"You're stuck with me too, doctor, and it's probably worse for you than it is for me."
A small apologetic smile touched her lips.
"Because you have to put up with sick me."
She paused to wipe her fever-flushed face with the back of her hand, her fingers brushing over the itching spots.
"Though if we don't get you warm and dry soon, you'll lay sick right beside me."
He gently grabbed her wrist, tugging her hand away from her skin.
"Don't scratch."
"I wasn't."
"You were."
He released her, then opened the pharmacy bag.
"Go upstairs for a hot shower," she suggested.
"We need to take care of your spots first," he said with a dismissive shake of his head.
"I'll be fine 10 minutes longer. Go shower."
Hiding a smile, Raymond exhaled, unaware he'd been holding his breath. Somehow her stubbornness appealed to him.
"Please? There's fresh towels in the bathroom cabinet."
"Ok, you win."
"That easily?" She leaned back on the pillow, closed her eyes and smiled again.
"For now," he teased. "I'll be right back."
Raymond took his duffel bag and went upstairs to the master bathroom.
He quickly stripped off his wet clothes, shed his white polo shirt, black jeans, underwear and socks.
Pulling open the pebbled glass door, he stepped into the shower and turned it on.
A moan of pure pleasure escaped his lips as the hot water began to warm his cold body. No shower had ever felt this good. If it wasn't for the fact that his sick host was waiting for him, he'd spend the next hour letting the warm water pound away every ache. As a guest however, an unexpected one at that, it would be rude to linger.
He took a little of her vanilla shampoo, quickly lathered his short hair and upper body, then leaned back into the pulsating spray, letting the water wash away the suds from his head, neck and shoulders.
He turned the water off, stepped out of the cubicle and grabbed a towel from the cabinet to dry off.
When he was finished and shrugged into dry clothes, he gathered his wet apparel and placed them on the counter. He would ask Miss Keen if he could launder them later.
When he returned to the living room, he found her sleeping. Deciding not to disturb her rest, he quietly stepped into the kitchen to put away the groceries.
While he heated water for tea he had a closer look around, getting an overview of furnishings and appliances.
Everything on the first floor was open. The kitchen, the dining area, the living space, all blended together into one huge comfortable room.
A thick light brown carpet covered the floor up to the kitchen. The kitchen was equipped with brand-new stainless-steel appliances and fitted out with cream colored kitchen cabinets and shiny cream floor tiles.
The dining area opposite the kitchen was small, having room for only a wooden table and four chairs.
The grey plush sofa and matching loveseat formed a nook around a wooden coffee table in the living area.
All the furniture faced an entertainment center that had been built into the wall and surrounded a large TV set. A dark wooden bookcase with a locking glass front lined another wall.
The room was lightly decorated with plants, paintings and a couple of cream-colored standing lamps. For the most part it was simple and yet warm and inviting.
A staircase went up to the second floor where the bedroom and bathroom were located. Another one led down to the basement.
There was a door in the kitchen leading outside to a small backyard garden, but except for a few bushes and an apple tree he couldn't make out any more details. Everything was covered in thick snow.
To his surprise, there were no photographs of a partner, friends or family on the walls of either room much less any other personal items. She'd probably moved in here only recently, he thought.
He took two mugs, placed a tea bag in each, then filled them with the boiling water.
Carefully he carried both cups to the coffee table, sat down on the loveseat and gazed at her sleeping form. She still looked so pale and unwell. What concerned him most were her spells of chills and fever, when she lay there quivering, even in her sleep, cold one minute, hot the next.
He pulled the blanket more closely around her, trying to stop his heart from aching for her suffering.
The snow storm still rampaged outside, and he pensively drank his tea as he gazed outside to watch the snowflakes perform a wild dance in front of the window.
Liz woke to the sensation of having one million ants crawling on her body. She reached for her cheeks, ready to claw off the offending intruders, and found to her surprise that her hands had been covered with soft pink socks.
"What the hell?!"
Somebody leaned over into Liz's field of vision, and she found herself staring into the worried face of Dr. Reddington.
"Please, don't scratch, Miss Keen. You have beautiful skin and I don't want you getting any scars."
The ants continued their march over her face, down her throat, spread across her stomach and down to her abdomen and legs.
"You've been scraping at yourself in your sleep. I couldn't find any gloves to cover your hands and I didn't want to cut your fingernails without your permission. So the socks were the only way to prevent you from permanently damaging your skin."
He grinned sheepishly at her.
"But this itching is about to kill me," she groaned desperately, not appreciating his resourceful idea.
"I know."
Raymond pressed a pill to her lips.
"Take this antihistamine. It'll help."
Liz struggled into a sitting position, her head threatening to explode. He poured her a fresh glass of water and helped her drink and swallow the pill.
"I'll apply Calamine lotion on your spots in a minute, but before I do, we have to discuss your sleeping arrangement."
Feeling like a wilting flower, she sank back on the pillow.
"What do you mean?"
"Do you want your sickbed to be upstairs in your bedroom or here on the couch?"
"I'm fine where I am, doctor."
"Are you sure it's comfortable enough? Otherwise I could just carry you over my shoulder upstairs; that's no problem."
He attempted humor to lighten her mood; he knew she was miserable. To his utter delight she laughed.
"Is that how you treat your patients?"
"Of course," he winked at her.
"Mmm, tempting," she still smiled, but grew serious again.
"The couch will do, really."
"Okay," he nodded. "But then tell me where to find linen to cover it. Things will get messy once the spots turn into fluid-filled blisters and pop open, not to mention the Calamine lotion will be everywhere as well."
"You'll find bedclothes upstairs in the dresser in my bedroom. Just take what you need."
"Will I find your sleepwear in there too? You'll need to change often..."
"Yes, it's all there."
"Ok, good."
After a few minutes, he brought down her entire bedding and a few light clothes.
Liz attempted to rise, but the room spun out of control and went dark. She gulped hard from the effort of trying to stand much less trying to walk somewhere unassisted.
Raymond took her hands and helped her up from the sofa. The moment she stood, she went weak again, tottering slightly.
She swallowed back tears at the strain. "I feel so stupid. So frail. I'm sorry."
His arms instantly went around her back, supporting her.
"I've got you, don't worry."
He slowly lowered her into a sitting position on the loveseat. She gritted her teeth against another wave of nausea.
"You're just sick. I'll hurry so you can lay back down, ok?"
She nodded but felt embarrassed.
He quickly prepared the couch, then had her all tucked up on the freshly made up sofa a few moments later.
"I'd like to apply the calamine lotion now," he declared and put on a pair of latex gloves from his doctor's bag.
He opened the bottle after shaking it and saturated a cotton ball with the pink liquid, his eyes studying her face as he decided where to begin.
The cool lotion felt heavenly as he patiently dabbed each spot or wiping it across the affected area, then moved on to the next. He started at her feet, thoroughly working his way up her torso.
Gently, he held her chin in his hand, moving the cotton ball over the contours of her face, along her cheekbones and her forehead. The blue of her eyes was painfully deep, and the kindness and welcoming warmth of her smile made his mouth dry.
He wondered how a girl who looked as if squirrels had nested in her hair could be so appealing to him, blotchy red dots and all.
He hesitated when he'd finished all the spots that were in plain sight. He knew some of the worst regions were right under her shirt.
Noticing his reluctance, her hand reached for her shirt and pulled up the material, exposing herself to him. A tiny bit of trepidation kicked in, but the pleasure and the relief of the cool calamine overcame her need for modesty. She just wanted him to soothe the infernal itching as she was too weak to do it herself.
She was beautifully formed with small, pert breasts and soft smooth skin and he couldn't help noticing how her nipples hardened right up when his somewhat unsteady hands lovingly administered the lotion to her chest and breasts.
Despite his best efforts his body was reacting to her proximity in a way that he couldn't control. The poor little thing trusted him, and he felt like a real cad when he failed to tap down the tumescent in his sweatpants.
She was his patient, and he would treat her as such, yet it was becoming increasingly difficult to rein in his emotions.
"Did I miss any?" He asked, in what he considered his best, unconcerned voice.
"I don't think so," she breathed. "It feels so good, thank you."
"Okay, then let me apply the lotion to your backside."
Gently, he rolled her onto her side and started to dab at the spots on the rear side of her legs until his fingers reached the fabric of her panties.
"May I?" he asked, his voice so unfamiliar deep and hoarse, as if something else used his throat.
She nodded, and he laid bare her cute butt, taking care of the rash covering both her cheeks.
Finally, he finished up her back, then drew her light clothes back in place, rolled her back around and draped the blanket over her.
"Thank you," she said again, as he looked down at her, their eyes locking for many seconds.
The shrill ring of his cell phone interrupted the moment, and nearly made them both jump out of their skin.
One ring. Two rings. Three rings.
"Excuse me," he murmured and went to answer it.
"Maddie." Liz heard him say.
"I'm stuck with a patient. I couldn't make it out in time."
She watched him wander into her kitchen where he started to pace at the obvious tirade that rained down on him over the phone.
"This is my job, Maddie, you know that."
He became angry and threw his hands in the air in frustration.
"Yes, I pictured our weekend a lot different too," he hissed back in a sourly tone.
"Tzz, don't be so ridiculous, as if the storm is all my fault."
He shook his head and kept pacing her kitchen.
"I don't know when I'll be home; the entire city has been shut down."
Before he could say anything else the caller apparently had hung up. Unbelieving, Raymond looked at his phone for long seconds, then closed his eyes, struggling to keep his seething rage at bay.
So, the good doctor had a wife who seemed to be quite unhappy about the turn of today's events, Liz mused, and she wondered if she should feel guilty about calling for help in the first place.
TBC