More Than a Fling? (10 page)

‘Nevertheless, he’s not wrong,’ the doctor stated, and Ally
turned her glare onto him.

Typical men, they always stuck together.

‘Prolonged stress lowers the body’s immunity, which allows the
virus to reactivate.’

‘What’s the treatment?’

‘A course of antiviral medication. Rest. No stress.’

‘Rest,’ Ross repeated. ‘No stress.’

Ally really needed to throw something at him. Unfortunately
there was nothing within reach. ‘Bite. Me.’

The doctor laughed. ‘Jeez, you two are fabulous entertainment
value. How long have you been together?’

‘We are
not
together,’ Ally stated,
pushing the words out between her teeth.

‘She’s just using me for sex.’

‘That’s it...get out! Go! Now!
Shoo!
’ Ally shouted at him, goaded beyond all measure.

‘I’d prefer that you are not alone tonight, Ms Jones. You are
still dizzy, and if you fall and crack your head there could be some nasty
consequences.’

‘Well, I don’t want
him
,’ Ally said
in a huffy voice. Mostly because this wasn’t the way she’d envisaged her first
date with Ross.

She should be scented and clean—sexy, even. Her hair wouldn’t
be greasy, her eyes would not be looking as if she’d been smoking dope for six
days straight, and she wouldn’t have a headache that threatened to roll her head
off her neck.

Ross just rolled his eyes at the doctor and clicked his tongue
against the roof of his mouth. He smiled at Ally, totally unfazed. When she was
yelling at him she felt fractionally better—not quite so miserable and defeated.
And he didn’t seem to be taking her bitchiness personally; it was almost as if
he knew that along with feeling so sick she also felt scared and vulnerable, and
that arguing made her feel marginally better.

‘Is there a friend I can call?’ Ross asked.

‘No.’

Ally dropped her head. How had she arrived at this point in her
life where she didn’t have a single girlfriend she could call in an emergency?
She’d always thought that she’d have time for friends, lovers, fun when she
finished her studies, got her next promotion, finished the next project...

Ross’s eyes hardened. ‘Someone is going home with you tonight,
Alyssa. And I’m not idiot enough to trust you to make the arrangements. I’ll
call Luc and he can organise someone to look after you tonight.’

Oh, dammit, she didn’t want him to go—not really—but she
couldn’t ask him to stay. That wasn’t what he’d offered. And she most certainly
did
not
want her family knowing about this.

The little colour in Ally’s face drained away. ‘Oh, no, Ross,
don’t. Please? I don’t want to worry them. Please don’t call Luc. He’ll just
call Sabine and Justin, and they’ll call Patric and Gina, and they’ll all rush
to my apartment and... Please don’t. They are more than I can handle right
now.’

They’d fuss and fret, and Sabine would lecture her on taking
care of herself and working too hard. Justin would look at her with agonised
eyes and she’d feel smothered and guilty.

‘If you can just see me back to my apartment, then you can go
home.’

‘Did you hear me? I don’t want you left alone tonight,’ said Dr
Dishy. ‘I’ll keep you in hospital if I have to.’

Dammit—rock and concrete wall. ‘Sorry,’ she muttered at Ross.
‘It’s not what you came here for.’

Ross looked at her for a long, long time before finally nodding
his head. ‘I’ll stay at the apartment tonight,’ he eventually told the
doctor.

Ally let out a long, relieved sigh and bit her lip. ‘Thanks. I
owe you one.’

Ross arched an expressive eyebrow. ‘One? Oh, I think we passed
one
a while ago.’

Ally tipped her head up and stared hard at the ceiling. After a
minute she dropped her eyes to the doctor’s very amused face. ‘Maybe I should
stay here tonight, because if he carries on like this shingles might be the
least of my problems. I might brain him senseless,’ she mused as she swung her
legs off the bed and started to stand. ‘Ooh, dizzy...’

* * *

Ross walked into the café a couple of blocks from Ally’s
apartment and slipped off his coat as he looked for an empty table in the
early-morning rush. Seeing that one was being cleared next to the window, he
walked over there and practically begged the waitress to bring him a cup of
coffee.

Ally didn’t drink coffee—a fact he’d found out after turning
out practically every cupboard she had in search of the magic potion. How could
she not drink coffee? he wondered. It was practically its own super food.

After the night he’d just had he might need it injected
straight into his veins, he thought, sliding into the chair and looking across
the street to Lake Geneva. Pretty, he thought. Even if it
was
colder than a witch’s heart.

Ross grabbed his left shoulder with his right hand and held his
elbow to try and stretch out the knots that had formed in his shoulders from
laying his six-foot-three frame on a couch made for a pygmy. Last night had been
possibly the most uncomfortable, most boring night of his life. He’d taken Ally
home, got her into bed, heated up a cup of soup for her. Soon after she’d passed
out—possibly from the antihistamine injection she’d received in her luscious
butt earlier.

Ross, thinking that work would be the last thing on his mind,
hadn’t brought his computer, and Ally did not own a television. Who didn’t have
a TV in today’s day and age? Oh, right—the same contrary woman who didn’t drink
coffee.

But Ross had found her e-reader and spent the next couple of
hours flipping from one business book to another—all guaranteed to put a guy
into a coma. Didn’t the woman do
anything
for fun?
Did she even know the meaning of the phrase ‘light entertainment’?

Despite his frequent checking on her, she hadn’t stirred for
the rest of the night, and when he’d left the apartment a half-hour ago she’d
still been conked out. Before he’d left he’d made a couple of calls, and he’d
also lifted her shirt to check her rash—it still looked horrible, but as far as
he’d been able to see there were no new blisters.

Ally would be fine, physically, in a couple of days.
Mentally—well, that was anyone’s guess.

The woman was a bona fide basket case...and he had this crazy
impulse to help her and he wasn’t sure why. He’d thought that he was coming here
for uncomplicated sex, but something in her white face and large eyes had him
wanting to help and, God help him, protect her.

Why? She was a modern woman who would rather eat glass than
admit that she needed help. Maybe because she was a little lost and a lot
alone—why didn’t she have friends? A social life? Someone she could call in a
scrape? She obviously loved her family but didn’t want to rely on them, and he
suspected that her life consisted of working too hard and trying damn hard to be
brave.

And that was why he was in this café, about to make a decision
that he would probably regret later.
C’est la vie
,
as Jones would say in her impeccable French.

Ross had just finished his second cup of espresso and was
feeling a lot more human when Luc walked through the door of the café, looked
around and immediately spotted him. Dressed in a grey suit and a raspberry tie,
he looked every inch the corporate CEO Ross tried very hard
not
to be.

Ross stood up, shook hands and eyed Ally’s foster brother as he
ordered an espresso and a full breakfast.

When the waitress had left Luc leaned back, unbuttoned his suit
jacket and looked at Ross with friendly but wary grey eyes. ‘This is a surprise,
Ross. What can I do for you?’

Ross thought that there was no point in beating around the
bush. ‘Your sister is at home, on her own, suffering from a nasty case of
shingles.’ He saw Luc’s eyes harden, saw the obvious question in them.
How the hell do you know that?
‘We were going to have
dinner last night but she fell ill. I took her to the ER and she’s not
well.’

Luc slumped down in his chair. ‘And she didn’t want you to tell
us?’

‘No. And I would’ve kept my word but I have to return to
London. I have a computer game designer who is debating whether to move from his
mother’s house to Cape Town and he needs his hand held. Unfortunately he’s
brilliant, or else I wouldn’t bother. I just don’t think Ally should be on her
own.’

Luc tapped his fingers on the wooden table, his grey eyes
unreadable. ‘Alyssa is very good at shutting us out.’

‘Why?’

Luc’s mouth turned grim. ‘She’d have to tell you that. All I
can tell you is that she is complicated. A little messed up.’

He knew that, Ross thought, yet it hadn’t put him off. He raked
his fingers through his hair, wishing he could tell Luc that he was worried she
was on the fast track to a loony bin. That he wanted to see the shadows lift
from her eyes...that he wanted her to relax and have some fun. But when Luc
would ask why he was doing this for a woman he’d only met a couple of times and
he wouldn’t be able to answer.

Mostly because he didn’t have a freaking clue. It wasn’t as if
he thought they were going anywhere, that they had a future. They just had—what
had Ally called it?—a hectic chemical reaction.

‘Does Ally know that you’re here, telling me that she is sick?’
Luc asked.

‘No, she was still sleeping when I left. I need to get back to
London and I can’t wait for her to wake up. And her mobile is off.’

Her mobile was off because he’d removed the battery to said
mobile and hidden it. He was really hoping that she would be sensible and stay
in bed for the rest of the day, preferably the weekend. But he couldn’t stay
around to babysit her; he had things to do, a business to run.

And he had to be the Bellechier face.

Frick.
He still hadn’t wrapped his
head around that either. He wasn’t a ‘face’ type of guy. He was going to take a
truckload of BS from his mates at the gym, his fellow surfers, his colleagues
for this—everyone who friggin’ knew him.

Ally
so
owed him.

Luc lifted his coffee cup in a Gallic toast as the waitress
placed his food in front of him. ‘She is not going to be happy that you told me.
I thank you, but she won’t.’

‘I can handle Ally,’ Ross stated and wondered if he actually
could.

* * *

‘You sicced my family on me? Thanks so much!’ Ally said
as soon as Ross answered her call. ‘Why?’

‘I’m busy. I’ll call you back in ten,’ Ross retorted.

Ally pulled out her tongue at her dead mobile and tossed it
onto her desk, walking to her window and looking at the cloud-covered Alps in
the distance. It was Tuesday morning and she was back at work, considerably
better but not one hundred per cent. Her rash had subsided and the blisters had
started to scab—
yuck
—and the headache was at a
manageable level.

She’d woken up on Friday at eleven to an empty-of-Ross
apartment. He’d left her a note

Fridge has food in it. Eat something! Rest.

DO NOT GO TO WORK. I called and told your
secretary you were taking a personal day. Implied that I was keeping you in
bed...not sure if she believed me. We’ll talk.

She’d still been feeling so dreadful that she hadn’t had the
energy to deal with his high-handedness so she’d just turned around, hopped
straight back into bed and slept for the rest of the day.

She’d dealt with her entire family trooping in to see if she
was alive on Saturday night, and after Sabine had shooed them out she’d gone
back to sleep and slept all night. And most of Sunday.

Every time she’d woken up Sabine had been there, with a cool
hand, or soup, or a facecloth. It had felt nice and comforting, and that had
been scary, so she’d insisted that Sabine went home to Justin on Sunday evening.
Sabine had gone, taking her hurt feelings with her. That was why she didn’t want
her around; Sabine wanted to fuss and fidget and Ally wanted to be alone. She
knew how to take care of herself...

She’d started off her morning by searching her apartment for
the battery to her mobile—finding it eventually in her coat pocket behind her
door. There had been a dozen calls to return, more explanations to make, worried
family to reassure.

Ally tapped her foot, impatient. Three more minutes—could she
wait that long? She leaned her shoulder onto the wooden frame and rested her
head on the glass. Their date had been an unmitigated disaster and yet Ross had
never once showed his irritation or annoyance. Yeah, he’d needled her at the
hospital, but she knew that he’d just been teasing. His laughing eyes and amused
mouth had given him away.

He somehow knew that she found sympathy and coddling more
difficult to deal with than mockery. She so appreciated that. And she
appreciated him leaving, letting her get on with being sick and then getting
better. She was also very grateful for the food in her fridge—not that she’d
eaten much of it. It was the thought that counted.

Twelve minutes had passed and he still hadn’t called back. At
fifteen minutes she dialled his number again.

‘Bloody Nora, Jones, give me break,’ he groaned.

‘I need you to talk to me. Now,’ Ally said, not realising how
breathy her voice sounded.

‘Hold on.’ Ally heard Ross asking for a twenty-minute break and
heard the scrape of chairs, footsteps fading away. ‘You there, Jones?’

‘Why did you do it?’ Ally demanded. A part of her—a small,
wishful part—wanted to believe that he’d done it for her. The rest of her
scoffed at the notion.

‘Hello to you too. How are you feeling? Blisters gone?’ Ross
said, his tone pointed.

Ally sucked down her impatience. ‘Better. Thanks for the food.
And for taking me to the hospital. I’m sorry I messed up your evening. That you
flew in for nothing.’