Chapter24 Aren't You Going to Wash My Lower Half?
Her voice carried a trace of nervousness she hadn't even noticed herself.
Clifton seemed not to have expected her sudden appearance. His hand paused mid motion while changing the gauze, then he continued nonchalantly, his tone flat and indifferent. "Just a scratch. Nothing serious."
He kept his head down, his profile appearing even more chiseled and cold under the bedroom's soft lighting.
Operating with one hand was already inconvenient, especially his dominant right hand. Fine beads of sweat even formed at his temples.
He reached for the cotton swabs on the nightstand. Probably because his arm pulled at the wound, his fingertips trembled slightly.
Crash.
The glass of water beside him fell to the floor, shattering into pieces on the expensive carpet.
Clifton's brow furrowed even more tightly.
He bent down, apparently wanting to pick up the fragments with his uninjured hand.
"Don't move!"
Miranda rushed over almost instinctively, pressing down on his shoulder to stop his dangerous action.
She quickly walked to the cabinet in the corner, retrieved a medical kit and small vacuum cleaner, and efficiently cleaned up the glass shards on the floor.
Only after finishing this did she walk over to him, kneel down, and without asking, take the roll of unfinished gauze and cotton swabs from his hands.
She used tweezers to hold a cotton ball soaked in antiseptic, gently cleaning his wound with surprisingly practiced movements.
Clifton watched her and suddenly spoke. "You seem quite skilled at treating injuries."
"Yeah, I trained in the medical office before." Miranda didn't look up, her tone matter of fact as she explained, then added, "Your arm isn't convenient. If you want water or need to reach something, just call the servants. And from now on, let them handle things like broken glasses too."
As she spoke, Miranda felt a small pang of self reproach.
She seemed to have been a bit negligent of her duties.
She'd accepted one hundred million from Prescott, taken the title of Mrs. Prescott, yet hadn't even known her nominal husband was injured. For an entire week, she'd thrown herself completely into work, paying him no attention whatsoever.
In this transaction, she seemed to have taken the money without fulfilling even the most basic responsibilities.
Thinking of this, she finished rebandaging his wound and looked up.
"I'm sorry." She said softly. "I've been busy with work this past week and didn't come back. That was careless of me."
Clifton watched that fleeting guilt cross her face, a trace of amusement flickering in his eyes.
He leaned back against the wheelchair, his lips curving unhurriedly, his tone somewhat teasing.
"A simple 'careless' and that's it?" He drawled. "How about you move back here permanently instead, and properly compensate this husband you've been 'neglecting'?"
The man's voice was deep and pleasant, yet it made Miranda's cheeks burn instantly.
"I..." She bit her lower lip, avoiding his overly heated gaze. "I'm going to C City tomorrow. My professor invited me back to give a lecture. When I return from C City, I can commute to the company from the estate daily."
"That won't be necessary."
Unexpectedly, Clifton refused outright.
What he needed was simply a wife to disguise his fully functional body and his other unknown identity. If Miranda stayed constantly by his side, hovering around him every day, that would be truly inconvenient.
However... C City?
Clifton's fingertips tapped lightly on the wheelchair armrest. An idea formed instantly in his mind.
He looked up at Miranda. His originally cool eyes suddenly took on a perfectly timed hint of loneliness, even his voice dropping a bit. "I have been cooped up at home for quite a while. It is getting rather stifling."
"As it happens, I'd like to get out for a change of scenery. Why don't I come with you to the university?"
Using his identity as the disabled Prescott heir to go to C City would both provide cover and allow him to conveniently investigate the leads there. It was a heaven sent opportunity that wouldn't alert anyone lurking in the shadows.
Miranda was stunned by his words. Looking at the injury on his arm, then meeting those eyes that held a trace of expectation, she couldn't bring herself to refuse.
That guilt in her heart fermented again.
"Alright." She nodded in agreement, promising earnestly, "This time I'll definitely take good care of you."
As soon as the words left her mouth, she suddenly thought of an extremely practical problem.
"Your arm is injured. You haven't showered yet, have you?" She looked at him. "The wound can't get wet. By yourself..."
Clifton raised an eyebrow, saying nothing, seemingly waiting for her to continue.
Miranda took a deep breath, as if making some kind of decision, a suspicious blush spreading across her face. "Should I help you wash?"
The curve of Clifton's lips grew wider. He leaned forward slightly, moving closer to her, his deep eyes gleaming with mischievous light.
"Miranda," he lowered his voice, as if tempting her, "if you want to see my body, just say so. No need to beat around the bush."
"I'm not!" Miranda's face turned completely red in an instant as she hastily defended herself. "I'm worried your wound will get infected if it touches water, which won't be good for recovery!"
Looking at the man's knowing, teasing expression, she felt both embarrassed and annoyed.
Help him bathe? Just the thought of that image made her uncomfortable all over.
"Should I go downstairs and tell Grandfather, have him arrange a male nurse for you?" She thought this idea was absolutely brilliant, both solving the problem and avoiding awkwardness.
With that, she turned to head downstairs.
But she'd barely taken one step back when a scorching hand suddenly gripped her wrist.
Miranda turned back to meet Clifton's suddenly darkened eyes. He held her hand in a vice like grip, his strength surprising.
"You want to go tell Grandfather and let him know our marriage is a sham and we've been acting this whole time?"
"Then... then what should we do?" She asked somewhat helplessly.
Clifton stared at her slightly flushed cheeks and slowly released her hand.
"You. Help me bathe."
He paused before continuing. "Besides, you just said you'd take good care of me."
Miranda had completely run out of options.
She hesitated for a few seconds but ultimately resigned herself to pushing the man's wheelchair into the excessively spacious bathroom.
Misty steam quickly filled the air.
Miranda kept her head down, not daring to look at him, her fingers trembling as she undid the buttons of his black silk robe.
One by one, the buttons came undone. The man's solid, powerful chest and defined abs suddenly filled her vision without warning.
Water droplets still clung to his honey colored skin, trailing downward and disappearing at his waistline.
She picked up the shower head, carefully avoiding the wound on his left arm, using warm water to help wash his upper body.
The bathroom was quiet except for the sound of running water and their intermingled breathing.
Finally, after what felt like a century, she finished washing.
"Done." She felt like she'd been granted amnesty, dropping the towel and turning to flee this place that made her heart race out of control.
Her arm, however, was caught precisely by him once again.
Miranda froze in place, not daring to turn around.
Behind her, the man's low, magnetic voice, carrying a trace of seductive hoarseness, slowly spoke.
"My lower half. Aren't you going to wash it?"