Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

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      “It’s a six-inch blade, not a thorn from one of your rose bushes. Tweezers won’t work.”

      “What am I supposed to use then?” She hated to snap but forgave herself. Stress wasn’t the word for the past twelve hours.

      “Pliers.” He gasped the word. She felt the edge of the “splinter.” It wasn’t wood. Could he be right?

      The toolbox on the dusty workbench belonged in a museum, but tools were tools—even if they had embossed handles and brass decorations. She found two pairs of antique pliers. She’d try the needle-nosed ones first. “I found a couple of pairs,” she called. “I’m running upstairs to sterilize them.”

      “Don’t be silly!”

      That did it! Here she was, preparing for battlefield surgery in her basement, and he called her silly. “They’re filthy, Christopher. I have to go upstairs. I’ll be back.”

      “Sepsis is not a worry right now.”

      “It might be later. Give me a couple of minutes.”

      He had the nerve to frown at her. “I’m immune to human infection. I’m not immune to this blade. If you don’t get it out, I’ll extinguish and solve the problem.”

      Not while she lived and breathed! With the cold stone hard against her knees, she looked down at his wound. It did seem redder and larger than before. She had to use both hands to ease the flesh open. Doubts hit her like hailstones. Could she do this? Band-Aids and nosebleeds were one thing, but this…If she didn’t, he’d—what was the word? Extinguish. A cold twist seized her heart. “I’m afraid I’ll hurt you.”

      He half-turned on one shoulder, his eye pale in the gloom. “Dixie, my darling. Get it out. Please!”

      She pried open the engorged flesh over the wound. Deep in the rent, the rough edge of the blade moved as she applied pressure. She closed the needle-nosed pliers over the edge, gripped tightly and pulled. The pliers slipped and he caught his breath as the sharp point scratched the soft, swollen flesh.

      “Sorry. I’d better use the big ones.”

      “And you thought tweezers would work.”

      “Quit complaining! You insisted on an amateur! I wanted to take you to a hospital.” The nose of the pliers dug into the flesh on either side of the cut but they locked and held as she pulled. The blade shifted. A tad. “It won’t budge. Let me get you to a doctor.” She heard panic in her voice.

      “Dixie, it’s okay.” He might have been an adult calming a scared child. “You can do it. Pull with all your strength. Remember how you tipped the table and gave James a meal to remember? You were strong enough then.”

      “How did you know about that?”

      “Village telegraph.” His chuckle turned into a grimace of pain.

      “Lie back down. I can’t do anything with you staring at me like that.” Or rather her body did plenty but not what she wanted. Pliers locked back in place, she tightened both hands on the ridged handle and pulled from her shoulders. “I think it moved.” Had she imagined it?

      “About an inch. Five more to go.”

      “You can tell?”

      “Oh, yes. Give it another tug.” She ground her teeth and pulled until she grunted. The knife moved but she stopped when she heard a grating sound like stone on metal. “Why stop? It was moving.”

      “I hit something. Perhaps a vital organ.”

      “I only have one vital organ and I’m lying on it.” Only a male could make cracks like that. Her hands tightened again. She tugged until she felt sweat beading on her forehead but the blade yielded, grating again, and then stopped moving. “It’s jammed between my ribs. You’ll have to pull hard.”

      “I have been pulling hard.” Sweat trickled under her arms and down between her breasts. This was harder than lifting weights.

      “Don’t give up on me. It’s like acid in my flesh. Dixie…please…”

      His agonized whisper ripped her heart in half. Here she was, worrying about sore hands, and he had a knife blade lodged between his ribs. With every muscle in her hands, she clenched the now-warm pliers. Bracing one knee against his side, she pulled. Sweat ran down her nose. The sinews in her neck tightened and pressed against her skin. Her shoulders shook. She tasted blood as she bit her own lip, but the knife gave. Scrape by agonizing scrape she worked it between his ribs, hoping he was right about no internal injuries.

      Just as the blade narrowed to a point it jammed tight as if unwilling to concede defeat. She swore, first under her breath, then aloud as she braced her knee and shoulders for a last effort. For one awful moment, she feared it was stuck tight in the fissure between his ribs, then it came clean and she fell backwards, legs sprawled as she yelled out, “Got it!” And the pliers and blade shot out of her hand to clatter on the stone floor.

      Christopher leaped to his feet. Still a little wobbly on his legs, his strength seemed to return as she watched and his two-hundred-carat smile lacked nothing. She stared up at his face, refusing to look lower. Damn him! Here he was, as naked as the day he was born, grinning down at her. Taking the hand he offered, she scrambled to her feet, looking everywhere but at the most obvious part of him.

      “Okay now?” she asked, looking up at his eye that gleamed as it met hers. He smiled. She felt the sweat pooling between her breasts as she read the desire in his eyes, smelled the need on his skin, and saw his thoughts.

      “You have blood on your lip.”

      The words etched horror in her heart. She hadn’t saved him so he could feed off her! She took two steps back. He didn’t move. Could he? Would he? “You can’t stand here naked! Get dressed!” She waved at the blue plastic bag on the floor, her chest heaving so fast she had to spit the words out.

      “Your blood…” His eye flickered and faded as it fixed on her lip. Her heart raced. Surely even he could hear the thumping.

      “I’ve got you some blood. Upstairs!” She turned and ran up the uncarpeted stairs.

      The door slammed at the top of the stairs but nothing stilled the fear that hovered in the air around him. He’d acted like the monster she believed he was. She’d saved his life. Heaven only knew how. He’d been barely able to lift his head by the time Caughleigh and his cohorts arrived around midnight. The coming dawn he’d sensed through his fog of pain, and as the sun rose…He shuddered at the memory. Somehow Dixie had spirited him from the garden of hell.

      She’d brought him here to rest until dusk, removed the witch blade from his side, and he’d frightened the dickens out of her by lusting after her blood. He stared down at his recovering body. Abel! No wonder she’d fled. She probably thought he was going to rape her. He owed her a dozen explanations, and he could only spare a couple at the most. But first he’d better dress. The blue plastic shopping bag lay on the floor where she’d dropped it.

      She was right, it wasn’t his style, but it beat nakedness. He took out the black sweatsuit. Reaching into the bag, he found underwear, socks and a pair of soft-soled cotton slippers. Bless her! She’d added a brush and toothpaste, a comb and a disposable razor, even СКАЧАТЬ