Holding Strong. Lori Foster

did. Dad’s a doctor.”

      The way he summed that up, to the point of being curt, made her wonder. Did he have a bad relationship with his dad? “You mentioned a stepmother?”

      “Yeah. Dad remarried years ago.”

      Curling up next to him, her cheek on his bare chest, his arm around her, felt more comforting than meds ever could. The heat of his body seemed to permeate her aching muscles, and his scent wrapped around her. When she rested a hand over his abdomen, the incredible muscles there tightened. “How old were you?”

      “Nineteen.” Covering her hand with his own, he moved his thumb over her knuckles. “You are so soft.”

      Changing the subject again? “You like your stepmother?”

      Silence stretched out while Denver played with her fingers. She didn’t rush him. If he chose not to answer, she’d let it go.

      She knew all about family issues better kept private.

      Then he said, “Dad loves her. I figure that’s what’s important.”

      She turned her face up to see him. “You don’t get along with her?” Given Denver was so wonderful, she couldn’t imagine anyone not loving him.

      Again, he took his time thinking. Finally he pinched the bridge of his nose and muttered, “It’s complicated.” After a quick hug and a kiss on the top of her head, he promised, “We’ll have plenty of time to talk when you’re feeling better. It’s late. You should sleep.”

      She didn’t want to, but lethargy pulled at her. Soon as Denver tucked the sheet around her, she felt herself slipping away.

      Sometime later, more sluggish than ever, she woke to whispering and realized Armie was back. While trying to orient herself, she heard a low, angry conversation on relatives.

      If anything, she felt worse now, bad enough that she didn’t even care what they talked about. Pulling the covers over her head, she groaned, “Thanks Armie. Now go away please.”

      He didn’t leave, of course. In fact, she sensed when both men came to loom over her. The testosterone ramped up enough to strangle her.

      Armie crouched down by her shrouded head. “How you feelin’, doll?”

      She curled a little tighter to ensure he wouldn’t unwrap her. “Bad enough I don’t want anyone to see me.”

      A big, warm hand settled on her shoulder—Armie.

      She was still adjusting to the impact of that when another hand settled on her hip—Denver.

      Good Lord.

      Her heart almost stopped. Were they trying to kill her with their combined machismo?

      One large, hunky guy focused on her was enough. The two combined left her shivering with awareness. Though she wanted only Denver, they were both studs and she wasn’t used to anything even close to this. Beneath the concealing covers, she squeezed her eyes shut—and since she had no idea what to do, she played possum.

      Until both men’s hands sympathetically squeezed, rubbed...

      Surprise wrought a groan that ended in a rasping cough.

      “Move,” she heard Denver say, and a second later he’d pulled the covers to her waist, leaving her hideous hair and smudged makeup exposed. At least they’d kept the lights low, giving her shadows to hide in.

      Denver helped her to sit up while giving her a drink of cold juice.

      She needed the drink—but he’d pulled the sheet so low that snatching it back up seemed her first priority. Once she’d preserved her modesty, she accepted the drink.

      So very aware of Armie standing there, taking it all in, seeing her in such a mess, she wanted to wither. But the juice eased the pain of her throat so she ignored her awful embarrassment and drank it all.

      When she’d finished, Denver smoothed down her hair. “Let’s get you started on some meds.”

      She seriously hated being babied so much. Never, ever, had she been the center of so much attention. “I can do it. You should go home with Armie.”

      Grinning at her, Armie said, “Damn, Cherry, way to insult a guy.”

      Tone level but uncompromising, Denver said, “I’m not going anywhere.” He opened two different pill bottles and some cough medicine.

      “You don’t need to be stuck here.”

      This time Armie shook his head and, deliberately provoking, said to Denver, “Women.”

      “We already settled this,” Denver said as he handed the pills to Cherry. “Can you swallow them?”

      “Yes.” But man, it hurt getting them down. Soon as she finished, he held up the tiny medicine cup of cough liquid.

      That went down easier and didn’t even taste too awful. Pulling the covers tight around herself again, her vision a little muzzy, she asked, “What time is it?”

      “It’ll be dawn soon,” Denver told her.

      “I was gone an hour,” Armie told her. “Sorry about that. The store wasn’t quite as close as I’d figured.”

      “Thanks.” She started to recline again.

      Denver caught her shoulders. “I want to take your temperature.”

      “Can she hold the thermometer in her mouth?” Armie asked.

      Denver grinned, but Cherry choked on a gasp then coughed hard enough that she dropped the sheet and covered her mouth.

      And still she tried to curse Armie, assuring him that there was no way—

      “He’s teasing, girl. Calm down.”

      “Not funny,” she managed to croak around broken breaths and a lot of glassy-eyed glaring.

      Concern brought Armie’s brows together. “Sorry. Didn’t mean to cause all that.”

      She wiped her watering eyes and concentrated on carefully catching her breath.

      Coming closer, Armie stepped around Denver and felt her head again. “You sure she doesn’t have pneumonia?”

      This was all too weird. No one would ever mistake Denver Lewis or Armie Jacobson for nurses. Big, muscular, macho guys should never tend the sick, especially not in freaking pairs.

      Having them both try to pamper her at the same time was like an overdose of fantasy—only she’d never even dared fantasize anything that unreal.

      How was she supposed to deal with it?

      When Armie’s warm palm remained on her forehead, Cherry leaned out of his reach. He looked surprised until he took in her expression, then he grinned and winked at her, all in all being far too familiar when she looked and felt as she did and clearly wasn’t up to bantering with him.

      Shaking the thermometer, Denver said, “Can’t know for sure but I doubt it. You know something’s been making the rounds.” He turned, waited for Cherry to open, and slipped the thermometer under her tongue. “If her fever gets too high, I’ll run her to the hospital to be safe.”

      How dare they make plans without her input? Around the thermometer she said, “No hospital.”

      “Not yet anyway,” Denver agreed, tapping the bottom of her chin as a reminder to keep her lips closed.

      “Somehow,” Armie remarked, “it doesn’t seem as bad when it’s a dude who’s sick.”

      “I know.”

      “Sexist,” she muttered, then slumped against the headboard.

      While waiting the requisite time to get a temperature reading, they both watched her far too closely,