Chapter 44

Serena's POV

I helped Lucas back to his bed, hyper-aware of his arm around my shoulders and the warmth radiating through his thin hospital gown. The moment he settled against the pillows, an awkward silence descended. We were alone - no nurses, no orderlies, not even Miles hovering in the background.

"Would you like some fruit?" I blurted out, desperate to break the tension. Without waiting for his response, I grabbed an apple from the fruit basket on the bedside table. As I picked up the small knife, I realized I might have made a tactical error. Years of focusing on spreadsheets and corporate takeovers hadn't exactly honed my domestic skills.

The apple twisted awkwardly in my hands as I tried to maintain one continuous peel. The skin broke repeatedly, leaving a jagged mess that looked nothing like the elegant spiral my mother used to create. I could feel Lucas watching me, and when I glanced up, I caught the hint of amusement in his eyes.

"It's... distinctive," he said, his lips quirking.

I looked down at my mangled attempt. "I suppose that's one way to put it."

"I'm afraid I don't have much strength," Lucas said, his voice dropping lower. "Would you mind...?"

I shot him a skeptical look, remembering how he'd managed just fine walking to the bathroom earlier. But something in his steady gaze made me pick up a piece of apple anyway. My hand trembled slightly as I held it to his lips.

The brief touch of his mouth against my fingers sent an electric current up my arm. My heart hammered against my ribs as he took the fruit, his eyes never leaving mine.

"It's sweet," he murmured. "Would you like to taste?"

"N-no," I stammered, withdrawing my hand quickly. "I'm not really a fruit person." I practically fled to the small bathroom to wash my hands, using the moment to collect myself.

When I returned, Lucas's expression had grown serious. "Your stomach problems - they're from all the business dinners, aren't they?"

I sank into the chair beside his bed, surprised by the sudden shift in conversation. "Yes. There was a time when I thought I had to prove myself at every opportunity. All those late nights, endless drinks with clients..." I trailed off, remembering Ian's cutting words during our breakup. Too independent. Too career-focused. Too strong-willed.

"For Ian Whitmore." Lucas's voice held a note of disapproval. "He wasn't worth it."

"No," I agreed softly. "He wasn't." I straightened in my chair, feeling something settle in my chest. "From now on, I only live for myself."

A knock at the door interrupted the moment. "Sir?" Miles's respectful voice carried through the wood.

Lucas's expression flickered with something that might have been annoyance before smoothing over. "Yes?"

"Dinner has arrived."

I watched with mild amusement as he stood frozen, dinner tray in hand, waiting for Lucas's permission like a cautious deer sensing danger. Only after Lucas gave an almost imperceptible nod did Miles dare to step inside.

I observed them both, noting how even in a hospital bed, Lucas maintained that unmistakable air of authority. His presence seemed to fill the room despite his current weakened state, and I couldn't help but admire - and slightly resent - how he commanded respect without saying a word.

"Miles," I spoke up suddenly, keeping my voice deliberately casual.

"Yes, Ms. Sinclair?" He straightened immediately.

"Mr. Harrington's hands seem weak. Would you mind helping him with dinner?"

The look of sheer panic that crossed Miles' face was almost comical. His eyes darted between Lucas and me like a trapped animal seeking escape. Lucas, for his part, appeared equally taken aback, though he masked it better - just a slight tightening around his eyes betrayed his surprise.

"I... that is..." Miles stammered, looking desperately at his boss.

Lucas's jaw tightened almost imperceptibly before he gave a resigned nod. "If you insist," he said, his tone carrying just enough edge to make Miles' hands tremble as he picked up the spoon.

I hid my smile behind my own dinner, thoroughly enjoying the awkward dance playing out before me. Miles looked like he was attempting to defuse a bomb rather than feed his boss soup, and Lucas's expression of barely concealed suffering only added to my satisfaction.

The meal proceeded in tense silence until I finished my dinner and stood to leave. That's when Lucas spoke up.

"Before you go..." His voice had lost its earlier edge, taking on an oddly vulnerable quality that made me pause. "The doctor said I can't shower, but I need help getting cleaned up. The male nurses..."

I froze, suddenly understanding where this was headed. My mind raced through the available options - both Miles and the night nurse were male, and Lucas had just cleverly eliminated them both.

"I won't be able to sleep otherwise," he added softly, and I could have sworn I saw the ghost of a smirk playing at the corners of his mouth.

I thought of the debt I owed him - the strike he'd taken for me. With a resigned sigh, I reached for a washcloth. "Close your eyes," I commanded, trying to sound clinical and detached.

His eyelids obediently dropped, but I could sense his awareness of my every movement as I began wiping his face. When I reached the buttons of his hospital gown, I hesitated.

I'd seen shirtless male models before - it was part of the fashion industry. But this felt different. As the fabric fell away, revealing his sculpted torso, I found myself having to consciously control my breathing. Even injured, his physique was impressive - all lean muscle and perfect proportions. A flush crept up my neck, and I blamed it on the room's temperature.

"Don't forget the back," he murmured, and I silently cursed his apparent mind-reading abilities.

By the time I finished, my hands were slightly shaky, though whether from exertion or something else, I refused to analyze.

"There's one more place..." he started.

"Don't push it," I cut him off, my voice sharper than intended. "You can handle that yourself."

I changed the water and gave him a fresh cloth, deliberately avoiding his gaze. The used washcloth went straight into the trash - a fact I hoped he noticed.

"Will you come tomorrow?" he asked as I gathered my things.

I hesitated. "I'll be busy with work-"

"The pain medication makes me dizzy," he interrupted softly. "And the nights here are... lonely."

I had to bite back a laugh at his transparent manipulation. "Really? Playing the helpless card?"

A slight smile tugged at his lips, but he didn't deny it.

"I'll come if I finish work early," I conceded, already knowing I'd regret this weakness. "But no more theatrical performances about your suffering."

His smile widened just enough to confirm my suspicions about his acting skills, but he simply nodded. As I left the room, I could feel his satisfied gaze following me out.