Page 4 of Restoration

“You can use your common sense.”

“I don’t think I have much of that.” He looks around and appears to notice Jeff for the first time. “Hey, Jeff,” he says brightly. “When did you get here?”

Greg and I exchange looks, and the little twitch of his mouth makes me want to giggle.

Despite his state of mind, Edmund somehow notices. “Excuse me. No laughing at me. And no secret jokes with Greg.” He huffs loudly and squares his shoulders. “You should only have secret jokes with me.”

“Okay. Okay.” I pitch my tone to be conciliatory even though I kind of want to laugh again. “I’ll only have jokes with you.”

“Good.” He glares at Greg with narrowed eyes. “Did you hear that?”

Greg has to turn around and hurry away so he doesn’t laugh in Edmund’s face.

“All right, let’s get you to bed. Someone from the doctor’s office will be by soon to check on you.”

“Okay,” Edmund replies agreeably.

Between me and Jeff, we get Edmund back to his bedroom in the east wing of the second floor. When Edmund’s finally sitting on the side of his bed, Jeff leaves to return to his post.

I help Edmund take off his jacket and tie, then untuck his dress shirt and start unbuttoning it.

“Are we having sex?” Edmund asks in a baffled tone.

“No! Definitely not. I’m just getting some of your clothes off so you can lie down.”

“Oh. Okay.”

He sits without resisting as I pull his shirt off and then kneel down to remove his shoes and socks.

I’ve moved back up to pull off his watch when he suddenly stretches a hand out to grip a piece of my hair.

“When did you get so pretty?” he asks in a conversational tone.

I flush hot with a wave of pleasure and self-consciousness. “I look like I’ve always looked.”

“Do you? Because you’re so pretty.” He sounds almost awed as he stares at me. He gently strokes the length of my loose, wavy hair. “Why do you hide it all the time?”

“I don’t hide it. I normally pull my hair back so it doesn’t get in the way.” I set his watch on the dresser and take a few seconds to catch my breath before I return to help him with his belt.

“It’s not just your hair. When did you get that body?” His gaze is lowered now. He’s leering at my breasts beneath the thin cotton of my pajama top. My boobs are way too big to be perky. They’re full and heavy and clearly visible beneath the fabric since I’m not wearing a bra.

“I’ve always had it. I’m normally wearing real clothes.” I’m not sure why I’m trying to reply to his comments with sense and logic. He obviously doesn’t know what he’s saying. He’s never once said or done anything inappropriate with me. Sex and attraction have never surfaced in our relationship. Not even a single time.

I shouldn’t—definitely shouldn’t—be feeling all fluttery and excited because of the way he’s looking at me right now.

He’s high on some kind of drug. He’s not in his right mind.

“Oh.”

I’ve slid off his belt, so I undo the top button of his trousers. “Let’s get your pants off, and then you can lie down and sleep it off.”

He lifts his hips as I pull down his pants, and I try not to look at his body in the black boxer briefs he has on. He’s also wearing a thin undershirt, but he can sleep in that.

“Now lie down,” I tell him.

He does as I say without question. I pull the covers up over his body.

“Now the room is spinning,” he declares, staring up at the ceiling.