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How many times had her mother warned her
of that?
    God—she could call on him now, right?—the bracing cold on
her skin was wonderful. Must be back in heaven.
    And Jesus was still a hottie.
    * * * * *
    Gwendolyn fought to lift her eyelids. When had they been
glued shut? After several more seconds, she won the battle and a bright, hazy
light immediately assaulted her eyes. Groaning, she tried to roll over…and
remained still.
    What the hell?
    Bewildered, she sucked in a breath as anxiety crept into her
chest like a stealthy thief. She attempted to move again and this time shifted
to her side, but not without a lot of effort and heavy breathing. Jeez. Her
breath rushed in and out of her nose and her muscles whined as if she’d just
completed a marathon.
    “So you’re finally awake.”
    That voice blasted the confusing lethargy away. It all came
crashing back. Xavier’s proposition. Driving to his home.
    Burning up…
    Jesus?
    Rolling to her back—which was a hell of a lot easier than
moving to her side—she stared up into Xavier’s gorgeous, scarred features. His
sharp gaze examined her face as if tracing every line and dimension. She
resisted the urge to skim her fingers over her skin. Not that she possessed the
energy.
    “How are you feeling?”
    “Like I’ve been beaten like a runaway slave and hot pokers
have been jammed into my eyes.” Was that her grumpy response? Sheesh .
    The corner of his full, sensual lips quirked before he
turned toward the huge bay windows that allowed sunshine to spill across the
blue comforter she huddled under. He dragged the curtains closed, shutting out
the worst of the bright rays, and the fascinating play of muscles between his
shoulder blades snagged her attention.
    “Better, Kunta?”
    “Much,” she grumbled. Smart ass . “Thanks. What
happened?”
    “You’ve been sick with fever for two days.”
    She gaped at him. Her mind reeled. She’d arrived in Great
Barrington on Saturday evening. And Sunday…Sunday… She frowned. What the hell
happened to Sunday?
    “That’s impossible,” she protested.
    “The doctor has been here three times since Saturday night.”
He arched an eyebrow as if daring her to object again. “If your fever hadn’t
broken yesterday afternoon, he was going to have you admitted into the
hospital.”
    “But I went to the doctor and all I had was a
twenty-four-hour virus.”
    Xavier crossed his arms. “When did you do that?”
    Gwendolyn dropped her gaze to the blanket. He would ask
that. “Friday,” she mumbled.
    Apparently he didn’t just own the eyes of a hawk, but the
ears of one too. “Friday?” he repeated, narrowing his gaze. “You were sick
since Friday and still drove up here feverish on Saturday?” His arms dropped
and his hot glare pinned her to the bed like a butterfly on a corkboard. “You
fucking fainted on my doorstep, Gwen.” She flinched at the quiet menace in his
dark accusation. “If you had passed out behind the wheel instead of in my arms,
you could have been seriously hurt. Or worse.” Xavier stalked closer. Tension
corded his body and his hands balled into tight fists at his sides. “Why the
hell didn’t you call and tell me you were sick?”
    “You wouldn’t have believed me,” she shot back, irritation
rising and infusing her body with enough strength to struggle to sitting.
Weakness be damned. She wouldn’t spend another second lying flat on her back
while he towered over her like a stern parent lecturing a recalcitrant child.
“What are you so angry about, Xavier? I arrived here on the designated day by
the designated time.” All she contained in her arsenal to battle him with was
the derision in her voice and she wielded it like a broadsword. “What? Are you
mad because you’ve lost two days off your precious bargain? I humbly apologize
that my fever cockblocked.”
    Xavier stiffened. Something…hurt?…flickered in his eyes
before a glinting fury followed fast on its heels. He scowled so darkly,