Page 61 of Thirst
I rolled onto my side, snuggling into the covers, and gave a last shiver before going still. I sensed him watching me, but I kept my eyes shut until the freckled redhead returned with the soup.
Cain thanked him by name—Jasper—and took the small basket of food from him, adding, “Let Adrian know we’ll need a guard during the day, okay?”
“Will do.” Jasper glanced at where I lay huddled under the quilt. “PM me if you need anything.”
When we were alone again, Cain sat on the cot next to me, the basket on his lap. “Can you sit up by yourself?”
For answer, I struggled upright.
His handsome face went rigid. “You can ask me for help, you know.”
I snorted. “I’d rather chew silver shavings.”
A muscle ticked in his cheek. He focused on the basket, removing the lid on a bowl of Mediterranean meatball soup. The rich, meaty aroma made my stomach rumble. Suddenly, I was ravenous.
Handing me a cloth napkin, Cain took out a spoon and placed the basket on the floor next to the cot. I spread the napkin on my lap, hating that Cain would see my shaking fingers, and reached for the bowl and spoon.
He moved them out of my reach. “I’ll feed you.”
I shrugged, my gaze on the steaming bowl.
Another tremor shook my body. Cain gave a frustrated snarl and scooted closer until his thigh touched mine through the quilt.
“Here,” he said, voice rough, and lifted the spoon to my lips.
The soup was delicious and blissfully hot. Within a few mouthfuls, my shivers eased.
I held out my hands for the bowl and spoon. “I can do it now.”
He handed them to me, remaining on the cot until I’d finished. I silently handed them back and he stowed them in the basket.
“Thirsty?” He dug a stainless-steel cup from the basket.
I swallowed thickly. “Yeah.”
“The water in the sink is drinkable.” He filled the cup and handed it to me.
I drank every drop, the liquid cool and tasty, then swung my feet to the floor.
Cain’s fingers clamped on my shoulder. “Where d’you think you’re going?”
I stiffened. “To the WC.”
He grunted, but helped me up and walked me to the toilet, his hand firm around my arm. Steadying me whether I wanted it or not.
“I’ve got it from here,” I said, trying to pull free.
“I can help.” His grip didn’t budge. “It’s not like I haven’t seen it before.”
I just looked at him.
He exhaled, a rough, resigned sound. “Fine. I’ll be right outside.”
He left the cell door cracked open, leaving me enough light to see what I was doing. The instant I flushed the toilet, he stepped back inside. I washed my hands and face, then made my way back to the cot. He was there, holding the covers for me, tucking me back in.
I looked up at him. “I’m not going to change my mind. You’re wasting your time being nice to me.”
His jaw went rigid, but he didn’t reply. He just turned and walked out. I assumed he’d leave then, but he stayed in the hall, the door open. I could see him pacing back and forth, phone pressed to his ear when he wasn’t firing off texts.
