Ike’s hands fisted.
The only thing he hated about protecting Jess right now was that it kept him from being a part of the fight back in Baltimore…where Ike might get the hands-on opportunity to find the man who had done these things to Jess and teach him some manners—or put him in the grave. Ike didn’t really care which.
Ike wasn’t aware of finally drifting off to sleep. All he knew was that he opened his eyes to total darkness. He flew into a sitting position. Momentarily forgetting where he was, he reached for the lamp on the nightstand that wasn’t there. Because he wasn’t in his apartment back home, he was at the cabin. With Jess.
How the hell long had he been asleep?
He reached for the lamp on the console table behind him and flicked it on.
Across the room, the kitchen clock hanging on the wall said it was almost nine thirty. Jesus, he’d slept all day.
On a big yawn, Ike rubbed the heels of his hands against his eyes, and then he heaved himself off the couch. His eyes went immediately to the loft, which was as quiet and still as it’d been earlier in the day.
“Jess?” he called. Nothing. And then…was that a small moan? He crossed to the steps. “Jessica, you up?”
“Ike,” she said in a croaking voice.
Ike took the steps two at a time and found Jess lying on her back. In the dim light cast by the lamp downstairs, he could see that she’d pushed the covers down below her belly button. As he closed the distance between them, she pulled a pillow over her breasts, and the movement looked like it took an inordinate amount of effort.
Ike frowned and sat on the edge of the bed. Before he even touched her, he could feel the heat radiating off of her. And it had nothing to do with the lack of air conditioning in the cabin because the night air had cooled the place down by a lot. “Hey. You okay?”
She shook her head. “Feel bad.”
He put his hand on her forehead. Her skin was on fire. “Jesus, you’re burning up.”
Jess grasped his hand in both of hers and pressed it more firmly to her forehead, then her cheek, then her neck. “Hand is cold. Feels so good.”
“Besides the fever, what else feels bad?” he asked.
“Just hurt everywhere,” she said, looking up at him. The pain on her face and in her eyes slayed him.
“We need to break this fever. I’ll be back.”
She clung harder to his hand. “Don’t leave.”
He kissed her forehead. “I’m not. Just getting something to make you feel better.”
“’kay,” she whispered. As he rose, she turned onto her side, balling herself around the pillow. Drawing her knees up pulled them out from under the covers, exposing the big, intricate dream catcher that started on her hip and ran beaded feathers down the outside of her thigh.
Ike had done that piece, too.
God, it was like he could measure his life these past few years in the moments he spent putting ink on her body.
Downstairs, Ike made quick work of gathering some Ibuprofen, a glass of water, and a wet washcloth. When he returned, Jess was in the same position as when he’d left, her heavy eyelids making it clear she’d nearly fallen back to sleep.
He needed to get drugs in her first. “Hey, Jess. Can you wake up? I have some medicine for you.”
She pushed herself onto an elbow and downed the pills and some water. “Thanks.” When she settled down again, he placed the cold washcloth against her forehead. She moaned and covered it with her hand. “That feels good.”
Ike nodded and cleared his throat. “You know, uh, you never got dressed before you fell asleep earlier. Want me to grab you a T-shirt? Or something?”
“Too hot,” she whispered. “Is it bothering you?”
Given the amount of ink he’d put on her body, he’d seen a lot of her up close and personal—he’d done the stars running around her right breast, after all. And he knew how much it pleased her that he appreciated what he saw, too. So, under other circumstances, he might’ve suspected her of being coy, but there wasn’t an ounce of mischief in her right now. “No. Just don’t want to make you uncomfortable.”
“Never could,” she said, eyes drifting shut. “You’re a good man, Ike Young. The best.”
As much as he couldn’t agree with the sentiment, he also couldn’t deny liking hearing it. From her.
He grasped the washcloth to turn it over, only to feel it soaked through with the heat of her fever. This time when he left, she didn’t notice. He cooled it down in the bathroom sink, then returned to her bedside and laid it against her forehead and the side of her face.
In her sleep, the corner of her mouth curved up.
Ike sat on the edge of the bed for a long while, and then he moved to the old brown armchair that sat in the corner by the window and pulled out his phone.