Raven turned to Aidan.
Sponge bath?
CHAPTER FOUR
Raven gathered items for Aidan’s sponge bath and approached the bed.
“Aidan?” she called. No response. He lay there, not doing much more than showing a pulse. She set the pan of tepid water on the nightstand. A washcloth floated under the surface.
Where to start?
He rested fitfully in his shirt and boxers. Batman boxers. He obviously still loved his superheroes. She was not taking them off, but guessed the shirt would have to go. She slipped the fabric up his stomach, watching as she dragged the material over his abs, his ribs, waiting for any change in Aidan’s reaction. Any awareness. There wasn’t. He was sleeping like the dead. It seemed extreme that if she didn’t give him sponge baths he might actually end up taking a dirt nap. It was just a fever. Granted a high one. So he’d lose some brain cells. They were all going to grow old and senile anyway. He’d get there faster.
She grumbled under her breath as she pulled the shirt up and over his head. “Oh, my.” She gulped catching full sight of him without his shirt. He’d kept himself in shape. Carved muscles were hot under her hands. Hot with fever. Her gaze jerked back at his face. Nothing. She turned back to his chest. Her eyes took in the smooth burnished skin, the dark nipples, the washboard abs, traveling lower to the groin muscles before his boxers covered the rest.
Maybe she should take off his boxers.
No. Absolutely not.
On a huff of disgusted breath, she grabbed the cloth and wrung the excess water out of it. She laid the washcloth on the side of his face, gasping in surprise when he moaned and turned his face into the cold material. She held her breath as she moved the cloth over his cheek. Rewetting the cloth, she ran it along his chiseled jaw, over his collarbone, slowly dipping into the hollow of his throat. He moaned again. She stopped and waited, breathing easier when he didn’t do anything else. She dragged the washcloth over his chest, around his erect nipples.
She’d made love to this body. Worshipped it. They’d both been young. He’d grown into a man since then. He’d had a lanky body before. Thin, wiry, made of long lean muscle. Now he was a man with a man’s body. His chest had spread, filled out, his shoulders and arms were muscled and thick. The body of a man who knew how to work. She’d heard he’d continued to commercial fish in Bristol Bay every summer with Earl. She ran her hands over his biceps. Obviously that was how he’d built these guns. She found herself licking her lips, and feeling a bit hot herself. She tossed the washrag into the pan of water and stood, running her hands through her hair. Absently, she started to braid the long length of it as she walked toward the window, in a vain attempt to cool off.
The snow was beautiful. White, pure, peacefully blanketing the earth in soft big flakes. She loved days like this, usually. There was nothing to do but wait the weather out. Snow days gave her the opportunity to lose herself in her pottery studio. She didn’t have to drive anywhere. Errands were put on hold. She usually would throw something in the Crockpot and settle in front of her wheel and mold one creation after the other. But not today. Today she was stuck being a nursemaid. She glanced back to Aidan. And she shouldn’t like it as much as she was.
After braiding her hair, she retrieved the tie she’d put in her pocket last night when she’d released it. A quick twist and it was secured and out of her way. She opened the window and let the cold air into the room and turned down the thermostat so the heat wouldn’t kick on. She wasn’t spending the next few hours sponge bathing Aidan’s body to bring down his temp. Outside forces would have to help.
Raven returned to the bed and took a deep breath, picking up the rag and starting where she’d left off. Cooling down the room would hopefully cool her down too.
She ran the cloth down his ribs, over one side then the other. Reaching his six, no, eight pack of abdomen muscles, she rewetted the cloth. She traced each muscle. Admiring his form, the beauty of a well-conditioned male body. That was all. She could appreciate the beauty of his body even if she didn’t appreciate the soul of the man inside of it.
She dragged the rag across his belly button, dipping inside then trailing to the waistband of his boxers. She noticed that something was awake. Very awake. Her eyes flew to Aidan’s face, where he regarded her with his lids at half-mast.
How long had he been conscious? How long had she spent tracing each muscle on his abdomen?
She felt herself blush. His hands reached up and grasped her shoulders.
Oh, crap.
She read the intent in his slumberous, heated gaze just as he dragged her up his body. She should stop him. But then she was face to face with him, chest to chest, groin to groin, and he angled his head toward hers.