Read Online Expecting the Boss’s Baby by Christine Rimmer - Free Book Online Page B

moment to hit you up for a raise?”
    â€œAlways working the angles.”
    â€œA girl’s gotta do what a girl’s gotta do. Now, let me see what I’m dealing with here….”
    He lowered the bloody shirt from his forehead.
    The blood flow had slowed, which was good. But then she had to clean and disinfect the injury thoroughly and that got the bleeding going again. She dabbed and poked and pressed at the gash and the surrounding tissue until she had it clear enough to work on.
    The sewing-up took way too long. Each stitch had to be separate, so the whole thing wouldn’t come apart if one happened to break. At least she found she did know what she was doing. During that delightful survivalist weekend, they’d made her practice doing stitches on a round steak, which she’d found thoroughly gross at the time. Who knew that someday she would be grateful for the experience?
    Dax sat still beneath her hands. She knew it had to hurt, but he didn’t make a sound.
    She was sweating bullets by the end of it—from the stress, from the concentration, from the increasing sticky heat in the cabin. It was a great moment, when she finally set the scissors and needle aside. The dressing came next and that took no time at all.
    â€œThere,” she said, snapping off the disposable gloves. “Done at last.”
    He tried to smile. “How do I look?”
    â€œRakish. All the girls will be after you. The scar is going to really wow them.”
    He grunted. He was probably thinking that he didn’t need any more girls after him. But he didn’t say it. He only whispered, “Thank you, Zoe.”
    She handed him the water bottle. “Drink.” She grabbed one for herself, too, and took a big gulp.
    He screwed the lid back on his slowly. “Don’t know why I’m so exhausted.”
    She was repacking the first aid kit by then. “Maybe the crash landing. Maybe the loss of blood. Maybe the twelve stitches in your forehead.”
    â€œMaybe the codeine.”
    â€œHmm. Could be that, too—I need to look at your ankle now.”
    His lower lip had a mutinous curl. “It’s okay for now. I think the codeine is kicking in. I can hardly feel anything.”
    â€œStill, we can wrap it, for support, and you should get it elevated. Too bad we don’t have any ice…”
    â€œYou’re a pain in the ass, Zoe, you know that?”
    â€œFlattering me will get you nowhere.”
    He grunted. “There should be a six-pack of instant ice pouches in the first aid kit—good for a whole twenty minutes each.”
    â€œTwenty minutes is better than nothing—and times six, that’s a couple of hours. Every little bit helps.” She dug out the box of cold packs, put the unzipped first aid kit on the cabin floor at her feet and sat in her seat again.
    â€œJust shake one,” he said, “and it gets cold.”
    For the moment, she set the box aside. “Okay. Can you hoist that foot up here?” She patted her lap.
    He bit back a hard groan as he lifted his right foot and cleared the console. Very slowly, he stretched out his leg and gently laid his foot in her lap. He wore lightweight, low-cut hiking shoes.
    She pushed up his pant leg. “It’s swollen.”
    â€œNo kidding.” He winced as she gently probed at it.
    She untied the lace and eased the shoe off and thelow-rise sock as well, dropping them both to the floor beside the first aid kit. “Yep. Swollen. But probably not broken.”
    â€œAnd you know this, how?”
    â€œI don’t. But let’s think positive, okay? Can you wiggle your toes?”
    â€œWhy?”
    â€œI don’t know. Don’t they always ask if you can do that when you hurt your foot?”
    He laughed—a laugh that got caught on a moan. “Some nurse you are.” He wiggled his toes. All five of them. “There. What do you think?”
    They were very