Catherine jolted awake, startled by the sudden sensation of being lifted off the bed. Before she could even think, her arms wrapped around his neck out of pure instinct.
Her eyes, rimmed with the faintest trace of red from sleep, blinked open and landed right on his. His gaze was steady, deep, almost unreadable.
“You’re up?” she mumbled, still lost in a haze. Without thinking, she blurted, “Are you feeling alright? Any pain anywhere?”
Lance’s throat moved as he swallowed. “I’m fine.”
“The doctor said you’re just not used to the local climate and you got dehydrated. He said you need to take it easy for a few days…” Before she could finish, something shifted beneath her and she felt herself dip lower.
Her arms tightened around Lance’s neck as she snapped awake fully. That’s when it hit her—she was in his arms.
Lance was thinking she’d put on about ten pounds. It wasn’t a lot, but he hadn’t eaten all day yesterday, barely slept last night, and now his arms were starting to give out.
He braced himself and managed to steady her before he dropped her completely.
Catherine quickly pulled away from his embrace, flustered. She straightened her dress, cheeks burning with embarrassment.
“You looked uncomfortable sleeping on the sofa,” Lance said, his voice quiet.
She shook her head. “It’s fine. I wasn’t going to sleep any longer anyway. If you don’t need anything else, I should get going. I have work later.”
“I’m still sick,” Lance said, frowning.
Catherine slung her bag over her shoulder. “The doctor said it’s nothing serious. Just watch what you eat and rest.”
Lance’s mood darkened. “Are you being this distant because you think Lewis will mind?”
She glanced at him, voice calm. “Shouldn’t you be more worried about Adelina?”
He didn’t even blink. “There’s nothing for anyone to worry about. I can’t just die alone in a foreign country.”
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