James was leaning against the bed, his eyes closed. I paused, not sure if he was asleep and I walked over quickly.
I placed my hand on his forehead, only to feel his feverish grip suddenly close around my wrist, his hand hot against mine. I realized he really did have a fever. Cheng was not joking.
Thinking he might be awake, I leaned closer, but his eyes were still shut, his handsome face flushed, his breathing heavy. He clearly wasn’t fully conscious. Even in his sleep, he was so guarded. I let out a small laugh, amused by his stubbornness, and tried to pull my hand back, but he held it tightly.
For a second, I thought he looked a little adorable in his fevered state, but then I remembered Mrs Wenger’s words—“It takes two to tango”—and felt irritation bubbling up again.
Lea
