“It hasn’t been too bad so far,” he conceded. “But you’ve been here to help me with her almost since she arrived. That’s made it a lot easier.”
She cast a rueful glance at the crutches propped nearby. “I don’t know how you can say I’ve helped you, when all I’ve done is add to your problems.”
“Not true. I’m sorry you hurt your ankle, but you’ve actually been very helpful in keeping Isabelle entertained.”
He was trying to be nice, and because she sensed that wasn’t something he made an effort to do very often, she was touched.
“Gideon,” Isabelle said then, “Nate wants to tell you goodbye.”
Gideon nodded and rose to take the phone again. Adrienne wondered if it was simply accidental that his hand brushed her arm as he stood. The jolt of response deep in her stomach seemed out of proportion to the casual touch.
Maybe her pain was going to her head. Why else would she suddenly be so sensitive to every move Gideon made, every nuance of his expressions, every slight physical contact between them? Just the sound of his deep voice as he exchanged a few more words with his brother before disconnecting the call made little shivers of awareness course down her spine.
Maybe she should take a pain pill, after all. She seemed to be on the verge of becoming downright delirious.
Gideon had lived alone for quite a long time. Though he dated occasionally, he was rarely involved with anyone for more than a few months, and even during those brief liaisons, he had never invited anyone to spend the night in his home.
His privacy served as a barrier between himself and the complications of interpersonal relationships, romantic and familial. His life just seemed tidier that way and more easily controlled.
Because he was so accustomed to his solitary surroundings, he seemed particularly attuned to the slightest atypical noise. He was silently prowling the hallways at about two o’clock Wednesday morning, because he often paced when he had trouble sleeping, when he heard a sound from his bedroom. A moan, perhaps? A low whimper of pain?
Barefoot and shirtless, wearing nothing but a pair of jeans, he hesitated a moment outside the closed door. Should he knock? Ask Adrienne if she was all right? But what if she was sleeping and he’d merely imagined the sound? She needed her rest. Besides which, the guest room was directly across the hallway, and he didn’t want to wake Isabelle.
What did he know about this sort of thing, anyway? He was no caretaker. He’d never even had a pet.
He was just turning away from the bedroom door when he heard the sound again, and this time he was convinced it was, indeed, a soft moan. He reached for the doorknob, telling himself he would just peek in and make sure Adrienne was okay. After all, she was his guest and she had been injured. It was probably his duty as a host to check on her.
It was dark outside the room, but just enough moonlight filtered in through the sheer curtains to help him make his way to the bed. Adrienne was sleeping, but it was a fitful, restless slumber. She lay on her left side, her legs curled in front of her, and even as he watched, she shifted her right leg, making a very faint sound as she did so. She had refused the pain pills before turning in—she seemed to believe that even a couple of doses would turn her into an addict—and he suspected that her abused ankle was trying to make itself known even as she slept.
He slipped into the private master bathroom, filled a plastic cup with tap water and carried it back to the bed. The pill bottle was on the nightstand. Setting the cup beside it, he shook two of the small tablets into his palm. Only then did he lean over Adrienne and place a hand lightly on her shoulder. She wore a thin satin pajama top—he assumed there were matching bottoms beneath the sheets—and it seemed to him that she felt a bit too warm beneath the cool fabric. “Adrienne?”
She shifted beneath his touch. “Mmm?”
He gave her shoulder a gentle shake. “Adrienne, wake up. I want you to take these pills.”
Even in the heavy shadows, he could see that she was frowning when she looked up at him. “What are you doing? What’s wrong?”
“You seem to be in pain. These pills will help you rest more comfortably. Open your mouth.”
It was a measure of her disorientation that she followed his instructions without protest, swallowing the pills with a few sips of water as he steadied the cup for her. He was trying to keep this impersonal, but he was all too aware that she was lying in his bed, warm and tousled and sleepily cooperative. She was an attractive, interesting and desirable woman, and he would have had to be made of stone not to respond physically to these intimate circumstances.
He might be a loner, but he was no monk.
Maybe it was the water that roused her to full consciousness. She shifted suddenly away from his helping hands and attempted to push herself upright. The movement must have jarred her injured leg; she gasped a little and went very still.
Placing a hand on her shoulder, he nudged her back down on the pillows. “Take it easy. You need to get some more sleep.”
“How did you know my leg was hurting?” she asked huskily.
“I heard you moan in your sleep when I walked past the door. Thought I’d better check on you.”
He didn’t expect gushing gratitude for his solicitude, but he was a bit taken aback when she muttered crossly, “I really didn’t need the pills. I would have been fine without them.”
He reminded himself that he didn’t like people hovering over him when he was under the weather, either. He’d been told, in fact, that he was a nightmare of a patient, but she could have at least said thanks for caring that she’d been hurting. “Just lie back and let the pills kick in. You can yell at me for my presumption tomorrow after you’ve had a good night’s sleep.”
She gave a soft sigh and reached out to catch his arm when he would have moved away. “Gideon, I’m sorry if I sounded ungracious. It’s just that I hate being incapacitated in any way. I’m used to taking care of myself.”
He settled onto the edge of the bed again. “I understand that. I don’t much like doing what I’m told, either, especially when it’s for my own good.”