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was
just like before, in that terrible doctor’s office. She could almost hear him
telling her that she had to calm down, she had to stop thinking about people
dying all the time. It’s not healthy , he said, in her head.
    But right now she didn’t care if it was or not. She just
wanted him to be alive, and if he wasn’t, by God, she was going to punch him
until he returned. She sat up in a fumble, ignoring the horrid stiffness of her
limbs and the weird pain that shot through her bad arm. She’d slept on it when
she shouldn’t have, but what did that matter?
    His eyes were closed. And in this ghostly gray light he
looked so lifeless, so stiff and pale. It made her almost afraid to touch him,
but fear forced her the rest of the way. It pushed her until she’d laid her
hand on the side of his face, and oh she thanked the heavens to find it warm to
the touch.
    Not hugely so, but it was enough to give her back some hope.
She was able to swallow again, around the salty, great lump in her throat. And
she could breathe instead of panting, as she pondered how to next deal with
this. She had to wake him up, but he wasn’t responding to gentle taps and
tentative shakes.
    What came after gentle taps and tentative shakes?
    Shoving his ass until the National Enquirer takes
a picture , her mind offered, but only because her mind was a jerk. She had
been forced into touching his ass. She hadn’t wanted to do it. And she
didn’t want to spiral the way she was currently doing, either.
    She didn’t know when she’d grabbed his right arm, yet it was
happening. It was more than happening. Her nails were kind of digging into him,
and she was breathing all hard and funny. Somewhere in the middle of it all she
started shouting his name, so loud and frantic she barely noticed when he
finally came around.
    He had to grab her arms right back, and tell her, Hey,
hey, I’m okay .
    It didn’t stop her making a fool of herself, however. The
second those blue eyes met hers—so full of earnest concern and other amazing
things—she just reacted. She smacked her body into his and made a vise of her
arms around his shoulders. She hugged him the way people who’d known each other
for years hugged each other—even though they’d only met the night before.
    And even more appalling…he was a fucking movie star.
    She was randomly hugging a movie star, like some fannish
imbecile. He wouldn’t understand that she had these sudden panics, or that she
worried all the time about everyone dying. He’d just think she was an insane
groupie, or something.
    She had to pull away, now. In fact she was on the verge of
doing that very thing when she sensed it. Just a stirring at the side of her at
first, but it was soon followed by the feeling of his hand hovering over her
back. When she strained she could almost make out its warmth, though she still
couldn’t quite piece together what he was doing.
    It felt as if he’d forgotten how to move his body. She was
almost concerned, until that indecisive hand quite suddenly sank down over her
back. She felt each finger spanning her tightly—from her shoulder blade to the
bottom of her rib cage—and wanted to laugh.
    He was hugging her in return. And quite clearly, he was
rusty at it.
    “Oh my God, I’d forgotten what this felt like.”
    “Not a lot of huggers in Hollywood, huh?”
    “None like this—holy shit. Okay, I’m just going to kind of
slump into you now. So if you’re averse to that, say before I’m swamping your
helpless body.”
    “I don’t mind if you swamp.”
    “Are you sure? Because I think I’m a fumbling virgin at
this.”
    “You’re doing fine. In fact I think I’m close to a cuddling
orgasm.”
    She sort of wished she hadn’t said orgasm , but it was
too late to change her mind now. He didn’t waste a single second. As soon as
she’d answered, his other arm slid around her waist. Those big biceps
tightened, real close to her face. And most overwhelming of all—his head