Chapter 6: Carry On

"And what about you?" Maggie asked softly. "Why did you keep agreeing to my conditions?"

Why had he continued to comply, knowing she had ulterior motives? In her previous life, she’d believed her threats effective, her schemes with the Camerons successful. But in reality, they never were. Nathael was speechless, his expression tightening slightly.

"The bandage might shift," Maggie said gently, looking away. "Let me secure it around your waist. Could you sit up a little?"

Nathael silently obeyed, his gaze fixed on her. He was addicted to this tenderness, to her concern, even knowing it was feigned. He couldn't help but succumb to it.

Maggie thought little of it. She produced a long strip of bandage and carefully wrapped it around his waist. Unable to reach the end with her other hand, she leaned in, using her free hand to secure it. Nathael tensed. In that moment, Maggie realized their proximity was too intimate; she was practically hugging his waist. Her cheeks flushed, and she froze, her face inches from his, almost touching his waist.

Maggie’s throat tightened, her heart pounding. She’d long been aware of his impressive physique—the slender waist, the muscular build—and now felt it acutely, something she’d never noticed in their previous life. His well-defined eight-pack, fair-skinned and visible beneath his unbuttoned shirt, boasted a smooth, refined V-line. Long, dark trousers rested casually on his hips, exuding allure and sexiness.

"Do you like what you see?" Nathael asked, his deep voice resonating, his dark eyes fixed on her.

Maggie’s startled reaction was instinctive. Meeting his teasing gaze, she quickly averted her eyes, her cheeks burning red, the heat spreading to her neck.

"It's it's fine," she stammered, her face flushed, taking the bandage with her other hand.

"Just fine?" Nathael’s gaze lingered on her reddening earlobe, his tone gentle yet profound.

Maggie was speechless, her eyes misty with emotion. The embarrassment was overwhelming. She re-wrapped the bandage, caught in a dilemma. After a moment's hesitation, she closed her eyes, steeled herself, and leaned in further, holding her breath as she secured the bandage. Whatever, she thought, just get it done! The man’s body held a faint scent of cedar, pleasant despite the overlay of blood and medicine; it was perceptible at close range. Maggie felt dazed. In their previous life, despite her hatred stemming from an unknown truth, she’d grown accustomed to his presence. Only his scent seemed to soothe her, a fact she hadn't appreciated during their past years together, blinded by hatred. She'd seen him as a savior but had never truly cherished him. The thought filled her with self-reproach. She truly was a failure. A few minutes later, she finished, tying the bandage neatly. "Done," she said, as the medicine bottle clattered to the floor. Her hair caught on his belt buckle as she bent to retrieve it.

"Ouch," she gasped, instinctively reaching to free herself.

Nathael's gaze darkened. He grabbed her hand. "Maggie, what are you trying to do?" he asked, his voice edged with annoyance. Maggie was close to tears. "My hair"

At that moment, the sound of a lock clicking was followed by a man's voice: "Uncle, are you seriously considering?"

Marcello's words were cut short as the sight before him transported him back in time. His usually reserved uncle, partially dressed, sat on the sofa, a slender, fair-skinned woman kneeling before him. Oh my god! Marcello smirked, quietly exiting the room. "Carry on. Carry on!"

Nathael's face darkened. Maggie stared at him, confused.

A few seconds later, Maggie recovered, her face instantly flushing. "No, it's not what it looks like," she said, wanting to explain, eager to free her hair. But her angle was awkward, her hair trapped; she couldn’t lower her head. Marcello was gone, leaving Maggie speechless.

Nathael, regaining his composure, leaned over her, his voice husky and playful.

"Then what is it?"

His warm breath brushed against her head. Maggie was immobile, blushing deeply. "Don't move," she whispered, her voice soft and gentle, devoid of its usual coldness. "It hurts." She sounded genuinely charming. "Can can you help me?" she stammered, afraid to touch his belt again.

Nathael's gaze was intense. After a few seconds, he gently untangled her hair, his slender fingers deft and tender.

"It's done," he murmured. Maggie breathed a sigh of relief and stood, but her legs, numb from kneeling, gave way. She stumbled, and Nathael caught her. She paused, regaining her balance, her attention drawn to his hand on her wrist—exquisite, with slender, graceful fingers and delicate joints. The coolness of his touch was striking; she recalled his lost arm and his death in their past life.

Neither moved. After a moment, Maggie withdrew her arm. "Thank you," she whispered.

Nathael remained silent, lightly caressing his fingertips, lingering on the delicate touch.

"I I'll leave now," she said, her expression serious and solemn. "You mustn't hand over the Chronopolis project to the Camerons!"