The Billionaire's Private Nurse

Chapter Four - Wash Me

ANNIE

I couldnt help it, my hands were back on my hips as I stared at the man in the wheelchair. I wasn’t sure if he understood the difference between “can’t” and “won’t”. I didn’t want to make him feel bad, but I also didn’t want him to wallow in self-pity. “Didn’t your physical therapist work with you on self-care skills?” I asked carefully.

He looked away from me and didn’t answer. I took a deep breath. “Okay well, we’re going to have to work together on this. You are way too big for me to do everything by myself.”

I couldn’t help but wonder how tall he was, if he was actually able to stand up. I guessed that he was probably 6’8”, or 6’9”. I helped him ease his pajama shirt off his shoulders and down his arms. As a nurse, I saw bodies of all shapes and sizes, ages and colors, and different abilities. I knew how to look at a body with strict, clinical detachment. Why then was I admiring the size and shape of his broad shoulders? The nice definition of his biceps? I studied the tattoo on his left bicep, wondering if the tribal pattern had special meaning. I felt my face starting to heat up, something that hadn’t happened since I was a young, green nursing student. I had to squeeze my eyes shut for a moment before I moved around in front of him to assist him with his pants. He was a patient. He was a client. I couldn’t think of him in any other way.

Thankfully, he is kind of an asshole, I reminded herself. That would help negate the attraction I was feeling. “Brace your arms and lift your hips, start with the left side first.” He did as I instructed, and I was able to slip the pants half way down over his buttocks. “Other side.” He lifted his body weight again, and I tugged them down over his right cheek, so that the waistband was now just under his butt. “One more time, both sides.”

He strained again, with a grunt, and I slid them all the way down to his thighs. He wasn’t wearing any underwear. I averted my eyes from his private areas, but I couldn’t help it. My face was too close, I had already seen. He was big everywhere.

Focus Annie. Be a professional.

I finished tugging his pants down his legs and put them into the laundry basket. I looked back into his face. For a moment he looked pained and embarrassed. “Did that hurt you?”

He set his jaw and looked away from me. “My ribs.”

“Oh, I’m sorry for that.” I eyed his surgical scars. “I imagine you have some adhesions and scar tissue that will make it uncomfortable, especially if you haven’t been using those muscles for a while.” That was all the sympathy I was going to afford him. “Okay, wheel yourself up to the shower, if you can, at a slight angle.” I patiently talked him through all the steps to slide himself out of his motorized chair, onto the plastic shower chair. His legs were like tree-trunks. It had only been two months since his accident, so he hadn’t yet lost his muscle tone. He wasn’t very flexible, and the movements were very awkward and difficult for both of us. By the time he got himself situated on the chair, we were both red-faced and sweating.

I stepped back and swiped my hair out of my face. “Sorry, that was awkward. It’ll get better though, I promise.” I did my best to give him an encouraging smile. My eyes scanned the shower to make sure he had everything he needed within reach. I pulled the hand-held shower head off the hook and handed it to him. “You’re all set then?”

He was staring straight ahead. His brows were knit together and his mouth was pressed into a hard line. There was a visible tic in his jaw. I was beginning to wonder if he was always angry, or if that was his usual resting face. He did not take the shower head from me. Instead, he growled, “Wash me.”

I opened her mouth to argue, but then snapped it closed again. Obviously, Mr. Greene felt he was paying for a private nurse, so he was entitled to FULL service, even when they were tasks that he could clearly accomplish for himself. I said nothing more, but reached for the body sponge and the body wash. Given that I worked for a high-end nursing agency, most of my clients were wealthy, and more than a few had the same entitled attitude. I can deal with it, I reminded myself. And I would do it with a cheerful attitude. I adjusted the water temperature, and tested it on my wrist before I started going through the motions of washing Mr. Greene’s enormous, muscular body. He obligingly lifted his arms and moved when I asked him to, but otherwise sat passively, like a doll, as I scrubbed the masculine scented soap over his skin. I washed him from the top to his waist, and then reversed and started at his feet, working my way up. More than a little water and soap splashed off from his caramel-colored skin and on to my nursing scrubs. I was sweating in the humidity, and my hair was plastered to my face. When I reached the apex of his thighs, I handed him the sponge. “I think you can handle it from here, no?”

He glared at me and took the sponge from my hand. I politely looked away, replacing the soap and shampoo in their proper places. “I’m done,” he grunted.

“Okay,” I smiled at him. “Let's rinse.” I carefully worked my way over his body with the shower sprayer, making sure I had rinsed away all the shampoo and soap residue. When I was sure he was rinsed clean, I shut off the water and stood back. “Well... that was the easy part. Now, to get you back on your chair.”

Again I saw that dark look pass over his face, so quickly that I almost thought I imagined it. I helped him towel off his body as much as I could from his seated position in the shower, and then spread a clean, dry towel over the seat of his motorized chair. “Same process,” I said, “In reverse.” I helped him wrestle his legs into position, and then used my weight to add extra stability to the chair as he tried to heave his body over. He landed haphazardly on the corner and tottered a little bit. A look of terror flashed across his face.

“Easy now, that’s alright,” I moved quickly to steady him, “That's normal at first. Use the strength of your arms to slide yourself back some more, then we’ll adjust your legs.” It took a few minutes to get him settled back comfortably into the chair. When he was able to lean against the backrest, he looked exhausted, and I felt my heart twist a little in sympathy. “Don’t worry, it does get easier.” The look he gave me was complicated and sad. I found it hard to meet his gaze when he looked so despondent. As strange as it seemed, I preferred it when he was angry.

“Okay, let's get you dressed first, then I’ll clean up in here.”

Mr. Greene grabbed a towel and covered his lap with it before he steered his power chair out of the bathroom. “Leave it,” he said tersely, “I have staff to do the cleaning.”