When I raise my head from my sodden pillow, I become aware of my surroundings. Ayden is
comforting me with soft words and soothing my night terror with compassionate kisses. My panic
subsides at the sight of him.
“It was happening all over again. He was at the window calling to me. Oh Ayden.” Feeling suddenly
in need of protection I pull myself onto him while he sits, perched on the side of the bed like an
attentive nurse.
“It’s all over now.” He brushes back my bedraggled hair. “You’re wet through. Lie back while I get
you some fresh night clothes.” He disappears into the bathroom.
When he returns he has a fluffy white towel and a soft flannel that smells of him. “Come on, let’s
get this nightdress off you.”
Like an ailing child, I slowly lift my arms and watch him lift the saturated nighty off my clinging
skin, thankful for his attention and his love. There I sit, bare breasted and exposed but it feels
perfectly natural. I’m not embarrassed or self-conscious anymore; he’s seen me at my best and my
worst.
“That’s better.” He turns on the bedside lamp and alters the dimmer so we’re swathed in twilight.
With total devotion, he lifts my right hand and starts to wash away the perspiration from my clammy
skin; it feels luxurious.
“How does that feel?”
“Soothing.” For some reason, I can’t take my eyes off his face. I suspect he’s never done anything
like this before and yet, he appears to be relishing his role as carer. It’s a new experience for both of
us and it’s as intimate as it gets.
He swaps hands, repeats the process and, when my arms are towelled dry, he leaves me. In a flash,
he’s back, reseating himself on the edge of the bed, brandishing a freshly moistened flannel. My neck
and my breasts become the focus of his attention and, I know I’m supposed to be an invalid, but how
sensual is this? It’s not the wash-down, per se that’s affecting my libido, it’s the fact he’s the one
giving me the bed bath. Even in twilight, even with his tired eyes, and even though he’s not intending
for this to be sexual, it is. I close my eyes and moan, savouring his touch.
“You’re a wonderful nurse Ayden,” I acknowledge, keeping my eyes closed, lost in my daydream.
“Now there’s a sentence I thought I’d never hear.”
When I open my eyes, he’s grinning. “What about the rest of my body, I’m ... moist there too.”
He’s shaking his head from left to right. “Behave! If you keep making rude suggestions like that
you’ll get me fired.”
“Oh! We don’t want that. I’m going to need lots and lots of bed baths.”
“Well, then, be quiet and let me work.”
I reach out my hand and he gives it a token wash. Then pulls it to his mouth and kisses it like the
Prince he is.
“Can you lean forward?” I pull my arms to my breast to hold a little of my weight, giving him the
space he needs to wash my back. “Fuck!”
I can imagine what he’s seeing.
“That bastard! Look what he’s done to you.”
“I’m alright Ayden, it looks worse than it feels,” I lie, trying not to move or wince as he strokes the
blue and green patches running the length of my spine.
“I’m sorry.”
“Oh, don’t start that again. Just wipe.” I’m in no mood for his self-deprecation. He pats the affected
area dry and, even though it hurts like hell and I have to grip the sheets to absorb the pain, I pretend
I’m fine.
“There. All done.” He smiles, proud of his handy work.
“Good job Nurse Stone. What other services are you providing tonight?”
“What do you need?” There he stands, simply waiting for me to come up with something vaguely
sexual.
“Food! Here I am, bed-bound and you’re starving me to death.” I laugh and he’s suddenly awkward.
The thought of food preparation has him wishing he hadn’t asked.
“Right. I’d forgotten. You must be hungry.” He throws the towel and the flannel into the bathroom
somewhere, suddenly animated. I take a long, hard look at my handsome nurse. Whilst I’ve slept, he’s
showered and his hair is roughly dried. He’s wearing light blue cut-off jeans and a white V neck T-
shirt that clings to his muscular frame. I’m bolt upright, naked from the waist up with bandaged feet
and bruises yet still experiencing physical arousal at the sight of him. I pull up the duvet and try to
hold onto a little of my modesty.
With a heavy thud, he’s back and sitting by my side. “What would you like to eat?”
“What can you do?”
“Not much, but I can order anything. Just tell me what you want.”
I look around my multi-million pound hospital bedroom and give him my thinking face. “What
time is it?”
He checks his watch. “It’s just gone four thirty in the afternoon.”
“It’s Monday, right?”
“Yes, it’s Monday, and …” He’s becoming impatient.
“What about roast beef sandwiches with watercress and horseradish dressing?”
With my order placed, he stands. “We can do that. Anything else?”
“Wine.”
“No … you can’t have wine.” He’s adamant.
“I can’t? Why not?” I can’t help but pout.
“Because … because of the meds. The wine will make you vomit.”
“Vomit! That’s a bit extreme, isn’t it?”
“They’re extreme meds. You were in shock Beth.”
“But I’m not in shock now… just hungry and thirsty.”
He’s walking and laughing at the same time. “Rest. I’ll go order the beef and a non-alcoholic
drink.”
I snuggle down under the duvet. “Thank you,” I call out, but he’s gone about his next duty and is
probably too flustered to hear me. I think I’m going to enjoy playing patient and nurse.
He returns ten minutes later, seeming a little out of breath. It occurs to me that this man is used to
giving orders, having everything done for him. He pays good money for good service and here he is,
servicing me. It won’t do him any harm to learn a little patience and humility. Ask anyone who works
for him and they will say he’s a difficult boss, he’s hard to please and the standards he sets himself, he
sets others. Unfortunately, not everyone is as driven as him.
He helps me to slip on another clean night dress, but the two full glasses of water have made their
way to my bladder. “I need the toilet.”
Those four little words have him reaching for his neck. Getting me to and on the toilet is not going
to be easy and he knows it. “Okay, I’ll carry you.” He throws back the duvet and slips his right hand
under my thighs as I wrap my hands around his neck. When we get to the bathroom, he pauses. He
hadn’t thought it through. How is he going to position me on the toilet if I can’t stand? Despite his
assertion, this minor task is turning into a full scale operation.
“This is going to be a problem.” He dips me right, then left. I’m having to hold on for dear life. I
start to giggle. This is the man with his finger on the pulse of a multi-billion pound media empire and
yet he’s stumped by a simple task.
“Ayden.” He looks to me for guidance. “Just place me down on the toilet seat and I can manage the
rest.”
With a grateful sigh, he lowers me onto the seat a
nd I have to rest my weight on my toes to avoid
bringing my injuries into contact with the tiled floor. I sit, posed like a prima ballerina. “Are you
going to stay and watch?” I ask, holding up my hands.
“Oh, no. Sorry.” He turns and heads off into the bedroom.
Just then a buzzer sounds, making me jump. All I hear is, “Shit! What now?” I listen as he
addresses someone in a strained voice. “Wait there. I’m coming down.”
I hear movement and feel the need to test his ability to multi-task. I call out, “Ayden …” He sprints
to my aid, wide eyed and breathless. Sweetly I say, “I’m done.” Like a helpless child I hold out my
arms, anticipating being picked up again. With little grace he sweeps me up into his arms and strides
over to the bed at break-neck speed and places me down. There is no physical pain, but my stomach
muscles are hurting from supressing laughter; I’m fit to burst. This self-confessed, dominant man who
likes to be in complete control, is in total disarray. It’s priceless.
When he reappears, he is visibly out of breath. Grateful for a time-out, he sits down and pulls up the
duvet around my chin. When his line of sight lifts, he can see the laughter in my eyes. I recognise the
amusement twinkling in his emerald orbs too.
“Are we having fun yet?” I ask cheekily.
“No. But I think you are missy.”
Simultaneously we exchange smiles. And, right here and now, we fall in love all over again.
6
After a delicious picnic for two on my bed, Ayden cleared away the tray and asked if I needed the
toilet. Now he’s being overly attentive and turning his earlier antics into a private joke. I love that.
He returns after five minutes or so carrying my overnight bag and a collection of items from my
apartment: laptop, iPod and dock and a bag full of toiletries and make-up, literally anything that looks
remotely feminine. What a stunning porter he makes. He catches my mouth twitching ever so slightly
at the sight of him and gives me a look that says, ‘don’t you dare.’
I don’t.
“Thank you nurse Stone. Remind me to put in a good word for you to your superiors. The service
here is so good, I may never leave.”
He gives me a reproving smile. “No? Shame because I don’t think I have the stamina for the job.”
He’s grumbling but there’s not a glimmer of unhappiness behind those joyful eyes.
“I’ve disturbed the peace and you have more important things to do Ayden. Don’t think I don’t
know that.” I reach out for his hand and make room for him next to me on the bed.
“There’s nowhere else I’d rather be Beth.” I feel him squeezing my hand affectionately.
“But wouldn’t you rather be in here with me?” I tap the left side of the bed and launch my best
seductive stare.
He holds back on a smart reply. “You know I would, but there are rules …”
“Rules, what rules?”
This I’ve got to hear.
“Strict rules. I can hardly take advantage of you. You’re my guest.”
I wish you would …
“In your defence, I’m quite happy to be taken advantage of.” I offer a carefree shrug. “Besides, you
were quite happy to take advantage of me earlier….”
“You made the rules then. Now I’m in charge.” He gives me a wink and I can’t help but respond
with a broad smile.
“I see. Now I’m under your roof, finally. I have to follow your rules?”
He nods and smiles cheekily.
“Is that what your other ‘guests’ do? Follow your rules?”
Is this going to be a serious conversation?
He grasps the subtext immediately. “I don’t have guests here.”
Oh really?
“None? No ‘overnight’ guests?’”
He signals no.
“Why not?”
“This is my private place, my home. I don’t bring anyone back here.”
I widen my stare. “But I’m here.”
“This is true,” he says in his idiosyncratic way. “I intended to bring you here days ago but, like I’ve
said before, your apartment felt like home.” He strokes my hair gently, before resting his hand again
on mine.
“Is this your room?” I glance around, inspecting the pale furniture and the taupe and beige décor. It
doesn’t feel like his.
“Christ, no. This is the guest bedroom,” he states, smirking at the absurdity of my question.
“Well, I’m very glad to be here.”
“I’m glad you’re here too, if in rather dramatic circumstances … even if you have been spending
most of your time laughing at me.” He cocks his head to the right and waits for my reply.
“I’ve not been laughing at you Ayden, I’ve been laughing with you. It’s just sometimes, you forget
to laugh.”
“Inside I’m laughing,” he confesses. “But I’ve been too busy to show it on the outside.”
“I know. And that’s why I love you.” I lift up his fists and rest them against my mouth.
He unwraps his fingers, repositions them either side of my face and into my hair and plants a sweet
kiss on my lips. I lean in as far as my aching back will allow to deepen the kiss but he pulls back,
holding off on blossoming desire.
“I know that by just being here you’ll turn this bachelor pad into a home too. In fact, I’m counting
on it.” He kisses my nose, pulls up the duvet and tucks me in. “Get some sleep. Charlie’s coming over
in a couple of hours and we’ll both need to be mentally prepared if we’re going to endure her
melodrama.”
I smile happily, snuggling down. “I will.”
I’m going to like it here.
My recuperative nap is broken by the arrival of a whirlwind; there is no mistaking Charlie’s voice.
She’s making a feeble attempt to control the volume but the sheer timbre of it pierces the walls and
seeps through by way of osmosis. She’s a force of nature.
She sweeps in, leaving Ayden in her wake. I don’t need to see her face, I can visualise her concern.
I’ve seen it before. Instead, I look past her to Ayden who is perched by the door with his right hand
massaging the back of his neck in exasperation. His ‘tell’ says it all. What has she said to him? He
would love nothing more than to turn her away; after all it’s his right but, out of kindness and
recognition for our closeness, he has welcomed her into his home.
“There she is …” She outstretches her arm and hugs me, sending a surge of pain the length of my
spine. I try not to flinch but an involuntary gasp escapes my lips. Ayden catches it, winces and leans
forward, powerless to stop her.
“Sorry, sorry…,” she calls out, holding her arms out into a giant surrender pose that has Ayden
rolling his eyes.
“Take a seat,” I say, patting the space to my right.
“Oh Beth, I was so shocked. I knew something like this would happen the minute he put you back
on the radar. He has such a high profile and to drag you out of the shadows like that was just asking
for trouble.”
I won’t accept that. “It’s not like that Char. Ayden hardly dragged me. I sprinted out of the shadows
with him, willingly.”
“But you had no idea what you were letting yourself in for.”
“Yes I did and, if I had the chance to do it all again, I wouldn’t change a thing.”
“Well, you say that but I never want you to have to go thro
ugh that again.” She lifts up my
nightgown to examine my back. “Have you seen what that crazy bastard did to you?”
I lie again. “It isn’t as bad as it looks. Ayden is taking good care of me.”
“And so he should. All this is his fault.” She’s adamant.
I have to come to his defence. “Don’t say that Charlie, it’s not true. You can’t blame him. He’s not
the one who tried to break down my bedroom door to get to me. In fact, if it wasn’t for him we
wouldn’t be having this conversation.”
She pulls her hand to her mouth. “Don’t say that hon. Just the thought of it makes me feel sick to
my stomach.”
“I’ll be up and about tomorrow, you’ll see. My injuries aren’t serious, a couple of scrapes and
bruises, that’s all.” I force an amiable smile. “Anyway, I’ll have to get myself fit for your birthday
party.”
“Yay! Do you really think you’ll be up to it?
“Of course.”
“And what about Mr. P. will he be coming?” She nods her head towards the door.
“Ayden,” I say, reminding her of his actual name. “I don’t know yet, but we’ll see.” Clearly, she’s
eager to tell me all about her plans and I feel as if I’ve stolen her thunder. “Are you getting caterers in
like last year?”
“No, I’m having food delivered. People can help themselves to it. You know, the usual nibbles and
party things.” I nod, encouraging her to continue. “I’ve got a D.J. booked too; he’s going to put up a
disco ball and a big screen so we can play music videos and film clips.”
“Sounds great. I can’t wait. How many people are coming?”
“Around thirty five, enough to fill the apartment, you know… they’re bound to bring along a couple
of friends, so …”
“And is the theme the same? Movie heroes?”
“Yeah, no change there. You know me.”
I’m treated to a wide smile that is brimming over with affection. “I do. Only I don’t think I’ll have
time to pick up an outfit.”
She takes hold of my hand. “Oh don’t worry about that, I’ll pick you something up. We’re the same
size.” That fact seems to put things into perspective. “Really Beth, are you okay? Do you need
anything?”
I meet her caring eyes. “I’m fine. Don’t worry. Just don’t hug me again!” We both laugh. “Ayden
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