Chapter 5

The backsplash was almost mirrored, echoing the beauty of its kitchen in the blurry outlines of the reflection.

"On the table."

I jumped at the sound of the harsh voice.

I peered through the open doorway and saw a man in a wheelchair sitting in front of some windows. No, not windows. Large patio double doors. His leg was in a cast from his knee down and his arm was casted and slinged against his body. He was favoring his right side, bending over so his arm was resting against the arm of the chair. The left side of his face was bruised. Swollen with blues and yellows and blacks. He had a contusion on his head that still had stitches in it, and the nurse in me was clawing at the forefront of my mind.

And my gosh, he was ridiculously attractive.

Beyond the bruises and the swelling, there was a set of pale blue eyes. His jaw was strong and his shoulders were broad. He had long legs that were stretched out beyond the foot props of the wheelchair, and even in his shirt and sweatpants I could tell how strong he was. His chest was pushing against the fabric of the white shirt, exposing the slanted lines of his muscles. His casted arm was still throbbing with veins. His nose was prominent and his skin was tanned.

It was hard to not look at him.

"Are you going to put them down?"

I shook myself from my trance and walked through the arched doorway. There was a dining table behind the man. Ready to seat ten or twelve different people. I walked behind him and set the flowers on the table, taking in their scent one last time.

Then my curiosity turned back to the man staring out the window.

From this angle, I could see more of his beautiful backyard. At least, I thought it was his backyard. There was a stone walkway that matched the stonework on the front of the house. It led into an arch of drooping purple flowers before dumping out into a beautiful white swing made for two. The florist in me wanted to get out there. To survey it all and tend to the garden and water the flowers and even plant more.

But my eyes gravitate back to the man in the wheelchair.

His shoulders were chiseled with strength and there was a hint of a tattoo poking out from beyond the sleeve of his right arm. His forearms were thick and his back was straight, even as he sat against the sloping back of the wheelchair. Confidence oozed from him, and his booming voice lended to the power behind his pale blue eyes.

Behind his thick black hair.

Behind his strong, powerful features.

"You can go now."

Damn it. I was staring again.

"You should get that cut on your forehead looked at," I said.

I watched his reflection in the window as his empty stare hooked onto mine.

"It's on the verge of becoming infected," I said.

"I'll take it into consideration," the man said.

"Are you adjusting your cast every week?"

What in the world was I doing?

"No."

"Well you should. In order to ensure your arm doesn't lose its circumference of mobility."

"I'll take it under advisement."

Yep. This was definitely his home. He looked like a businessman, stared off into space like a businessman, and talked like a businessman.

He was even cold and distant like a businessman.

"That code for 'no'?" I asked.

His eyes flickered back to mine in the window and I could see the heat flowing through them. The want to cast me out physically without having the means to do so. I nodded curtly and walked past the man, my legs carrying me as swiftly as they could.

I knew when I wasn't wanted.

"No," the man said.

I stopped in the middle of the kitchen and turned back towards him.

And I found his gaze peering right into mine.

"Not necessarily," he said.

I nodded my head before heading back out to my car. I pulled the door open and shut it behind me, letting out the breath I had been holding. My hands were shaking and my knees felt weak. I had to lean onto the railing of the steps just to get down them.

I was ready to get out of this place and get back to work.

But I would be lying if I said a part of me didn't want to be in there helping that man.

Helping him to reclaim whatever life he was already convinced had been taken away from him.

Alfred POV

"We need to find a new nurse," Cara said. "The one the center keeps sending over can't keep up with Alfred."

"This'll be the third nurse in two months," my mom said. "We can't keep switching them out because you don't think they're adequate."

"The first nurse was flirting with him, the second was stealing, and the third can't keep up with the demand because she's not spry enough to handle Alfred. Those aren't terrible reasons for requesting another nurse, Mom."

"Then maybe we need to find another agency. You mean to tell me your father worked his entire life at that company only to be able to provide measly medical service for his own family?"

"The next center that deals in this kind of physical therapy is over an hour away," Cara said. "And Alfred's got another hip surgery soon!"

They argued all the time. Everyday. Like I wasn't even fucking there. I stared out over the backyard, wondering when the hell I was ever going to walk through it again. It had been my father and I's passion project before he died. He always wanted a garden to walk through and read in whenever he needed to get away from work. Or life.

Or Mom.

Fuck, Mom's voice was beginning to grate on my ears.

"We need to make a decision," Cara said.

"We need to stop fighting about this," Mom said.

Hell yeah, they did.

I sat there, listening to them bickering behind me. It was true. The nursing staff that had been provided for my care was less than subpar. And the second nurse wasn't stealing. Not anything that made a difference, anyway. Just some silver forks and a couple of delicate china plates.

Who the hell cared about that shit anyway?

I only cared about it if it was going in one of my luxury hotel chains.