“Where did you get these?” She caught the look shared between Fiona and Fox.
“I ordered them off the Internet,” he mumbled.
“With whose help?” Raven shot a look at her mother.
“With mine,” Fiona answered, raising her chin. “I didn’t see the harm in it, and besides, I’ve read them and they are quite good. It’s nice to know that Aidan has made such a success of himself.”
Raven picked up the glossy book and thumbed through it, a little smaller than the size of a magazine but bound like a novel. The pages were full of vibrant colors, the words captured in bubbles. Kind of like the old-time comic books, but in a much more elegant, sophisticated style. She immediately recognized the level of talent it would have taken to draw the characters and settings. She glanced at the front where Aidan’s name was prominently featured in bold letters. “Can I read this?”
Fox looked worried. Appropriate content? Right.
“Sure, but keep an open mind, Mom. See the whole story, not just a few of the scenes. Okay?”
Raven raised a brow but nodded.
“Who is taking a lunch tray to Aidan?” Fiona asked. “Fox or you?”
She raised her hand. “I will.” She didn’t want her son getting more attached to Aidan than he already was.
“But, Mom,” Fox objected. “I wanted to.”
“Is your homework done?” She nailed him with a look. “Chores?”
“No, and no,” he muttered.
“Get them done then. Besides, Mr. Harte needs a lot of rest so that he can recover quickly.” And get the hell out of their lives before he really messed them up more than he already had.
CHAPTER SIX
Raven walked into Aidan’s bedroom, balancing the tray on one hand. The bed was empty. Could she be so lucky? She heard colorful words coming from the bathroom. Guess not. She set down the tray on the nightstand and followed the cursing. Aidan was sprawled out on the floor, one of his crutches completely out of his reach by the linen closet. “What are you doing?”
“Trying to take care of myself,” he growled like a wounded bear.
“You’ve been in bed with a fever for two days. I won’t even bring up the trap. You have no business getting out of bed. You want a relapse?”
“I need a shower.” He looked at her with that same look Fox developed when he decided he had to do something right this minute and was going to be stubborn about it.
“And you thought you could accomplish that by yourself?” He was just like any other man. Stupid.
“You want to give me a hand?” he asked. “Help me undress, soap me up, dry me off?” He raised that brow of his, suggestive and sardonic at the same time. How did he do that with one look?
“No, I don’t want to help you.” She stuck her hands on her hips. “I’ve been giving you sponge baths for two days. Believe me, you are clean. You don’t need a shower.”
“So…” He cocked his head to the side. “I didn’t dream that?”
The sponge bath or the kiss followed by the almost sex? She felt heat rise in her cheeks. Just what did he remember? “Dream what?”
“You. Us. On the bed. Together. My fingers inside—”
“Dreaming!” she interrupted. “You definitely were dreaming that.”
He gave her a look that said he wasn’t buying it, but he let the subject drop. “You going to help me up, or leave me here on the floor?”
She would have loved to leave him on the floor, but she was never one for tormenting someone. Unless it resulted in pleasure for them both. Like that time she had—
What was she doing? Remembering their sexual escapades wouldn’t do either of them any good. She walked over to the crutch that had skidded across the floor and picked it up. “How did you end up in this position anyway?”
“Reached to turn on the shower. Lost my balance and came down on my bad leg. It gave out, and I went down.”
She pursed her lips. “Do you think it’s broken then?”
“I don’t know. but it hurts a hell of a lot.”
“It’s supposed to stop snowing sometime this afternoon. They’ll get the plows out here hopefully tomorrow or the next day.” Until then, it looked as though she was stuck playing nursemaid.
Why didn’t the reality of that upset her as much as it had earlier?
Aidan sighed with relief once he was back in the bed. The trip to the bathroom and then the literal trip in the bathroom had taken what strength he’d had. The fever had zapped him of everything it seemed. He was shaky, tired, and his head pounded like an Inuit drummer calling for the sun. He watched through narrowed lids as Raven tended to him. Her actions were fast and choppy like she was nervous.