“Fine.” She wasn’t nauseous, thank God. “Well, unless I move too fast.”

He cupped the back of her neck and looked into her eyes. “Head still hurt?”

“Some.” Growing in intensity, but she really didn’t want to come off as whiny. It was bad enough that tears kept pricking her eyes.

“What else?” When she didn’t immediately answer—what woman wanted to spend her first night with the man of her dreams by complaining?—he used both hands to hold her face. “You’re right, I’m not a doctor. But I’ve learned a lot from Dad, and from the sport.”

“The sport?”

“Sure. Fighters have to know their own bodies well enough to stay healthy. So quit stalling. Your head, your throat. I’m guessing your chest with that cough. What else?”

She didn’t think he’d let it go, so she admitted the truth. “Pretty much everything.”

“Body aches?”

She nodded. “And my eyes burn.” Maybe that’d be a good excuse for the tears.

“That’s probably from the fever. Soon as Armie gets back we’ll get some meds in you.” Once more his thumb teased over her bottom lip and he let out a pent-up breath. “I’m so damn sorry.”

“You didn’t make me sick.”

“I also didn’t pay close enough attention to realize you weren’t feeling well.”

She hadn’t paid enough attention, either. At the time, with Denver touching and kissing her, she’d been focused only on feeling. “You thought I was drunk.”

“I worried about it, yeah. I didn’t want to take advantage of you.”

Talking hurt her throat, but she still had to say it. “When I had to practically beg you?”

His eyes narrowed in thought. “You should have told me, you know.”

“I didn’t realize—” she started to say.

“Shh.” He kissed her forehead, softening his rebuke. “Don’t lie to me, Cherry. Ever.”

How could he so easily make her feel guilty? She bit her lip. “Well...”

“There’s no way you couldn’t have known you were getting sick.”

True enough—to a point. “I didn’t feel well, but—” She coughed some more, then had to bite back a groan at the radiating discomfort.

Denver supported her, rubbing her back until she’d quieted again.

Holding on to him, she drew a careful breath. “I didn’t know I’d be this bad,” she wheezed. “Honest. I wouldn’t have risked getting you sick.”

“I’m not worried about that.” He helped her resettle in the bed. “But why didn’t you tell me?”

She started to again bite her lip, but when his gaze focused on her mouth, she stopped herself. In a hoarse whisper, she said, “It’s embarrassing.”

As if her embarrassment didn’t factor into things, he shook his head. “I need you to always be honest with me, Cherry, no matter what.”

It irked her, this persistence that she might not be truthful. “I’m not a liar.”

“No. But there are layers of honesty.” Firm, he tilted his head to stare into her eyes. “I have to have one hundred percent.”

“Fine.” Though she felt like death warmed over, she lifted her chin. “I was afraid if I told you, you’d use it as an excuse to walk away.”

His piercing gaze softened at her admission. “Am I walking away?”

“No.” And it confused her so much. “But I don’t know why not.”

He took her hand. “You think I’d walk out on you when you’re so ill?”

She didn’t want his pity. “If that’s the only reason you’re staying—”

“It’s not.”

“Oh.” With her eyes gritty and her head throbbing, she could barely stay upright. She persisted anyway, drawing in a slow breath to keep from coughing. “Long as we’re being honest, why did you ignore me?”

For the longest time he stared down at their clasped hands and she felt the tumult of his thoughts, his resistance and even a sort of muted resentment.

She got nervous, dreading what he might say. It had been tough to take his unspoken rejections on good days. Being wretchedly sick, this was not a good day. But if she cried in front of him, she’d just die.

Finally he lifted his head. The piercing focus of his attention unnerved her. “Mostly I avoided you because I wanted you too fucking much.”