Page 54 of Bargaining

He caught my gaze in the mirror. “How often do you get these migraines?”

I’d been staring at him too boldly, but I didn’t have the energy to feel guilty. “Once a month. Twice if I’m unlucky.”

“For how long?”

“Years.”

“Have you seen a specialist?”

It took too much effort to talk. “On the NHS? I’ll die of old age before I get halfway up the waiting list. Nothing helps anyway. It’s just something I have to deal with.”

A wave of nausea gripped me. I groaned and squeezed my eyes tight.

“That’s it. I’m calling a doctor.”

“No. I just need to lie in the dark and give the medicine a chance to work.”

He pressed his lips. “I’m booking you in with my doctor as soon as we get home. I’m not having you suffering like this.”

He loosened the last ribbon, and the dress gaped open at the back. I took a deep breath. The pulse in my head was dimming a little. “Thank you.”

He pulled back the heavy comforter on the enormous bed. “Let’s get you in here.”

“I can manage.”

“You don’t have to manage. I’m helping.”

Every movement triggered another pulse of pain. His commanding voice left no room for dissent, and I didn’t have it in me to protest. It hurt too much to talk.

“What causes migraines?”

“No one knows. Probably all that suppressed feminine rage. Please shut up. We need to stop talking to each other. It hurts.”

He raised a dark brow. “Understood.”

Gently, he helped me out of the heavy dress, peeling it off until I stood in my underwear. The bridal lingerie Cole—or, more likely, a put-upon assistant—had picked out was sinfully sexy. My boobs nestled in a structured balconette bra, and a white lace suspender belt held up sheer thigh-high stockings. At least the dim light hid my embarrassment.

I fiddled with the suspender belt clips, trying to free my stockings. They were so bloody fiddly and everything was too difficult.

“Stop.” Cole caught my fingers and held them still.

Silently, he reached down and unfastened each clip. His deft fingers brushing my thighs made heat pool in my lower belly. Without a word, he dropped to his knees and slid the first stocking down. Cold air caressed my skin as he worked the silky fabric gently over my calf.

“Lift your foot,” he commanded.

I rested a hand on his shoulder and lifted my foot so he could pull the stocking over my ankle. Repeating the motion, he peeled my other stocking down slowly. His unwavering gaze held mine as his fingers traced the skin at the back of my knee, leaving goosebumps in their wake. Shivers raced through my body. I couldn’t lie. I’d played out the scenario of Cole on his knees for me many times before. His cool, unhurried words from when he’d made me come rang in my ears.You needed this. Didn’t you, Charlotte?

Cole was so skilled with his fingers, I couldn’t help but wonder about his tongue. I’d never had a man go down on me before. Itwasn’t something I’d ever imagined I’d enjoy. It made me feel too awkward, but with Cole I just knew it would be different. He never made me feel awkward. It was always so natural between us.

“You said you never kneel for anyone.” My voice came out a husky whisper.

He tipped his head up and his dark eyes glimmered earnestly. “You must be my exception.”

Cole pressed a wet flannel on my head, and the cold relief made me moan. A gentle click sounded on the bedside table. “Water here.”

“Thanks.”

The mattress depressed as he lay down in the darkness next to me.