Christmas in the Billionaire's Bed. Janice MaynardЧитать онлайн книгу.
instinct to touch her was one he had to ignore.
“Emma,” he said quietly, not wanting to startle her.
She moved restlessly but didn’t open her eyes.
“Emma.”
This time her eyelids fluttered. A small smile curved her lips before she realized where she was and with whom. Immediately, a mask slipped over her features. “Aidan. I told you to go. I’ll sleep ’til morning.”
Fishing the bottle of pills out of his pocket, he shook a couple of tablets into his palm. “The doctor gave you enough pain meds to last until we can get your prescription filled tomorrow. You’re an hour past due, so you’d better take them. And at least eat a few bites of food.”
She took his offering with visible reluctance and washed it down with two sips of tea. When he brought the grilled cheese, she stared at it. “You cooked for me?”
He felt his face redden. His lack of expertise in the kitchen was well documented. “It’s a sandwich,” he said gruffly. “Don’t get too excited. I’ll be back in a minute with a glass of milk. That might help you sleep.”
When he returned, she had managed to finish half of the meal. He held out the tumbler of milk and waited until she drained most of it. Already, the simple exertion of eating had taxed her strength. She was as pale as her bedding, and he saw her hands shake before she tucked them beneath the sheets and settled back into her original position.
“Do you want the lights off?” he asked.
“I suppose. Please leave, Aidan.”
He flipped off all except the bathroom light. Leaving that door cracked an inch or so, he took one last look at the patient. “Go to sleep. Everything will be better in the morning.”
* * *
The chair and ottoman were more comfortable than they appeared. With the gas logs flickering and a couple of woolen throws in lieu of blankets, he managed to fall asleep. His dreams were a mishmash of good and bad, past and present.
Somewhere in the middle of the night a crash jerked him out of his restless slumber. Leaping to his feet, he headed for Emma’s room, almost sure the noise had emanated from that direction.
He found her in the bathroom surrounded by the broken remains of a small water glass she kept on the counter. “Don’t move,” he barked. Her feet were bare. Scooping her up, he avoided the worst of the mess and carried her back to bed. “Why didn’t you call me?” he grumbled.
“I didn’t need a witness for that,” she snapped. Even drugged and injured, she had spunk.
Smothering a smile he knew she wouldn’t appreciate, he tucked her in and straightened the covers. It was still another forty-five minutes before she could have anything for pain. “How do you feel?”
She shrugged, her expression mulish. “How do you think?”
Evidently, the ladylike manners were eroding in direct proportion to her unhappiness. “Sorry I asked,” he said drolly, hoping to coax a smile.
But Emma turned her back on him. “Don’t be here when I wake up,” she ordered, the words pointed.
He shook his head though she couldn’t see him. “Do you want me to bring in the medicine when it’s time?”
“No.” She burrowed her face into her arm. “I can take care of myself.”
* * *
Emma had cause to regret her hasty words only a few hours later. When pale winter sunshine peeked into her room, she stirred and groaned. Today was worse than yesterday, and that was saying something. Of course, part of the problem was her stubborn pride. It was long past time for a pain pill, and she was paying the price.
She eased onto her back and listened. The apartment was silent and still. For a moment, she panicked about the shop, and then she remembered it was Sunday. Well, she wasn’t going to get any relief until she took something, so she had to get out of this bed.
Cursing softly when pain shot up her thigh, she grabbed hold of the foot rail and found her balance. Her slippers were tucked beneath the edge of the bed, but if she bent to retrieve them, she was fairly certain her headache would ratchet upward about a million notches.
Tiptoeing on icy feet, she went in search of the elusive pill bottle. What she found was Aidan, sleeping soundly beside the hearth. Her shock was equal parts relief and dismay. His longs legs sprawled across her ottoman, his shoes in a jumble nearby. Though his neck was bent at an awkward angle, he snored softly, irrefutable evidence that he was actually slumbering.
She counted the breaths as his broad chest rose and fell. Though she couldn’t see his eyes, she knew their color by heart. Hazel, beautiful irises that changed with his mood. Lately all she had seen was the dark glare of disapproval.
His thick hair was mussed. The top three buttons of his shirt were undone, revealing a dusting of hair below his collarbone. The intimacy of the scene curled her stomach with regret and sharp envy. No doubt there was a woman in New York who had laid claim to this beautiful man. But Emma had known him before...before he had acquired the spit and polish of a successful entrepreneur.
As he slumbered, she finally caught a glimpse of the boy she had known. After all, even at twenty-one she and Aidan had been little more than teenagers. They’d had no clue what forces could tear them apart, no way to understand that life seldom produced fairy-tale endings.
The old Emma would have curled into his embrace, not waiting for an invitation, confident of her welcome. Wistfully, she allowed herself a full minute to watch him sleep. But no more.
Easing past him, she spied the bottle on the end table, scooped it up and retreated before the lion awoke and caught her gawking at him. Her bravery extended only so far.
Though she would sell her soul for a cup of hot tea, that luxury would have to wait. The simple task was more than she could handle at the moment, and she had leaned on Aidan far too much already.
Thankfully, he never stirred as she retraced her steps. The partial glass of milk from the night before still sat beside her bed. It wouldn’t have spoiled in this amount of time, and she needed something to coat her stomach. Wrinkling her nose at the taste, she swallowed the medicine with one big gulp of liquid.
Though she had heard Aidan clean up the mess in the bathroom, she knew it was foolhardy to go in there again with bare feet. So she forced herself to slowly and carefully retrieve her footwear from its hiding place beneath the bed. When she straightened, she saw black spots dancing in front of her eyes and her forehead was clammy.
Even so, her immediate need was pressing. After a quick visit to the facilities, she washed her face, brushed her teeth and shuffled back to bed. She didn’t even bother glancing at the clock. What did it matter? She had no place to go.
* * *
Aidan breathed a sigh of relief when he heard Emma’s door shut. He’d heard her the moment she climbed out of bed. Feigning sleep had seemed the wisest course of action. But he hadn’t anticipated how strongly her silent perusal would affect him.
What was she thinking as she stood there and stared at him? How did she reconcile the way they had left things between them years ago with her current choice to live in Silver Glen? She had to possess an agenda. There was no way she could call such a thing coincidence. She was far too intelligent to try that tactic.
The only explanation was that she had come here intentionally. But why?
He told himself it didn’t matter. And he almost believed it.
Scraping his hands through his hair, he sat up and put on his shoes. As he rolled his neck trying to undo the kinks, he wondered how long it had been since he’d spent a platonic night on a woman’s sofa.
Emma would probably sleep for a few hours now that she had taken her medicine. Which meant he had time to drop off her prescription, grab some breakfast