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“You stay where you are,” he commanded.
“Oh shoot. I’m in so much trouble.”
What was she talking about? The fact that she’d gotten herself a second cup of coffee? Yeah, she was in trouble for that. Then he walked into the bedroom where the phone sat on the bedside drawers. And he saw exactly why she was in so much trouble.
Little brat hadn’t eaten even a bite of the breakfast he’d made. He picked up her phone, putting it on the tray.
It was time they had a serious chat about rules and consequences. And it was going to end up with someone not being able to sit well.
She’s just out of the hospital. She doesn’t trust you fully. You can’t spank her. Not yet.
Damn, but his hand itched to, though.
He picked up the tray and carried it out to the kitchen, setting it down on the counter beside her. She looked guiltily up at him. “I’m sorry. I was going to eat it. But I just needed another cup of coffee before calling my mother. So I came into the kitchen and as I was pouring one, Kiesha arrived and well . . . sex toys.”
“Sex toys? That’s your explanation?”
“Do I need to say anything more?”
He snorted. Not really. He would have just accepted, ‘Kiesha happened’ as an excuse. However, eating was important and he’d left her with specific instructions.
“What did I tell you before I left for work?” he asked her.
“To eat before I had a cup of coffee.”
“And did you eat?”
“No.”
“And did you stick to one cup of coffee?”
She shifted around on the stool. “No.”
“Did you take your iron tablet?” he asked, even though he could see it on the tray.
“You know I didn’t.”
“What happened to your foot?”
“Kiesha startled me and I didn’t put the cup down fully on the counter. It slipped off and shattered. Then I accidentally stepped on a piece. Kiesha patched me up, though.”
“How bad is it? Do you need stitches?”
Shit. He should have asked her what that bandage was about straight away. He leaned down and picked up her food, lifting it.
“It’s not that deep. Besides, Kiesha would know if it was bad enough to need stitches.”
“She would?”
“Well, she was a paramedic, wasn’t she?”
“Is that what she told you?”
“You’re answering a question with a question again,” she muttered.
“Sorry.” He drew off the bandage. “Ouch, this looks sore. But it doesn’t appear that you need stitches. But I don’t want you walking on it. You need to give it a chance to heal.”
“It’s just a small scratch, Ed. I’ll be fine. I’ve had far worse.”
