Swearing, she stumbled out of bed to answer it. She felt cold and hated whoever had ended the reprieve she’d found in sleep. She looked out the peephole in the front door.
There, in a gray polo shirt and dark slacks was—Brett?
Shit.
If I don’t answer the door, will he go away?
“Alisha, open the door.”
“I can’t,” she said lamely. “I’m contagious. I don’t want to give it to anyone.”
“If you’re actually ill this time, you need to open the door. How sick are you?”
Alisha raised a hand to her throbbing forehead. Too sick for this. “Thank you for checking on me, but I’m fine.”
“I’m not leaving.”
“Go away, Brett.”
“Show me how sick you are, and I will.”
Alisha straightened. “Oh, for God’s sake.” If seeing her in her full germ-infested glory would get him to leave, then fine. Let him look. She swung the door open and put an arm up. “I’m fine. See?”
He looked her over from head to toe and frowned. “You look awful.”
She would have glared at him if she’d had the energy. “That’s sweet, but there’s no need to heap on the compliments.”
He stepped inside and closed the door behind him. “I’m serious. You’re definitely sick.”
She waved a hand at him. “Thank you, Doctor Obvious.”
He raised a hand to her forehead. “You’re burning up.”
“I’m aware of that, too.” She pushed his hand away. “Which is why I’m home sleeping it off.”
“Alone?”
Irritated that he wouldn’t leave, she snapped, “Yes, my therapeutic orgy ended an hour ago, and they all went home.”
His smile didn’t help her mood. “I’ll have to try that the next time I’m sick.” His smile faded. “I thought Spencer might be here. Does he know you’re sick?”
Alisha shook her head and turned away. Pretending was beyond her at the moment. “I can’t do this right now. Could you let yourself out and lock the door behind you, please?” She trudged back to her bed and collapsed, facedown, on top of it.
A few minutes later, Brett’s voice pulled her back awake. “Roll over.”
Alisha did and opened her eyes. The glass of water he held out to her was the solution to the dry mouth she hadn’t realized she was suffering from. She pushed herself up to a seated position and sipped it. “Thanks.”
He held two pills toward her. “Take these. Do you want me to call Spencer?”
She dutifully swallowed them. “No. It’s just a fever. I’ll be fine by tomorrow.” She met his eyes and saw the same stubborn look he’d had the night he followed her home a week ago. Had it been that long ago? “I don’t mind being alone.”
“He should be here.”
Alisha put the glass of water on the bedside table and flopped back. She was shivering but too tired to do anything about it. Her feverish brain defaulted to honesty. “Don’t call him. I don’t want to argue. I don’t want to lie. I just want to sleep.” She sighed in bliss when she felt him place a light comforter over her.
“What are you lying about?” he asked in such a gentle tone that she answered him without hesitation.
“Everything.”
“Does that include why you’re marrying him?” The corner of the bed dipped beneath his weight.
Double shit. Alisha’s eyes flew to his. “When my mother passed, I swore I’d never lie again. For anyone. It eats away at me. Do you know what I mean?”
He frowned. “I think so.”
Her eyes closed again and the rest drifted out of her like a confession. “But some lies are good, right? I mean, if they help people. That’s all I wanted to do—help Spencer. I didn’t know it would become this . . . all of this. I should have thought it through. How will Stephanie feel when we divorce? Can we tell the truth after he gets his inheritance? Will they hate me for lying? Spencer is counting on me, but I don’t know if I can go through with this.” A tear escaped the corner of her eye. “He has been so good to me. Your whole family has. I would do anything for them. I want Spencer to have his money. He deserves the same kind of chance you had.” She turned on her side and cried softly into the pillow.
“Shh,” Brett said from beside her as he placed a hand on her back. “I’ll make sure Spencer has what he needs. Go to sleep.”
He continued to speak to her, but his voice sounded far away. She knew she should force her eyes to open again, but she didn’t want to think about how wrong it was to have him there. She didn’t want to worry about Spencer or Brett at that moment. Normally, she wouldn’t be able to sleep with someone hovering over her. She never allowed herself to feel vulnerable like that.
That day, though, it was comforting. She fell asleep on her side to the soothing touch of Brett gently rubbing her back.
She woke in a sweat a few hours later. Instantly Brett was beside her, laying a hand on her forehead. “Looks like the fever broke. Good.”
Her eyes fluttered as she strove to remember why he was there with her. Bits and pieces of their conversation before she fell asleep came back to her. She took his hand in hers. “Brett, what I said earlier . . .”
“Yes?” he asked, his expression inscrutable.
“Please don’t say anything to anyone. Spencer is counting on me.”
He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, but didn’t promise anything. “How do you feel?”
“Better.”
“You still look like shit.”
She smiled weakly and dropped his hand. “You’re an ass.”
“I called my doctor. He’s coming by on his way to dinner.”
“That’s not necessary.”
“It’s done.”
She rubbed a hand across her forehead. “Did anyone ever tell you that you’re bossy?”
“When you have a dick they call it commanding.”
Alisha chuckled. Brett was funny. Who knew? And nurturing. She was still trying to get over the fact that he’d spent the day at her house while she likely snored her fever away.
Unless I’m still sleeping. She brought a hand self-consciously up to her hair and groaned at her tangled mane of curls. If this were a fever-induced dream, I’d look better, and he’d be naked. Her face warmed at the thought, and she looked away.
I guess I’m feeling better.
“What are you thinking?” he asked and sat on the edge of her bed again.
She shook her head and regretted the move when her forehead began to pound again. “Nothing.” That I can say. “Thank you for staying.”
He smiled. “Don’t tell anyone. I have a reputation to uphold.”
It almost felt as if he was flirting with her, but Alisha told herself she was imagining it. In his own words, I look like shit. He’s not here because he’s attracted to me. “It’ll be our secret.” Only after the words came out of her mouth did they sound wrong. “I didn’t mean to make it sound . . .”
“Alisha, about what you said earlier—”
The sound of her doorbell ringing cut off whatever he was going to say. He looked down at his phone and said, “That’s Dr. Earl.”
Alisha sat up and was going to stand when Brett stopped her by putting a hand on her shoulder.
“I’ll get it,” he said. “No need to get up.”
“I didn’t realize doctors still made house calls.”
“Then you don’t know the right doctors,” he said with a smile that told her he was throwing her own words back at her.
“I guess not,” she said. Brett left the room to let the doctor in, and Alisha adjusted the comforter around her. Or the right men. This wasn’t her first rodeo. She’d known her share of men, slept with a handful of them, even fancied herself in love once or twice. None of them had ever taken care of her when she was sick. As she looked back at her relationships, she realized she was as much at fault as they were. She didn’t let them close because she didn’t want to need them.
It was different with Brett.
But he’s Spencer’s brother, she reminded herself.
A man who is now and will always be off-limits. So enjoy the idea of him, but it can’t go past that. She scooted to sit on the edge of her bed.
A thin white-haired man with an easy smile and a small leather bag followed Brett into Alisha’s bedroom. “Let’s take a look at your sick friend.”
Alisha stood to greet him, but felt weak as she did. She raised a hand to her wild hair, embarrassed to be meeting anyone looking the way she did. “Thank you for coming to see me. It’s probably just a virus that’ll be gone by tomorrow. I’m Alisha Coventry.”
“Dr. Earl.” He put his bag down on the corner of her bed. He looked around the room, then back at her. “I didn’t realize you went to school for medicine. Where’s your diploma?”
Alisha’s mouth rounded in offended surprise until she saw a spark of humor in his eyes. “I’m a kindergarten teacher. This isn’t my first cold.”
“Ah,” he said as he nodded in agreement. “You work in a petri dish of germs, so you’re a pro at this. Why don’t I have a look anyway?”
Brett stayed by the door while Dr. Earl took Alisha’s temperature, looked down her throat, and took her blood pressure. She had a feeling Brett would leave the room if she hinted that she didn’t want him there, but he stayed in case she needed him.
She answered question after question from the doctor and was relieved when he started gathering his instruments. “Probably a virus. Sounds like you’re over the worst of it and hopefully it’ll be gone by tomorrow,” the doctor said, then wagged a finger at her. “But don’t go getting cocky. If you’re still sick on Monday, give me a call.”
“I will,” Alisha said and took the card he offered her.
He gave her one last assessing look that ended on her left hand. “So when is the wedding? I hope I’m invited.”
Alisha quickly covered her engagement ring with her other hand. “Oh, we’re not—” We’re not . . . What struck Alisha silent was the sadness that accompanied her denial. We’re not engaged.
We’re not anything.
And we can’t ever be.
“I’ll walk you out,” Brett said smoothly and led the doctor out of the room.
Alisha covered her face with both hands. What am I doing?
Beside her bed her phone beeped with an incoming message. Spencer.
Rachelle said you’re sick so I won’t come by. Unless you need something.
She wrote back: I’m good. Sleeping it off.
Hey, I’m sorry about Monica.
Don’t be. It didn’t bother me.
You said that, but I’m still sorry. You’re doing me a favor by marrying me, and I’m acting like a complete ass. I was thinking with my dick and not my head. I should have thought about how it might make you feel. I won’t do anything to embarrass you while we’re married.
About that. Alisha took a deep breath and typed: I’m not sure we should get married. Before she had time to hit “Send,” though, another message from him came through.
I want you to know how much I appreciate you doing this for me. You are the most generous and caring person I know. All joking aside, I owe you big for this.
Alisha deleted her last message instead of sending it. The talk they needed to have would wait until it could happen in person.
Talk to you later, Spence
Later, Al
Brett held the door of Alisha’s home open, but Dr. Earl didn’t move to exit through it. He stood there, looking as if he wanted to say something. When he finally spoke, it was in a tone that sounded more fatherly than professional. “I’ve known your family a long time, Brett. Most of my career, in fact.”
“That’s why I knew I could call you about this.”
“Who is she engaged to?”
Brett flexed his shoulders. “A man she doesn’t love.”
The doctor put a hand on Brett’s arm. “Are you sure?”
“Yes.”
He studied Brett’s face for a moment. “Then you’d better do something about that. I hate to advise on so little information, but I can tell by the way you look at her that you’ll be one miserable son of a bitch if you let her get away.”
Brett closed the door after the doctor left and leaned against it. As usual, Dr. Earl was spot-on with his diagnosis. After pushing off the door, Brett paced Alisha’s small living room. The truth about Spencer and Alisha’s engagement was a game changer.
All Spencer wants is his inheritance.
Alisha wants to help the family who was kind to her during her troubled childhood.
No fucking way does this end with the two of them getting married.
As he headed back to Alisha, he heard the door of her bedroom close, followed by the sound of the shower turning on. It was impossible not to imagine how she would look, naked and luscious beneath the spray. That’s all it took for his body to become fully excited. He groaned, walked back to the living room, and read e-mails on his phone in an attempt to distract himself.
Eventually it worked. He calmed, lost track of the time, and only noticed that the sun had set when he looked up and the room was dark. Alisha’s room was silent again. Brett stood and stretched.
Most likely she’d fallen asleep after her shower, but he couldn’t be sure. How could he leave without knowing if she was safe in her bed or had collapsed in her shower? He opened her bedroom door and called her name.
No answer.
He stepped inside the dark room. As his eyes adjusted, he saw the outline of her on her bed, cuddled beneath her comforter. He stepped closer and marveled at her natural beauty. With no makeup and hair still damp from the shower, she effortlessly took his breath away.
He told himself to leave, but instead he sat on the edge of her bed and laid a hand across her forehead. It was finally cool to the touch.
Her eyes fluttered open. “Brett?”
“Yes.”
“Thank you for staying.”
The simplicity of her gratitude moved him. He wanted to tell her there wasn’t a limit to what he would do for her, but neither of them was ready for such declarations. He touched her hair. “It’s still wet,” he said in gentle reprimand.
Her eyes met his.
If only she wasn’t sick.
If only he wasn’t Spencer’s brother.
Despite the circumstances, their attraction for each other was present, a slow steady beat in the background. “I meant to dry it, but I was tired. I thought I could lay down for a minute.”
He stood, turned on her bedroom lamp, walked to the bathroom, and returned with her hair dryer. After plugging it into the outlet she had by her bed, he said, “Sit up and turn around.”
“You are not blow-drying my hair.”
Another man might have accepted that answer, but in the time it had taken to retrieve her hair dryer, he’d indulged in a full fantasy of how much he’d enjoy running his hands through her hair. “Sit up.”
A smile tugged at her lips. “Your tone of voice alone makes me want to say no.”
His heart thudded in his chest. “Funny, the way you look at me makes me want to hear you say yes.”
Suddenly, she was all eyes. She sat up and pulled her knees protectively to her chest. “You should go.”
He placed the hair dryer on the bedside table. “Don’t marry Spencer. I understand why you want to. You think it’s the only way to help him. It doesn’t have to be that way.”
She chewed her bottom lip. “I shouldn’t have said anything. I don’t know why I did.”
He sat on the bed beside her. “I do.” He picked up her hand, brought it to his mouth, and gently kissed the inside of her wrist. Her pulse beat wildly against his lips. “It’s this.”
She let out a shaky breath. “I’ve already decided I can’t go through with the wedding, but I can’t do this, either.” She removed her hand from his. “Spencer would never forgive me. He’d think I chose you over him. He’s been in competition with you his whole life. I couldn’t do that to him.”
“What about what you want?” he growled softly.
She went back to hugging her legs. “You asked me once if I loved Spencer and I said yes. I wasn’t lying. I do love him . . . like a brother. His happiness is important to me, just as it should be to you. We can’t do this. I won’t do this. I’m sorry.”
His pride kicked in and he stood. “I hope he is as loyal to you as you are to him. We’ll find out as soon as you tell him no.” He hated the uncertainty his words brought to her eyes. He wanted to crawl into the bed and ask her to forgive him, but that wasn’t yet an option. Before walking out of her bedroom, he paused. What kind of an ass hurts a woman like her? She has more decency in her pinkie than I’ve ever had. “Do you need anything before I go?”
She shook her head and looked away.
Brett told himself to leave but couldn’t. He thought about the first time he met her and how she had stayed true to his initial impression of her. Money couldn’t buy her. Desire came second to her principles. He hadn’t thought people like her existed.
She was the kind of woman Brett would want to marry, if he believed in marriage. And what do I do? I insult her. I try to pay her off. Then, to top it all off, all I can think about is sleeping with her, regardless of how my brother feels or how sick she is.
She was a decent person, and he didn’t know how to walk away from how she made him feel. It was more than a physical attraction. He felt good when he was with her—hopeful. At a time in his life when he wasn’t sure what he believed in anymore, he believed in her.
She met his eyes again. “Thank you, Brett. For staying with me when I was sick. No one has ever done that.”
Brett’s generosity had never extended beyond his family, but he would have spent a week at her bedside if she needed him to. He nodded once in acknowledgment of her comment and left. As a man, as well as a child, he was used to getting what he wanted. He’d known how to win in almost every situation he’d ever been put in.
Except this one.
Every problem had a solution.
With determination, every obstacle fell away.
There was a way to have Alisha without hurting Spencer.
And he would find it.