Free Strung by Bella Costa

out of hand.  This morning he is wearing dark black jeans and a loose fitting white t-shirt, his feet are bare and his hair is a sexy mess. 
    I watch him move gracefully around the kitchen, more at home in the space than most men I've known.  Within minutes the coffee machine is gurgling softly, filling the house with its rich warm aroma and the smell of bacon under the grill is just starting to permeate the air.
    Chayton is completely focused on something sizzling in a large pan; the eggs I think.  One hand subconsciously smoothes the skin on his neck and jaw repetitively.  As I watch his knuckles stroke rhythmically from his Adams-apple to his ear, I imagine what those fingers would feel like against my throat.
    "How do you like your eggs?" he asks.
    "Dead will do," I reply.
    "Dead huh?"  His face splits in a huge grin as he throws me a glance.
    "Yup.  No little chicks running all over my plate, thank you."  I return his infectious grin.
    "Two dead chicks, coming up!"
    He dishes up our food with organised efficiency and sets our plates down on the table.  I am starving and ladle my eggs and mushrooms onto my toast to make a huge toasted sandwich and dig in, grumbling when a few mushrooms escape.
    Chayton eats a little more refined and as I watch him, I start to feel guilty about my rather messy table manners.  I put my sandwich down and endeavour to chew through the generous mouthful I have taken, without filling my cheeks.  After a few mouthfuls of egg and mushrooms, Chayton stops eating and pushes his plate away preferring to nurse his coffee.
    "Not hungry?"  I ask.
    "I am, but I think I'm coming down with something.  My throat and jaw is feeling a little tight and raw." 
    "Maybe just a cold?"
    "I've never had a cold in my life." 
    "Then perhaps you are long overdue," I mutter.
    "I suppose there is a first time for everything."
    I take another bite of my sandwich, a smaller one this time, and we sit in silence for a few minutes.
    "It's good to see a woman eat properly," he comments making me blush.  "Most women insist on eating like rabbits.  You work out?"
    "I keep fit.  It helps control the stress."  I murmur around a mouthful.  Your table manners Acacia!
    "We have a small gym at the end of the left wing.  You're welcome to use it."
    "Thank you.  I might just do that."  Immediately my mind starts compiling a twisted-ankle-safe workout, as I finish my sandwich.  He stands and clears the table, washing up in double time and loading the dishwasher.  He stubbornly refuses any help. 
    "I have some work to do in my office.  I will be a couple of hours if you think you can keep out of trouble.  Explore the house a bit if you want."
    "I think I'll read."  I noticed a good collection of books on a shelf in the living area.
    He nods and stalks off, his hand at his throat again.
     
    ~.~
     
    It is lunchtime before Chayton reappears and tears me away from a Wilbur Smith novel.  I glance up as he walks into the room and eases himself onto a couch.
    "God, you look awful!"  Sexy, hot, adorable and green around the gills.
    "Gee thanks," he mutters.
    His face is flushed and his neck and jaw looks like it is starting to swell on both sides. 
    "Let me get you something cool to drink."  I start to climb to my feet, grappling for the crutches.
    "I have a sore throat, I'm not paralysed.  Sit!" he orders sternly.
    He stands and makes it three steps before his eyes glaze and he stands swaying gently.  "Oh"
    "Chayton! Sit down before you fall down!"  I yell. 
    Slowly he sinks back onto the sofa and rests his head back, one arm draped loosely across his eyes.  I have managed to get myself into a standing position and untangled the crutches when I hear him moan.
    "I don't feel so good."
    Shit, is he going to throw up?  "Chayton, what do you need?”  I ask urgently.  He just shakes his head slowly under his arm, his lips pressed into a firm line.  "Hold on."
    I scoot across into the kitchen, as quick as