When she felt him behind her, the thought of moving away was swamped by the feeling of utter and complete dizziness that took hold of her.
His arms came around her and he lifted her into his arms.
"I'm sorry. Just set me down. I'll--"
"Be quiet."
She obeyed automatically and was too weak and sick to protest further until he lowered her onto the bed.
"What are you doing?" She started to rise, when he pushed her back down.
"Look--"
"Shut up." His eyes were blazing and had her sinking into the soft pillows meekly. He looked upset and she realized that now he was going to fire her.
"Stay right there."
"As if I can move," she muttered, closing her eyes in despair.
Inside the kitchenette, he carefully made tea and added honey, his mind whirling. His heart had simply stopped when he found her on the floor. She had looked even worse than the first time. Should he take her to the hospital? Call a damn doctor? He had several who were friends of his and would be discreet. He wanted to cuddle her, shield her from what was going on inside her body.
Placing the cup on a saucer, he went back into the bedroom to see that her eyes were closed.
They flickered open when he came alongside the bed and sat up.
"I'm sorry."
"You said that before." His voice was brusque. He handed her the tea. "Did you have lunch?"
She nodded and blew on the tea.
"What?"
"I'm sorry. What?"
"What did you have for lunch?"
"Soup."
"And?"
"Crackers. My stomach was acting up."
He glanced at the clock. "It's now half past seven, what else did you have?"
She ducked her head guiltily. "Uhm, I was going to go home and make something."
"We have a kitchen and full complement of staff." He wanted to shake her.
"I was busy."
"You're damn pregnant."
"I already know that." She avoided his eyes and took another sip of tea.
"I should go home--"
"You should stay home for the rest of the week."
