Forbidden Passion
Chapter 229 She's Definitely Got a Fever of a Different Kind

Theodore's brow furrowed involuntarily. "Who told you women are accessories to men? In this day and age, women don't need to depend on men to survive. How can you harbor such an outdated notion?" Vanessa was at a loss for words, "Outdated?"

He nodded earnestly, "Yes, outdated. Such thoughts are unacceptable. Don't ever say things like 'women are accessories to men' when you're out. That kind of talk could get you in trouble." Vanessa couldn't help but laugh and cry at his serious demeanor. How had they even stumbled onto this topic?

"I'm a bit thirsty. I'm going to get some water."

After making her remark, Vanessa turned to fetch a glass and poured herself some water, contemplating their conversation. That's when it struck her.

Theodore hadn't even answered her question.

Delivery arrived with the cold medicine, and Phoebe, who had paid for it online, came in carrying a large bag of it just as Theodore was bringing out dishes from the kitchen.

He still wore a homey, white-and-yellow checkered apron, the quintessential image of a domestic man-sophisticated and attractive. She couldn't resist a second glance.

For some reason, an image flashed through her mind where he wore nothing but that apron. The thought was unexpectedly alluring.

She was only imagining that scene...

Whoa, and now she felt like she was going to have a nosebleed.

She quickly averted her eyes, shocked by her own daydream, and went inside with the medicine. Mrs. Reynolds observed her flushed face with concern.

"Phoebe, you're so red. Do you have a fever? Sit down and let me feel your forehead," Mrs. Reynolds gestured, rushing over.

Phoebe felt incredibly awkward inside.

She wasn't feverish, she just had her cheeks flushed at the thought of something definitely PG-13.

Leaning in, Mrs. Reynolds reached out to feel her forehead, then touched her own, seemingly unable to determine if there was a fever or not.

She turned her head towards the dining room and called out, "Theodore, could you come here and check if your wife is running a fever? I just can't seem to tell." Phoebe's heart skipped a beat.

Theodore's brows were knitted tightly together, still holding a grudge against her for saying she didn't care about him earlier.

When Mrs. Reynolds noticed he hadn't moved an inch and his mother's voice rose a couple of octaves, "Theodore, did you hear what I said?"

Seeing an unusual blush on Phoebe's face, Theodore feared she might have caught a cold from the rain and set aside his annoyance, striding over to her. Phoebe remained quiet.

As he moved closer, Phoebe instinctively felt a slight resistance they had just had an argument in the guest bathroom, and now what was this about? However, under Mrs. Reynolds' watchful eye, she couldn't bear to make Ted lose face.

In the midst of her panic, a cool large hand rested on her forehead, and all her scattered thoughts vanished, focusing solely on the sensation of his hand. What was up with him, his hand being so cold? Was it a sign of poor health?

No, that's none of her concern. Besides, from what she could see, he didn't seem like someone with health issues. But why were his hands so chilled?

While she was getting lost in her wild thoughts, the hand that had softly touched her forehead retracted subtly. He stared at her flushed cheeks for a moment and then sneered coldly, "Mom, you're right, she's definitely got a fever of a different kind."