Chapter 233

Serena's POV

It felt ridiculous asking, but his hovering had me worried. Lucas Harrington wasn't exactly known for playing nurse, even if he did have two kids.

A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth, and damn if it didn't make him look even more handsome, despite the butterfly stitches above his eyebrow. I quickly looked away.

"No amputations necessary," he said, his deep voice carrying that hint of dry humor. "Just a fractured tibia, some cuts and bruises, and enough blood loss to keep the trauma team busy for a while. But doctor says you'll make a full recovery."

My eyes drifted to his bandaged hands. "What about you?"

Though I wasn't seriously injured, I couldn't help but worry about his condition. While Lucas hadn't been in the car crash himself during my rescue, he had sustained several injuries. I noticed both his hands were wrapped in bandages, yet here he was, carefully helping me drink water.

"I'm fine," he responded in his characteristic understated manner, his deep voice carrying that quiet authority I'd grown familiar with.

I swallowed hard, feeling a wave of emotions threatening to overwhelm me. There were so many things I wanted to say, but I couldn't find the right words. My exhaustion didn't help-every part of my body felt heavy, drained of energy.

"Rest a bit more. I'll get you some soup," Lucas said, rising from his chair with a fluid grace that belied his injuries. He left the room with measured steps, his broad shoulders carrying a tension I hadn't noticed before.

Propped against the pillows, I took in the spacious room around me. I knew we were in Portland, but where exactly? Was this one of Lucas's private residences? If it was his place, would Rachel Thorne show up here? The thought made my stomach clench.

I pressed my lips together, my mind drifting to Atticus Thorne. How was he doing now? I didn't want him dead-not just because of the value of human life, but because Atticus could provide the protection I needed. In my ongoing conflict with Rachel, he was my strongest ally.

After letting my thoughts wander, I instinctively reached for my phone, only to remember it had been destroyed in the crash. The memory of flames licking at the wreckage flashed through my mind.

I let out a quiet sigh just as the door opened. Lucas returned with a bowl of soup, his movements careful and deliberate. He must have had it prepared, anticipating when I'd wake up. The realization stirred something in my chest, but I kept my expression neutral.

"The doctor recommended something light but with enough salt to help restore your strength," he explained, settling into the chair beside my bed. "It's a vegetable soup-simple, but it should help." With his bandaged hands, he carefully scooped up some soup, gently blew on it to cool it down, and brought it to my lips.

I glanced at the spoonful of clear broth with tender vegetables floating in it. The moment I tasted it, something shifted. The subtle seasoning awakened my appetite, and soon I was eagerly accepting each spoonful he offered. Before I knew it, the bowl was empty, and I found myself wanting more.

"Would you like another serving?" he asked, noticing my lingering gaze on the empty bowl.

"Yes," I admitted, feeling slightly embarrassed by my eagerness.

"The doctor advised smaller, frequent meals for now," he said, his tone gentle but firm. "Your system needs time to adjust."

I shot him a look-was he really going to tease me like this?

A hint of a smile played at the corners of his mouth as he reached out and smoothed my hair with his hand. "Be patient," he said softly. "You can have more in a little while."

I turned away, pretending to be annoyed, but feeling a warmth spread through my chest at his touch. He gathered the dishes and left the room, returning moments later empty-handed.

The space around me exuded understated luxury - walls adorned with abstract art, floor-to-ceiling windows offering a breathtaking view of the skyline, and designer furniture that spoke of refined taste rather than ostentatious wealth. Lucas was the only one present; the private physician he'd mentioned earlier was nowhere to be seen.

"Would you like me to call Stella to keep you company?" Lucas asked, his deep voice gentle. He continued, explaining, "The doctor says given your current condition, you'll need complete bed rest for at least three to five days. It'll take about two weeks before you can move around normally - by normally, I mean regaining full mobility except for your leg. The fracture itself will take at least three months to heal completely."

I didn't want Stella to see me in this vulnerable state. The thought of causing her any distress made my heart ache. "No, that's alright," I replied softly.

"Very well," he respected my decision without pressing further.

The room fell into a heavy silence. The awkwardness of the situation - being in his private quarters, dependent on his care - finally got to me. "I need to use the bathroom," I admitted reluctantly.

"I'll carry you," he stated matter-of-factly, moving toward me before I could protest.

But as he began to lift me, he noticed the IV line still attached to my arm. Glancing at the nearly empty bag of fluids hanging from the chrome stand, he gently laid me back down. "This is just a nutritional drip. Now that you've eaten, we can remove it. It might sting a bit," he warned.

"Okay," I nodded, trying to mask my discomfort.

His movements were practiced and precise as he removed the IV catheter, applying steady pressure to the site afterward. The duration of his touch seemed unnecessarily long.

"That's enough," I urged, growing increasingly uncomfortable for more reasons than one.

"It's a permanent catheter - we need to maintain pressure longer," he explained patiently.

"I really can't wait," I confessed, my dignity warring with physical necessity.

Finally understanding the urgency, he instructed me to keep pressure on the site myself before carefully lifting me into his arms. The master bathroom was a marvel of marble and glass, but I hardly noticed as he carefully set me down beside the custom-heated toilet seat. Before I could say anything, he'd already helped me out of the loose-fitting clothes I was wearing - his clothes, I realized belatedly.

"Go ahead," he said calmly, as if this wasn't the most mortifying moment of my life.

Gingerly settling myself, I glanced down at my clothing. I remembered I'd been on my period, but there was no pad, yet everything was clean.

Seeming to read my thoughts, he stated simply, "It ended yesterday."

My head snapped up to stare at him. So he had... taken care of that too? My face burned despite my usually unflappable demeanor in the boardroom. All my years of handling million-dollar negotiations hadn't prepared me for this level of intimacy.

"I wasn't sure about the best approach, so I used premium adult care products," he continued matter-of-factly. "The flow seemed moderate..."

"Could you please step out?" I interrupted, unable to handle any more detailed commentary about my bodily functions.

"Ah," he glanced at my flushed face. "Call me when you're done. The doctor emphasized that you absolutely cannot risk a fall in your weakened state. The consequences could be severe."

"Just go!" I pleaded, at my limit in more ways than one.

After I'd finished, he carried me back to the California king bed with its impossibly soft sheets. Wanting to feel somewhat more put together, I said, "I'd like to freshen up a bit, wash my face."

"We'll do it here."

After settling me against the cushioned headboard, he disappeared into the bathroom, returning with a crystal bowl of warm water and what appeared to be hand-pressed Egyptian cotton washcloths. He moved to begin washing my face himself.

"I can manage," I reached for the cloth, feeling stronger after having eaten.

He didn't argue, simply helping by wringing out the cloth as I wiped my face, hands, and neck.

"Would you like to clean up more thoroughly?" he inquired.

The suggestion made me realize how much I yearned for a proper shower. "Could I take a bath?" I asked hopefully.

"Yes," his immediate agreement surprised me.

"On one condition," he added, his expression serious. "I'll have to help you."