Fit for a Sheikh. KRISTI GOLD

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СКАЧАТЬ she couldn’t in good conscience leave him bleeding on her doorstep. He was hurt and he needed her help. Maybe she might even earn some commendation for valor. Just getting a good look at him in the light would be enough reward.

      On that thought she turned around to find he’d already made himself welcome on her green chintz sofa, his long legs stretched out in front of him, head tipped back against the cushions, his dark lashes fanning out below his closed eyes. The man was just too gorgeous for his own good. He also looked a little pasty, and she worried he’d passed out from the loss of blood. If that proved to be the case, she was calling 911 whether he wanted that or not.

      Fiona closed the front door and double locked it in case the creepy criminal had followed them. Or had she locked herself in with a criminal?

      Fiona, you are a fool. But she had to trust her instincts and her belief that she was safe with her friend, Frank.

      She stood over him, her gaze coming to rest on the gash at his thigh where she’d fashioned a tourniquet with two bar towels, there and around his ankle. She took a seat next to him to get a closer look at his injured side, pulling back the jacket a bit to find the bleeding had been minimal. She couldn’t be sure about his thigh unless he took off his pants. Considering they’d only met a few hours ago, disrobing him didn’t seem at all appropriate. But it was pretty darned tempting.

      Slowly Fiona lowered her hand toward his fly then drew back. She couldn’t do it, but she could take a peek at the cut by removing the towel, or at least until she had permission to take off his clothes. His pants, she corrected. Only his pants and only to administer some first aid.

      As she gingerly gripped the knotted towel with her fingertips, his large hand clamped her wrist with the speed of a cobra, causing her to nearly jump out of her own skin or at the very least, off the sofa.

      “What are you doing?” he asked without opening his eyes or releasing her wrist.

      At least he wasn’t comatose. “I’m trying to look at your wound. It needs to be cleaned up.”

      He raised his head and stared at her with those intense black eyes that made her want to squirm and sweat. “Do you have any antiseptic?”

      “You’re in luck. I have that and some bandages.” And limited first aid knowledge thanks to her one-year stint as a volunteer member of Shadowvale, Idaho’s, fire and rescue unit. Of course, she’d probably been on three whole calls during that time, none that had involved knife wounds. “I’ll do what I can, but I’m not making any guarantees.”

      “I would appreciate any assistance you might give me.” He gave her a look of concern. “Are you certain you’re not injured?”

      She was moved by the sincerity in his expression and his worry over her well-being. At least he had that much honor. “I promise, I’m fine. Nothing more than a scratch or two on my back.”

      “I’m relieved. I was afraid he might have cut you, as well.”

      “He tried, but I managed to keep him from doing it.”

      “Unfortunately, I cannot say the same for myself.”

      “But you saved me. I doubt we’d be here now if you hadn’t come along.”

      “Had it not been for me, you would not have been put in that position.”

      Fiona didn’t care to debate the workings of fate, so she said, “Uh, you might want to get comfortable. I mean, you might need to take off…” Why couldn’t she just say it?

      He lifted a dark brow. “My pants?”

      “Yeah. So I can see it better. Your cut. The one on your thigh. And your boots and socks, of course.”

      “Should I remove my shirt, as well?” He sounded almost amused, but then she sounded like a blithering idiot.

      Her traitorous gaze picked that moment to land on his fly. “Sure. Or I could just lift it up.” She yanked her attention back to his face. “Your shirt, I mean.”

      For a minute she thought he might actually smile, but it didn’t happen. “Anything else you require of me?”

      “Can I have my hand back now?” she asked.

      “Most certainly,” he said as he released his grip, but not before he brushed the inside of her wrist with a fingertip. Or at least that’s what she thought he’d done. Maybe she was just hovering in imagination overdrive.

      Attacked by a sudden case of the chills, Fiona came to her feet and pulled the throw her grandmother had knitted from the back of the chair. It was lopsided and an interesting shade of lime green, but it should be big enough to provide some privacy for him should he decide to undress. Of course, there was the matter of all those little holes and loose threads, thanks to Lottie’s incessant chewing. But it was the best she could do at the moment.

      She tossed him the throw and told him, “You can cover up with this,” then headed for the bathroom before she did something really stupid—like insist he remove his pants immediately so she could get a good look at all his assets. How desperate she must be to consider seducing an injured stranger. At least she’d be assured he wouldn’t be able to move very fast.

      Stop it, Fiona.

      Once in the bathroom, she rummaged through the cabinet beneath the sink, knocking over several boxes and bottles before she found what she needed. After retrieving bandages, a damp rag and some antiseptic cream, she made her way back into the living room…and nearly dropped the supplies she clutched tightly to her chest.

      Two bare, blatantly masculine legs covered in a fine layer of dark hair extended from their owner who had stretched out on his back lengthwise, his head resting on the sofa’s arm and his eyes once again closed against the light. His bare chest, smooth as a baby’s behind except for a slight shading of hair between his pecs, revealed valleys and planes of tanned muscular terrain. No shoes, no socks, no denying the man was prime perfection without his clothes. But Fiona couldn’t see anything vital due to the throw draped across his manly strategic area.

      Manly strategic area? A few hours in his presence and she was thinking in sexual military-speak. She was also thinking that she would bet her dog that he had one notable missile beneath his briefs. Black briefs, she’d guess. Maybe she would have the opportunity to confirm that. And she needed to get her mind out of the sewer and back on the situation at hand—examining his wounds, not his essentials.

      Fiona dropped to her knees beside the sofa and considered praying to Planet Mars for strength. Instead, she took the warm cloth and pressed it against his side. His eyes drifted open but she saw no indication she was hurting him.

      She focused on the cut, willing her hand to hold steady. “This doesn’t look too bad. I don’t think it even needs a bandage.” She could use one to tape her mouth closed before she moaned with approval.

      “Only a scratch,” he said, his voice grainy and seriously sensual. “I’m more concerned with my thigh and ankle.”

      Fiona was more concerned with what was above his thigh. Putting away those concerns for the time being, she scooted down and examined the gash. “This looks worse. It could probably use a few stitches.”

      “A bandage will suffice.”

      “If СКАЧАТЬ