Page 39 of Under Your Spell

‘Not really sure what I’m doing here, Doc,’ he says, louder.

‘You want to press just under her jaw, either side of her throat,’ an American woman’s voice comes through the speaker.

‘Owwwwww!’ I whimper moments later.

‘I think that means they’re swollen,’ Theo says, and he looks all grim and shaky like he’s had to perform some kind of intense medical procedure rather than simply touch my neck. I would roll my eyes if I didn’t think that would make me pass out.

‘Clementine?’ The woman’s voice cuts through the air. ‘Can you tell me a little about how you’re feeling?’

‘My head hurts,’ I manage. ‘And my throat hurts. And… my bones hurt.’

‘Okay, well, it sounds to me like it’s a virus, possibly the flu. Theo, if you take me off speakerphone I’ll give you some instructions.’ The doctor is calm, business-like, and while Theo walks away talking to her in a low voice, I slump back against my pillow, closing my eyes again. God, everything is aching. I can feel every millimetre of my skin that is being touched by my heavy, scratchy duvet and suddenly I understand Theo’s obsession with his bedsheets. Why am I sleeping in actual sandpaper like an idiot? The doctor thinks I have the flu, but I don’t know, it seems more likely that the bubonic plague is staging a comeback. My head throbs and I feel the hot trickle of tears coming from under my eyelids.

‘Are you crying?’ Theo’s horrified question alerts me that he is off the phone and back in the room.

‘I don’t feel good,’ I sniffle, my voice small. I don’t even have the energy to put a bright face on it. Serena was not wrong: I am a useless ill person. Absolutely the world’s biggest baby. I am almost thirty-three and I want my mum and a McDonald’s strawberry milkshake.

‘Okay, I need you to get up,’ Theo says firmly.

I crack one eye open. ‘Is that a sick joke?’

‘No. I just need you to get from here to my car. I have to go and get things and I don’t know how long I’ll be and I don’t want to leave you here on your own. You can bring your duvet.’ He says this last part like he’s tempting me with a special treat.

‘I don’t want my duvet. I hate it. It’s hurting me.’

There’s a gusty sigh. ‘Right, then let’s go and escape from the evil duvet.’

When I don’t reply his tone gets sly. ‘Clementine Monroe, if you don’t get your butt out of bed right now, I’m going to call David and tell him you’ve been feeding me frozen chicken nuggets.’

Oh crap. I forgot about the nuggets. I don’t even like them, but I had shoved some in the trolley correctly suspecting that Theo would love them. I was going to get him the ones in the shape of dinosaurs next.

With a lot of swearing on both our parts I let Theo lever me out of bed and then he basically carries me to the car. I’m too ill to even appreciate the feel of all those muscles wrapped around me.

He straps me into the passenger seat and my head lolls against the headrest. I’m wearing my pyjamas and a pair of fluffy socks that Theo put on my feet while I watched in detached silence. The daylight is too bright and I whine about it until he slips his sunglasses onto my nose. He also tucks a blanket over me. I think he’s nervous.

It’s another thing I should care about, but when the car starts moving I decide instead that my energy is better spent focussing on not throwing up again. We drive in silence, except for the drone of the sat nav, directing Theo to wherever we are going. I turn my head and decide to distract myself by focussing on the man beside me. I’m wearing sunglasses and he’s concentrating on the road so I know I can look my fill for once.

I start at the top. His hair is messy, all rumpled, and not in an artful way. There’s a little tuft sticking out at the back. His eyebrows tip down in a frown but his profile is just as beautiful as that first day I glimpsed it in the church: long eyelashes, a perfectly straight nose, full, soft lips. His unshaven jaw sports a couple of days’ worth of dark stubble and it makes him look like one of those models in a razor advert. I imagine him, stripped to the waist, dragging a blade slowly up under his chin the way they do, rinsing the razor off in the sink. I shiver because the image is the most powerfully erotic thing that’s ever entered my head.

His collar bones are visible above the top of his shirt. He’s wearing a black T-shirt today, one of those collarless ones with the little buttons at the top that looks like it’s been sprayed on. It stretches tight over his biceps and I follow the line of his arms down to where his hands are on the steering wheel. Long fingers wrapped around the leather.

I think my fever might be getting worse. It’s so hot in here I can feel a trickle of sweat running down my neck.

‘We’re here,’ he mutters, breaking the spell, and I gaze blearily out of the window. We’re in town, outside the pharmacy, and Theo parallel-parks the car on the street.

Holy shit. Forget the imaginary shaving advert… effortlessly parallel-parking a car on the first go? One hand spinning the steering wheel, while the other braces on the headrest next to my face? Apparently that’s my kink, because this is the most turned on I have been in my life.

His forearm is right there in front of me. Muscles and ink and soft, gold skin.

‘Ow! Jesus, Clemmie! Did you just bite me?’ Theo exclaims, and I snort, ready to deny such an outlandish accusation.

Only now that I look again there does seem to be the perfect pink imprint of two little rows of teeth pressed into his skin.

‘Huh,’ I mumble in confusion. ‘Sorry.’

Theo turns off the ignition and pulls his arm away, holding it in front of him to look at it more closely. ‘Let’s hope this isn’t the start of the zombie apocalypse.’

I snicker, but actually it feels like it could be true.