His mouth tautened. “You still haven’t told me where you’ve been.”
“None of your damn bus—” All at once, nausea swelled in her throat. She felt clammy. Her head began to swirl. She grabbed hold of him to balance herself.
“Kia?” he said as if from a long way off. “What’s the matter?”
“I feel…sick.”
“Damn,” he muttered, swinging her up in his arms. “Let’s get you inside.”
She wanted to tell him not to move too fast, but he seemed to sense that. He was surprisingly gentle as he carried her to the door and logged in the security code she managed to tell him before carrying her into the bedroom.
He went to lay her on the bed, but she motioned for him to take her into the bathroom instead. Somehow she found the strength to push him out of the room in case she lost her lunch. Luckily she didn’t, and after a short while she began to feel a bit better.
After splashing water on her face, she looked up and jumped when she saw him standing there with a towel in his hand. Gratefully she accepted the cloth and began dabbing it against her cheeks.
His gaze went over her in concern. “Feeling better?”
“A little.”
“Let’s get you to bed.”
She began to shiver. “I’m okay.”
“Yeah, I can see that.” He gave her a hand into the bedroom.
“You shouldn’t have stayed,” she mumbled as he helped her lay down on the bed.
“Why not?”
“I can take care of myself.”
He covered her with a light blanket, but his look told her what he thought of that comment. “Rest. I’ll be back in a minute.” He left the room before she could ask where he was going.
A short time later she was back in the bathroom. And this time she did disgrace herself but was too sick to feel mortified with Brant’s hands on her head, holding back her hair. When she’d finished, she rinsed her mouth, then he carried her back to bed, where she lay against the pillows.
She closed her eyes for a moment, and the next thing she knew was Brant gently shaking her awake.
“Kia, wake up. The doctor’s here.”
She groaned and opened her eyes to find Brant and a strange middle-aged man standing beside her bed.
“How do you feel now, Ms. Benton?” the doctor asked.
She tried to sit up but fell back against the pillows. “Like my stomach’s seasick.”
“I’d better examine you.” He glanced at Brant. “Perhaps you’d like to wait outside?”
“Perhaps not,” Brant said, an inflexible look on his face that said he wasn’t budging.
The doctor arched a brow at Kia. “Do you mind?”
Her eyes darted to Brant. It wouldn’t matter if she did. “No.”
“Right. Then let’s take a look at you.”
He examined her for a few minutes, then put his stethoscope away. “There’s a stomach bug going around. I’d like to rule out food poisoning, though. Have you eaten anything today?”
“She had breakfast with me,” Brant said before she could speak. “And I feel fine.”
The doctor nodded. “That’s good. What about lunch? Did you eat together?”
Brant’s gaze stabbed her. “No.”
Kia wanted to groan. There was no getting around this. “I had something to eat in town,” she said and saw Brant’s shoulders tense.
The doctor frowned. “Hmm. Did you eat with anyone else? If you did, we’d better contact that other person and see if they’re feeling okay. If they’re not, we’ll have to let the authorities know straightaway.”
Kia glanced at Brant, who glared back in waiting silence. It was just as well she wasn’t having an affair with anyone else. She’d be caught out otherwise. Not that she’d live to tell the tale.
“I had brunch with my father.” She named the restaurant. “If you need to contact him, his cell phone number is written down near my phone.”
“I’ll call him now,” Brant said, heading for the door, but not before she caught a glimpse of relief in his eyes. Her heart jolted painfully. He really had believed she was capable of an affair.
She was still mulling over that fact when he came back in the room.
“He’s fine,” he said, the unreadable look on his face telling Kia her father had been his usual irksome self but that Brant wasn’t going to say anything about it to her. She swallowed a lump in her throat, suddenly overwhelmed by a strange feeling of relief. Brant truly didn’t think any the less of her because of her father. In her heart, she hadn’t been sure.
“Good,” the doctor said, closing his medical bag with a snap. “I’ll leave you something for the nausea.”
“Thank you, Doctor,” Brant said, then shortly after escorted the older man out of the bedroom.
A few minutes later he came back with a glass of water and a couple of the pills the doctor had given her.
He helped her sit up while she took them, then laid her back against the pillows and tenderly pushed some blond strands of hair off her cheek.
Yet, oddly, his gesture brought to mind the time she had chicken pox and her father hadn’t been able to hide his distaste at her appearance. Suddenly she felt self-conscious.
“I must look a mess,” she said apologetically and tried to pat her hair in place.
He stared at her for a moment, then something flickered in the back of his eyes. “Never,” he muttered, swinging away from her. He picked up the glass of water and took it into the bathroom.
Her heart jumped in her throat. She had the feeling he meant what he said. And if that were the case…No, she wouldn’t get her hopes up.
He came back in the room, then straightened the light blanket over her. Suddenly he put his hand under her chin, making her look at him. “Why didn’t you tell me you met with your father?”
Even feeling sick didn’t stop the tingle that shot through her at his touch. “You’re relentless, aren’t you?”
“When I want something, yes.”
She scarcely dared to breath. “And what do you want, Brant?”
“A straight answer.”
She noted that’s what he wanted from her, yet he wasn’t giving any himself.
“You don’t own me,” she said quietly, feeling they were walking on dangerous ground. “Is that straight enough for you?”