Free Future Perfect by Suzanne Brockmann

about three years. I got my first motorcycle about twelve years ago—when I was sixteen.”
    “That when you got that tattoo?”
    “Yeah,” she nodded. “I was … wild then.”
    “But you’re not anymore?”
    Juliana shook her head. “No. Being wild had a price.”
    “Like what?”
    But she shook her head again, and didn’t answer. “How do you feel?”
    “Bad.”
    She sat on the edge of the tub and gently pushed his hair off his face. “I’m sorry,” she said.
    Webster closed his eyes, lulled by the gentle magic of her fingers. “I’m glad you’re here,” he said softly. “Juliana.”

Chapter Seven
    Webster woke up hungry. He hadn’t felt anything but nausea for so long that at first, he didn’t recognize the sensation. He opened his eyes slowly, but the headache was gone. His body still felt leaden, exhausted, and extremely weak. Even his fingers were weak; he couldn’t’ve made a convincing fist if he wanted to.
    He glanced at the clock. Seven-thirty A.M .
    God, he was thirsty. There was an empty glass and a full bottle of cola on the bedside table. He pushed himself slowly up, dragging himself to the side of the bed so he could reach for the bottle.
    “Web?” Juliana sat up, pushing her red-gold curls out of her face. “You okay?” she asked sleepily.
    Webster stared at her in shock. She had been sleeping on the floor next to his bed.
    She held up the basin. “You need this?”
    He shook his head. “No.”
    She pulled herself to her feet, sitting next to him on the bed, as she reached out to feel his forehead. Cool. She closed her eyes in relief. And opened them as she felt Webster’s warm fingers touch her face.
    “You’re so tired,” he said, his voice gentle and full ofwonder. “You shouldn’t have been sleeping on the floor.”
    She smiled at him then. “I didn’t want to leave you alone. You were pretty sick for a while there.”
    “You stayed with me,” he said, as if he couldn’t quite believe it. “For how long?”
    “Today’s Friday,” she said.
    He’d gotten sick … when? He couldn’t remember. “How many days?” he asked.
    “It was only two nights.”
    Two nights … She’d stayed with him two whole nights. And the day in between, he remembered. Flashes of the past few days came to him, as if they were scenes from a movie.
    Juliana reached for the glass, poured only an inch or so of cola into the bottom and handed it to him. He looked at the small ration of flat soda skeptically.
    “Oh, come on,” he said. “I feel much better. And I’m really thirsty.”
    “That’s what you said last time,” Juliana replied dryly.
    In a flash, Webster remembered being thirsty, so thirsty, and drinking ginger ale. His stomach rejected it so quickly and absolutely that there wasn’t any time for him to react. He’d gotten sick all over the bed. He groaned inwardly, remembering how patient Juliana had been, how she hadn’t complained. She just changed the sheets and tucked him back in.
    “I’m sorry,” he said softly, closing his eyes, letting the humiliation wash over him.
    Juliana watched him for a moment. When he’d been so terribly sick, his fever had been so high he’d spent much of the time delirious or at least … silly. There had only been a few brief moments of lucidity when heseemed to realize his utter helplessness, when he knew just how intimately she was caring for him. At those times he was stricken with humility, the way he was right now.
    This humble, subdued Webster Donovan was a far cry from the rude, arrogant man she’d met nearly an entire week ago. And she liked him much better. She hoped he’d stick around.
    She leaned forward, kissing him lightly on the forehead. “It’s okay,” she said.
    Web opened his eyes, shocked. She’d kissed him. She’d actually
kissed
him. True, it was the kind of kiss she might give to a puppy or an elderly great-uncle, but it was a kiss.
    She stood up, moving toward the door. “I have guests