Jess peered up at him. “A little.”
His eyes narrowed. “You’re still cold, aren’t you?”
She shivered and pulled the cover tighter around her shoulder. “Yeah.”
“Fuck.” Ike scrubbed a hand over his bald head and mumbled something she couldn’t quite make out. “Maybe I shouldn’t have put you in the tub after all.”
“I think it was the right thing, Ike. I was so out of it. It is better than it was before.” She worked at a small smile. No matter how bad she felt, the last thing she wanted was to make him feel bad given everything he was doing for her. As if he hadn’t already gone out of his way in giving her a place of refuge and his personal protection for as long as she needed it, now he had to play freaking nursemaid to a sicky. Which, on top of everything, was super attractive.
The only upside to that ice-cold bath was that Ike had gotten wet and tossed his shirt, and Jess thought she might be willing to be sick more often if it meant getting to see him shirtless. Because, holy bad-ass tattooed biker on a stick, he was so freaking hot. Cut muscles, ink everywhere, two insanely delicious indents low on his waist. And scars Jess had no idea how Ike had gotten.
All that goodness and Jess couldn’t even see the big Ravens tat that she knew covered Ike’s broad back. But she’d seen it before, back at Hard Ink when Jeremy occasionally did a new piece for Ike. She’d seen it enough to know that she’d love to have a good reason to dig her fingers into that tat…
Oh, for fuck’s sake, even sick she couldn’t stop fantasizing about what it would be like to be with Ike. Just once.
“Jess?”
Her gaze snapped to his eyes. “Huh?” Hopefully the warmth crawling up her cheeks would pass for a fevered flush. Because she was so busted.
“I, uh, asked if you thought it would help if I got in with you.” The expression he wore said he was dubious about the idea.
And as much as Jess loved the idea, she didn’t want him doing anything with her that he didn’t really want to do. “That’s okay. Why don’t you go get some sleep now? It’s gotta be almost morning.”
He looked at her for a long moment, and then he tapped his hand against her arm. “Scoot over.”
“Ike—”
“Damnit, scoot your scrawny ass over already.” He cocked an eyebrow, humor sliding into his eyes.
“Well, I’ll scoot over,” she said as she made herself move. “But you and I both know there ain’t anything scrawny about my ass.”
“Jessica?” Ike said as he got in next to her wearing only his jeans.
“Yeah?” The minute he was down, she nearly dove into the crook of his body, her forehead against his neck, her breasts against his ribs, her bare legs intertwined with his denim-clad ones. She wasn’t sure where to put her hand, because the not-sick part of her brain wanted to touch him everywhere right now. Oh my God, I’m in bed with Ike! But she settled for resting it on his chest, the hair on his pecs ticklish against her fingers.
“Shut up and go to sleep.” He took the edge off the words by clasping her hand in his and pressing it more firmly to his skin.
“Be nice to me. I’m sick,” she said, burrowing in further.
Ike wrapped his arm around her shoulders and pulled her tighter against him. God, he felt good, warm and hard and strong. “Woman,” he said, his voice full of gravel. “This is me being nice.”
Most of the next two days were a blur to Jess. The fever had come back, so she’d alternated between long sleeps and short periods of wakefulness where she choked down enough medicine and water to let her sink into unconsciousness again. Ike was still beside her every time she opened her eyes, taking care of her in every way she needed.
Ike’s attentiveness did funny things to her insides—it wasn’t something she was used to. Her dad had been great, but he’d never been overtly affectionate and certainly never fussed over her when she’d gotten sick. Hell, he went to work with fevers, migraines, and bullet wounds, and was pretty much of the mindset that if you weren’t bleeding out, you were good to go.
After her dad died, Jeremy had played a big role in helping Jess pull herself together. Luckily, she’d inherited enough money to take care of herself, but it was really the job at Hard Ink that finally forced her to start getting dressed again and face the world. Day by day, with Jeremy’s constant friendship and encouragement, things had gotten easier, life had gotten better, and the hole inside her shrank—at least a little. Getting back on her feet had given her the strength to start to forgive herself for falling in with a crowd of friends who’d been into way more trouble that she’d known—trouble that had gotten her father killed in the first place. She wished like hell he was still around to say “I told you so,” because he’d been a hundred percent right.