The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire's Ex-Wife novel Chapter 173

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The Secret Pregnancy of the Billionaire’s Ex–Wife

Chapter 173:How Can You Have Sexual Desire For A Patient?

Angela POV

The hospital room greeted me with a dull hum as I stirred awake, my forehead throbbing and my right arm a useless, aching weight at my side.

Across the room, my twin children slept soundly on a small bed, the soft breathing a fragile tether to calm.

Sean sat beside me, his laptop casting a faint glow over his chiseled features. The moment I moved, his gaze snapped to mine, sharp and attentive, sending an unexpected flutter through my chest.

“You’re awake,” he said, his voice a low, silken drawl as he glanced briefly at the kids. “How do you feel?”

“Like someone took a bat to my head,” I muttered, struggling to sit up with my left arm, the right one dangling painfully.

He shut his laptop with a decisive click and leaned closer, his presence filling the space. “The doctor wants a final CT scan to rule out anything serious. Your arm’s mildly dislocated–nothing permanent, but it’ll hurt for a while.”

I dodged his concern. “When can I leave this hellhole?”

“After the scan this morning,” he replied, hesitating before adding, “You need to change first. The doctor’s coming soon.”

I glanced at the hospital gown clinging to me, stained with dried blood from my forehead. “I’ll manage.”

“Your arm’s dislocated, Angela,” he said, his tone firm yet edged with a warmth that made my skin tingle. “Don’t be ridiculous.”

“I can do it,” I insisted, though a sharp stab of pain shot through my shoulder as I shifted.

He raised a brow, lips quirking faintly. “Sure you can.” He reached for a shopping bag by the bed. “Thomas brought these–soft, easy clothes.”

I glared at him, pride clashing with necessity. “I don’t need-”

“You do,” he cut in, his voice a quiet command that brooked no argument. “Unless you want a nurse?”

The thought of a stranger’s hands on me was worse. I relented, looking away as heat crept up my cheeks. “Fine.”

Sean stood, his frame towering yet gentle as he pulled back the blanket with care. My breath hitched as he sat on the bed’s edge, his thigh brushing mine through the thin sheet.

He reached for the ties of my gown, his fingers deft as he loosened them. The fabric fell away, and cool air hit my bare torso. Instinctively, I clamped my left arm over my chest, shielding my breasts, my heart pounding as I felt his eyes on me.

“Relax,” he murmured, his voice a low rumble. Before I could protest he gently pried my arm away, exposing me completely.

My breasts hung heavy and bare before him, nipples hardening in the chill–and, damn it, under his gaze. I turned my head sharply, cheeks flaming, unable to meet his eyes.

He didn’t speak, just picked up a black lace bra from the bag. “Lift your arms as much as you can,” he said, his tone steady, though his eyes darkened as they lingered on me.

I hesitated, then obeyed, wincing as my shoulder screamed. He slid the straps up my arms, his palms grazing the sides of my breasts

-slow, deliberate.

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Chapter 173:How Can You Have Sexual Desire For A Patient?

A jolt of electricity shot through me, pooling low in my belly as his hands cupped me briefly, adjusting the fit.

My breath caught, and then–God help me–he leaned down, his lips brushing the swell of my breast in a soft, searing kiss.

jolted back, shock and heat warring in my chest. “What the hell, Sean?!” I snapped, voice shaking. “You pervert–how can you even think about that with a patient?”

He pulled back, a wicked, unrepentant grin spreading across his face

“Sorry,” he said, not sounding sorry at all. “I couldn’t help it. Your breasts are… beautiful. I lost control for a second.” He raised his hands in mock surrender. “I promise I won’t touch you again.”

My face burned, outrage mixing with something I refused to name.

He grabbed the cotton shirt next, sliding it over my arms with careful precision–first the good one, then the injured one–his fingers brushing my skin just enough to keep my pulse racing.

He buttoned it up, his knuckles grazing my collarbone, then draped a cashmere coat over my shoulders, the fabric soft and warm against my still–flushed skin.

When he reached into the bag again and pulled out a pair of silk panties, my stomach flipped. His hand slipped under the blanket, fingers brushing the bare skin of my thigh as he moved to help me.

I frøze, then yanked the blanket tighter. “No,” I said, firm and final, my voice cutting through the thick air. “I’ll do it myself.”

He paused, that infuriating half–smile tugging at his lips. “Your arm-