He held her close, his lips near her ear, whispering shocking things, dirty things, his hands in places they shouldn’t be, and she should stop him, tell him no, tell him it was wrong, but it felt so, so right. Too right. She was hot and wild, weak and dizzy, arching up for more of him, all of him, sweat plastering her hair to her skin, his skin, his mouth scalding her flesh. Iris moaned, sobbed, pleaded, pleasure building, sweet and awful at once because it was so good but so very bad—

His hand grasped her shoulder, warm and real. Too real. It shook her, tearing her away from everything else he was doing. Iris didn’t want that, wanted him to not stop, never stop. He looked down at her, eyes heated, and she waited for the next delightfully dirty words to come from his mouth . . .

“Hey. Iris. Wake up.”

Her eyes popped open, her lungs sucking air. Dream Elijah disappeared. The real one stood over her, frowning down at her. “Huh?”

“You were moaning in your sleep. Are you all right?”

Moaning in her sleep? Oh God. What else had she been saying or doing? Heat roared into her cheeks. The room was dim, no light shining around the edges of the drapes. Had she slept the whole day? She was drenched in sweat. “I think so.”

He leaned down and placed his hand to her forehead. Given everything he’d been doing to her in her dream only a couple of minutes ago, she felt that touch everywhere. “I think your fever broke. You’re soaking wet.”

If only he knew. Her fever had only collected below her waist. “I, um . . . feel a little better, I think.”

He stood straight again. “Do you want to eat anything?”

Slowly, she was getting her bearings, catching her breath. “Not that much better. Thanks, though.”

Silently, he watched her through heavy-lidded eyes, and she wondered if somehow he knew. Even if she hadn’t moaned anything incriminating out loud, she was zinging with sexual heat, a raw energy that had to be coming off her in waves. She could smell her own arousal. Could he?

“We’re just hanging out watching movies,” he said, a huskiness to his voice that belied the casual tone. “If you feel better, you should come join us.”

“I might do that.”

He turned and left, bare feet silent on the carpet. Iris closed her eyes, covering her face with her hands. How embarrassing. Even worse, the heat between her legs didn’t dissipate with his departure. It continued to demand attention.

A shower. Yes, that was the cure-all, wasn’t it? A cold shower. She needed one anyway. She was sweat-soaked and gross.

Iris pushed the covers back and climbed unsteadily to her feet. A little weakness still plagued her, and her stomach felt hollow, but it no longer seemed intent on trying to kill her.

She nearly recoiled in horror at the sight of her reflection when she flipped on the bathroom light. The chalkiness of her skin was only marred by the dark smudges under her eyes. Her lips were chapped. Her hair was plastered to her skull with sweat on one side and unruly on the other. Iris uttered a silent prayer of thanks for the dimness in the bedroom so Eli hadn’t seen her looking like this.

Not that she should care how she looked to him.

Cranking on the shower and waiting for the water to warm, she tried not to reflect on her dreams, but it was impossible given the dull ache still throbbing in her core. Ignore it, Iris. Ignore it!

She couldn’t. The more she tried, the hotter it pulsed. Exasperated, she turned the cold water on full blast and stepped under the spray, almost crying out as iciness scoured her flesh. Shivering violently, she forced herself to stand there, suffering, trying to wash away every lascivious thought she’d had about Elijah Vance.

It didn’t work. The cold shower thing was a crock of crap. But this had to stop. What was she going to do?

––––––––

WEARING A FRESH PAIR of pajamas with her hair wrapped in a towel, Iris walked over to fish her cell phone from beneath the covers and frowned at several text messages from Heidi.

Are you sick now?

Hello?

Just have the boys call when you feel better or whatever.

I’m not in any mood to deal with Eli’s shit right now, just so you know.

He’s already pissed off Nic.

“Whatever,” she muttered to herself, thumbing the app closed without replying. These people couldn’t conduct themselves like adults for a few hours while she slept off her stomach virus? It was sad and juvenile and she was so freaking over it.

She lay in bed for a little while, her shower having made her tired, then got up to blow dry her hair and try to rejoin the world of the living.

Three sets of eyes swung in her direction as she walked into the living room. “Iris! You’re better,” Dylan said.

“A little bit,” she told him cheerily, holding their dad’s gaze long enough that he unfolded himself from the couch and followed her into the kitchen. She grabbed a cold water out of the fridge and chugged it.

“What’s up?” he asked once she was done.

Do not think about the dream. “What happened while I was out?”

A line appeared between his dark brows. “Huh?”

Iris kept her voice low so the kids wouldn’t hear. “I had Heidi blowing up my text messages while I was asleep. She said you pissed Nic off.”

Eli stared blankly at her for a good five seconds and then burst out laughing, almost startling her. “What a little bitch.”

Iris sighed. “Yeah, um, to whom are you referring?”

“I was actually referring to Nic, but take your pick. I talked to him for all of ten seconds, and he apparently got so offended he had to run to Heidi to tattle on me.”

“Why in the world did you talk to Nic?”

“Because my kids wanted to talk to their fucking mother, Iris, but she won’t answer her fucking phone when I call her. She gets the fuckboy to make excuses for her.”

Iris chewed at her bottom lip, then took another swig of water while she digested this information and contemplated what to tell him. She settled for the truth. “Well, she doesn’t want to talk to you. She told me she’ll talk to the boys when I feel better.”

“You know what? That’s her goddamn loss.”

“I’m inclined to agree, but it’s them you have to think about.”

His outrage seemed to dial back, his body relaxing somewhat. He leaned against the counter, that troubled line still etched in his brow. Iris felt for him. She really did. “Yeah. I know.”

“Okay, then. I was only wondering what crisis occurred while I was dead to the world. I’ll take care of everything, all right?” She reached out and put a hand on his arm, feeling the warm solidity of muscle through his T-shirt sleeve. Unwise, yes. Inappropriate, probably. The contact brought all those lurid images back to her in a rush. But he looked like he was hurting and she couldn’t stop herself. “Don’t worry.”

When he reached up and took her hand from his arm, holding it gently, Iris’s knees—in their already weakened state—nearly buckled completely. She couldn’t have looked away from the brilliant emerald hue of his eyes right then if an elephant had ridden by her on a unicycle juggling chainsaws.

“I’m sorry you seem to get caught in the middle of all this. That isn’t your job.”

“No,” she said softly. “It isn’t.”

His fingers toyed idly with hers, making her temperature rise again. “I’m surprised you hang with it.”

Only then did she manage to look away, her eyes drawn over the separating bar to the living room, where two precious boys were lying on the floor laughing at the movie, paying them no mind. “They’re worth it,” she said, smiling. When she turned back to Eli, the look she found on his face stole her breath, made her weaker. If any more strength drained from her body, he would have to carry her to bed. Again.

The one and only time a man had ever carried her to bed, and it had to be because she’d felt like death was breathing down her neck.

“Thanks for taking such good care of us,” he said. Us? Not them, but us? He included himself in that?

“Thanks for taking care of me,” she said shyly. He was so tall next to her, she felt awkward; if she wasn’t looking up into his eyes, then she was staring at his chest. Which was weird. So she was forced to gaze up at him to avoid weirdness. He was too close and he smelled too good. Her mind was faltering. What if this man ever tried to kiss her? She would literally die. But his lips were right there, and they were so full. So perfect. Tingles skittered beneath her flesh, little electric currents running all over her body.

“Oh yeah,” he said suddenly, stepping back and releasing her from his hold and his spell. She blinked several times, everything suddenly too bright and cold and loud after the warm little cocoon she’d been wrapped in. As if nothing at all had just transpired between them—and it hadn’t, not really, she was simply losing it—he pulled open the nearby refrigerator door and pulled out a tray of fresh fruit. “I know how you probably don’t feel like eating much, but in case you wanted something light, I got this for you.”

Iris smiled. He remembered what she liked. “You didn’t have to do that.”

He popped open the clear lid and plucked out a fat, red strawberry. “Interested?”

Her hollow stomach gave a little pang. “I want that.” He looked deliciously devilish right then, dark and sinister and holding the promise of succulent sweetness toward her. Or would it be tart and unripe? She liked them best a little in between, could already taste it on the dryness of her parched tongue. Instead of taking it from him, however, she stepped forward, dipped her head, and took a bite while he still held it.

Eli never took his eyes off her and, even over the boys’ cackling, she heard his breath hitch.

Perfect sweetness exploded in her mouth, only a tinge of acidity, all the goodness of summer and life itself. “Mmm,” she groaned dreamily, closing her eyes as she chewed. “That’s heavenly. Probably even more so since I haven’t eaten in the last twenty-four hours.”

When she swallowed and opened her eyes at last, he was staring with an intensity that burned straight to her soul, among other places. Then it was her turn to watch as he brought the ripe red berry to his own mouth, his lips touching where hers had only moments ago. There was something wildly erotic about watching him do that, she thought as he took his own bite. But what did she know about erotic? And what the heck was she even doing? Her fever must have reached such critical heights that it had burned something away in her brain.

She didn’t know what she was doing, but she liked it.