"I can see yours."
Like the well-trained nurse that I am, I place my hand on his forehead as if to check for fever. "Huhuh, please continue, sir."
"I can see a spanking coming your way with fast increasing speed."
Ignoring the heat that explodes in my belly and the excited tingling between my legs, I turn my head to an imaginary doctor next to me. "Doctor, I believe the fall on his head may have caused more damage than we thought. In fact, the patient seems to be outright suffering from delusions."
Instead of playing along, Mac studies me intensely, with those magnificent eyes of his, without blinking. Blood rushing to my neck and face, I pretend the spreading blush is nothing special as I lock eyes with my favorite hunk.
"Amelia?" Mac finally says.
"Yes, Mac?" I say, a warmth in my voice that I’ve already learned he can't read for what it means.
"I'm proud of you," Mac says. The warmth in his voice enough to make me glow. "Seeing you on that stage, receiving your degree, was one of the finest moments of my life. Sorry I had to ruin it be falling on my ass."
"That's alright, Mac," I say, pinching his cheek and talking in that silly way you do to a baby. "It’s not your fault that you’re an old man now, and old men slip and fall all the time."
Mac lets out a frustrated grunt that is followed by a painful one when he makes an sudden movement.
"Mac! You have to lie still and rest," I say. The fun is gone, replaced by worries.
"Easy for you to say," Mac says. "You don't have an itch you can't scratch."
"Why didn't you say so? What do you think I am?"
"Family."
"I'm a highly trained nurse, and scratching itchy spots just happens to be my specialty," I say with nothing but hurt pride and feelings. Pretending the excitement at the thought of laying my hands on my own stepbrother isn't a providing a powerful incentive to go down this avenue, I ask Mac where the itchy spot is that needs scratching. Averting his eyes, Mac says my name in a way that tells me he doesn't want to talk about this.
"What?" Standing up, I place my hands on my hips, no part of me willing to be sent off like a little girl. Not when all I feel is like a grown woman with needs that I've ignored for ages. Not when one look at Mac, lying there all vulnerable, the form of his powerful body delineated by a white sheet that rises and falls with each deep breath that is representative of the frustration I see edged on his face, makes me crave him that much more. And besides, it isn't as if there is anything obscene about taking care of him in a medical fashion, I tell myself. I've been trained for this, and I'll be damned if I let him reject my care.
"Turning his head away, Mac tells me what I already knew to be the reason for his reluctance. "You are my sister." His voice is almost a whisper.
"You are telling me that I can't take care of you because you're my stepbrother?" I say, emphasizing the step with the hope to get through to him.
"Look, it's not that I don't want to," Mac starts and falls silent. Not wanting to break the pause that follows, I stand and wait with my back straight and my eyes on him like laser beams, even though he still isn't looking at me. It’s my fighting stance, and I know Mac knows me well enough to know that I don't go down easy. Embarrassed, his square jaw set, he finally spills the truth. "I already arranged for a nurse."
"You what?" I shout, hurt and angry all at once. "I'm a nurse, Mac! I graduated at the top of my class!" I say, blinking hard and fast, I fight to hold back the unshed tears that take me by surprise. So far, I've always been able to play it cool around Mac. Always. But right now I feel like cracking up. How unfair can life be? Yes, he is my stepbrother. So what? Who cares? I don't. But with Mac that seems the only way to define our relationship, all within the context of stepbrother and stepsister. Well, screw him. I want more and I don't care if it is wrong.
I'm only too aware that the chances of an opportunity like this ever presenting themselves is slim at best. Yeah, probably when he actually is old and senile. This is it. Once he gets up and running again, I'll be left with crumbs of his time at best. There will be weeks where I'll see him in passing at best again, even though we share the same residence. And as wrong as my conscience tells me this is, I don't have it in me to resist what may be my only shot at finally getting through to the man I love. Slowly make my taboo desires known—without creeping him out, I hope.
"Amelia," Mac starts and I'm quick to interrupt him.
"Don't you Amelia me, Mac," I say, hot tears spilling over at the thought of being rejected. "I'm taking care of you and that is the end of it."
When his eyes finally turn to me, they are filled with silent pride. Then he takes my breath away as his eyes drop and narrow, taking in my figure with the same lust, burning at my center, that I've had to deal with for years. My jaw literally drops when what it means registers. No wonder he is as insistent as me.
"Besides, I'm your stepsister," I remind him again. I know we both don't think of each other in those terms—never have—but it might be just what Mac needs to hear, to give in to the feelings that he clearly is uncomfortable with.
Mac
"I don't know," I say. I really don't know, but I do know that I need her out of here fast. Standing there like that, all stubborn with her chest stuck out—filling her blouse in a way that makes it hard not to stare, and denims that fit her like a second skin—it’s waking my cock up.
"Well, I do, Mac," Amelia says. "Now unless you want to hurt my feelings, I'll be your damn nurse."
Despite the sorry state I'm in, I'm smiling. Proud of the woman at my bedside. "Fine," I finally say, "but I still think it is…unorthodox."
"Great!" Amelia says, visibly relaxing.