Free Can't Touch This by Pepper Winters, Tess Hunter

forced myself to visualise flannel pyjamas and flu medicine. “I’ll deal with it when we get to your place, okay?”
    She grumbled under her breath but allowed me to open the passenger door and wait until she’d thrown herself inside.
    I hated that she was sick, but I also couldn’t stop the victory bounce in my step as I got behind the wheel and drove her home.
     

CHAPTER SEVEN
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Vesper
     
    HE’S IN MY HOUSE.
    How the hell did this happen?
    The embarrassment level increased to a 10.0 on the Richter scale as Ryder Carson—sex god and puppy superhero strode into my lounge and placed the two shivering Chiweenies onto my blanket scattered couch.
    Visa (my marmalade bitch of a cat) took off down the cramped corridor in utmost disgust and betrayal. I’d brought animals home from the practice before—especially those who needed through the night care—but she never accepted sharing her space with foreigners.
    I’d named her after a joke with Polly when a few weeks into our degree, I had a craving to hold a live happy pet after dissecting cold dead ones. I had no money—my education was on a loan, my rent was on a grant from the university, even my food was on the credit card.
    It was very unwise to even contemplate more expense with a living breathing liability. But when we’d passed a pet shop with one tiny orange kitten pressing its wet nose against the glass, I couldn’t resist.
    When they asked how I was paying for her, I said what I always did ‘put it on the Visa.’
    It kind of stuck.
    “Well, this is different to what I expected.” Ryder glanced around the small second-story apartment. Instead of looking disgusted at my mess from the past few days as I worked overtime and didn’t have time to clean, he merely grabbed an old jumper on the floor and rolled it into a sausage to wrap around the dogs so they had a little bed with sides.
    Seriously, who is this guy?
    I didn’t care at all that he’d used my jumper without permission; all I cared about was how kind he was to those who needed help.
    And now, he’d turned that helpful kindness onto me.
    Stalking toward me, he splayed his hands as if I was about to bolt like a terrified pony. “I’m not gonna touch you, but I do think you should go for a warm bath. It’s best to sweat out the chill and let yourself relax.” He frowned. “You do have a bath, right?”
    I backed away, betraying myself with looking at the small bathroom down the corridor. “Yes, and no you may not see it.”
    The mess in there from the toothpaste disaster I had this morning would make me die of mortification.
    He gave me a look then took off down the corridor.
    “Hey!” Before I could stop him, he swung open the door and laughed. “What the hell happened in here? It looks like a mint crime scene.”
    I groaned, stumbling after him. “The tube was blocked and I squirted too hard.” I cringed as I looked over his shoulder. The single basin and tiny mirror wore massive globs of mint swirled toothpaste.
    “Ah, the good ole’ exploding paste routine.” He chuckled. “I’ve had that happen before.”
    “You have?”
    “Of course.” He nodded. “Come on. Don’t worry about it.” Grabbing some toilet paper (thankfully, the loo was clean), he scooped up the mess and threw it into the trash. “Now that the crime scene is clean, let’s focus on you.”
    Looking at me in the mirror, the intensity in his hazel eyes made my cheeks warm and another explosive sneeze to hurl me backward into the corridor.
    This wasn’t fair.
    Here he was—drop dead gorgeous and so sweet—standing sexually tempting in my apartment. Meanwhile, I couldn’t see through watery eyes and barely concentrate through a fever and pounding head.
    I pulled out my ponytail, massaging the back of my nape. “Why are you doing this? Just being near me might make you sick.”
    He’d been in my car for fifteen minutes driving me home, and stood close to me while washing the