Provoked (Forbidden Crush #2)

Chapter 9

9

I can’t quite believe it. You know when your dreams come true, but they’re nothing like you imagined? That’s my life right now. Justin and I are getting married. But he’s not in love with me and definitely not planning on sleeping with me. Even if he wanted to, he’s not in any shape for that. I thought about adding a requirement for him not to yell, but I don’t think he’s capable of living up to that kind of condition. So why create an opening for him to not follow-through on the others?

Fred heads out to make the necessary arrangements. Namely, a marriage license and finding a non-gossipy judge willing to come to my house to perform the ceremony. Meanwhile, Justin is arguing with the doctors about letting him leave.

“We can’t advise it, Mr. Wilde. You need rest and quiet. You shouldn’t even be sitting up for at least another week.”

“I can lie flat on my back in my own bed as well as I can here,” he states calmly, but with a bit of a bite I recognize as his attorney voice. The doctors must recognize it too, because they acquiesce fairly quickly. And then turn to me. “One of the nurses will give you a packet of instructions and a list of supplies you’ll need.”

“Supplies?” I inquire faintly, wondering what exactly I’m going to need to do and if it’s going to involve blood. My own is bad enough, but seeing Justin’s might send me over the edge.

“You need to sponge bathe him every other day for the next two weeks, at least.”

I blush furiously and only then peek over at Justin to gauge his reaction. I can’t read his expression for the life of me. Instead of looking argumentative, he’s busy watching me with a puzzled frown.

I’m all kinds of anxious over this new development, but I can’t exactly voice them. A wife would not be squeamish about something as simple as bathing her husband. Not unless she wanted to bring questions about the true state of their marriage. I bite my lip and wait to see if Justin will change his mind. He doesn’t. Just closes his eyes with a long-suffering sigh.

“Fred will see to the transport as soon as he’s back,” he mumbles before his breathing deepens into sleep.

Slowly, I pace back and forth in front of the window. I’ve been sitting for what feels like days and there’s so much to process. I’m dying to call my best friend Rose and fill her in on all these developments, but that requires complete privacy. With Margot’s wild plan still possibly in play, I don’t dare even go out to the parking lot to sit in my car. So I pace and think and worry about Justin leaving the hospital prematurely.

Fred returns looking smug. “Medical transport will be here at six,” he announces calmly. Well, it’s Fred, so it sounds downright ominous, but it’s not.

I nod. “All the groceries were in Justin’s car,” I point out. “We’ll need food. ”

Fred looks surprised. “Your fridge was fully stocked when I checked. Maybe the neighbors took care of things?”

I shrug. And then worry. “How did you get in? Could Margot have been in my house?” My anxiety is rising as I contemplate what that could mean.

Fred shakes his head with a small scoff. “Not a chance. She’d have left signs and I’m better than that.”

It’s probably true, but if I don’t recognize the contents of the fridge, it’s all going.

I scan Justin’s body on the bed. “What about the paperwork?” I whisper.

Fred grins. “We’ll take care of that back at your house.”

Should I tell him about the sponge baths? Probably not. I’m not sure if Fred would be appalled or amused or both. Either way, I can’t see Fred nursing Justin, so sharing the information won’t change anything. I sigh again and go back to staring out the window.

I’m about to become an heiress in reality, not just theory, and I’m not sure how I feel about that. I mean, I guess I was already an heiress but a penniless one. Now I won’t have to think about money unless I either want to or plan to splash out for a yacht. Since I’m not a big fan of boats, it’s not very likely. I suppose I’ll have to start reading all the paperwork Justin sends me now. It would be easier if he were actually after my money because then he would take care of that. But then he wouldn’t be Justin, ornery and full of integrity.

Justin briefly wakes up when the medical transport team moves him from the bed to the stretcher, but then he’s out again. Fred and I follow them out to the waiting ambulance and then I drive the two of us to my new house. In no time, Justin has been transferred to my bed upstairs and I’m checking the contents of the fridge. It’s all my groceries. The ones that were in the back of Justin’s vehicle. I sniff the milk suspiciously, but it seems fine. Someone must have known who I was and taken care of things. Maybe my new landlords? They obviously have a key…

I slide the remaining casserole from when I arrived in the warm oven. We all need something nourishing and quick. I hand Fred a beer and pour myself a glass of wine before heading upstairs to check on Justin. I’m not at all sure about him being upstairs, but there was hardly time to arrange for a hospital bed downstairs or really any kind of bed there. At least there’s the adjacent bathroom, but knowing Justin, it’s going to drive him bonkers to be out of view of the front door.

If I could, I’d be pacing the length of the house and yelling into my phone right now. It’s hell waiting for the mandatory three days to get the marriage license. I need Ingrid safe now . Fred is good at surveillance, and he might be able to hold Margot off for a few minutes, but if she sends people to kidnap Ingrid or me, all bets are off. I’m not sure how desperate she is. Fred is still working on her motives.

The real and imminent danger is what keeps me from dwelling on just how crazy this is. Ingrid and me? Nobody would ever believe it, and I’m bemused that she didn’t push back harder. She must be scared to death to even consider it.

Ingrid has been in and out of the bedroom all day. Sometimes it’s with food and sometimes it’s fitting my finger for the wedding ring she’s making. I had no idea it was even something that could be made by hand. But she’s got it in her pretty head that this is a must have and it has to be just right. I think she’s nervous as hell, but about what exactly I can’t decipher. I don’t think it’s all about marrying me or Margot.

I find out after dinner. Ingrid comes in with a stack of towels, some packages of something, and a determined glint in her eye. She’s also biting her lip.

“Time for your sponge bath, Justin,” she announces, her voice full of forced cheer.

I raise both eyebrows and wait. She sets everything down on the corner of the bed and her hands flutter. When she reaches for the edge of the sheet to pull it back, she blushes fiery red. Ah.

“I’m going to do your back first,” she remarks firmly. When she pushes on my shoulder, I try to help her, but honestly, I’m still weak as a wet cat. Somehow between us, I end up on my side, facing away from her. At first I’m disappointed because I was enjoying seeing her flustered face, but the more she touches me hesitantly and then with increasing confidence, the more my cock reacts. This is not good. I try to point out to that part of my anatomy that this is young Ingrid, and that’s never going to happen. But all he notices is delicate female hands touching me all over with tenderness.

“Ingrid,” I warn when she tries to roll me back to my original position. “Probably not a good idea right now.”

“Why?” Her voice is full of innocent curiosity. And given that she’s now seen my naked ass, I can see why she’d be inquiring. She leans over my shoulder. “Oh!”

I was not expecting the delight that fills her face when I glance up. “I’ll be quick. Unless you don’t want me to be?” She’s making every effort not to laugh, biting her lip while her dark eyes sparkle.

“What’s so funny?” I mutter.

“You. If you’re good and let me finish, I’ll tell you a secret when I’m done.”

I stare at her, wondering what kind of secret she could possibly have. Reluctantly I let her roll me back, my cock now tenting the sheet spread low on my hips.

I swear Ingrid goes even slower with the medicated washcloth. I’m not sure whose modesty she’s protecting, but she washes my lower half with her hand under the sheet. No doubt that would be her excuse for taking longer if I challenged her on it. She averts her eyes as she runs the damp washcloth over my cock, but pink tinges her cheekbones. Could this get more embarrassing for either of us?

If ever there was a time to be yelling at her, this would be it. It might relieve some of the tension and put things back the way they were. That would be better than this new dynamic. Even Ingrid would agree, right? But I stay silent, my brain trying to process why this feels so damn right when everything in me says it’s wrong. When her hand pulls away completely, I’m almost sad. Ingrid bundles up the used cloths, sliding them into an empty shopping bag for the trash.

“Ingrid?” I say softly.

“Hmmm?” She’s still not looking at me.

“What secret were you going to tell me?” I demand calmly, reaching for her free hand. She’s not leaving this room until I know.