Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

that fall. She imagined broken bones, internal injuries—but he was standing. “I’ll get the car. You need a doctor.” Without waiting for a reply, she tore down the lane. When she got back, he was leaning against a tree. As she stopped, he opened the passenger door.

      “May I get in?”

      He stood there, holding on to the door. Was this British or something? “Of course! Get in!” He got in, his legs a little too long for a compact car. Dixie flicked on the interior light. “That was a homicidal maniac, not a burglar.”

      “I’m okay. I just wish you’d seen the car number.”

      That did it. “Let’s have a reality check here. You’re half dead and you’re worrying about a registration number. Anyway, I have it.” She recited the memorized numbers, amazed that she remembered them after all this panic. “Now, let me look at you.”

      He didn’t appear to be bleeding, but he had mud on his face and clothes, grass in his hair and his cashmere sweater wouldn’t see any more cocktail parties. One shoulder showed white where his shirt and sweater were both ripped open. She reached out to touch him. He had to be bleeding from a gash like that.

      His hand closed on her wrist. “Go easy, my dear.”

      “You might be bleeding.” He had some grip for a man who’d barely escaped death.

      “I’m not.”

      “Let me check.”

      He put her hand on the steering wheel. “If you fancy tearing the clothes off a man, you had your chance with Caughleigh. Spare me. Your house is safe for the night.”

      “Forget the house! What about you? You’re seeing a doctor.”

      His fingers closed over her hand as she clutched the gear stick. “Get this straight. I am not seeing a doctor and you are going home. I am not hurt.”

      “You have to be. I saw you tossed through the air.”

      “Ever heard of Jujitsu, Dixie? I know how to fall.”

      He couldn’t sit that straight, grip like a maniac and argue if he were hurting, and his chest would heave if he’d had some injury.

      “You are Superman, aren’t you?”

      “You believe in him, do you?”

      She gave up—almost. She insisted on driving him home. He acquiesced, but refused to let her even come up his path. “I’ve a reputation to consider even if you haven’t,” he said. “Imagine the talk—you refuse Sebastian and then hotfoot it over to my house. We’d have to fight a duel for certain.”

      “I thought they became illegal in the last century.”

      “I’m a man with roots in the past.” He squeezed her hand, as if in farewell. Dixie wasn’t ready to have him go. She touched his shoulder and reached to kiss him good-bye. It wasn’t much for a man who’d risked his life to protect her property.

      She aimed for his cheek. He turned and her mouth met his lips, cool as the marble on her pantry shelf. But as her lips caressed his, she knew only warmth and softness. He tasted of night and spice and excitement. Her mouth opened as his pressed on hers, but slowly, like a plant unfolding in spring warmth. Almost reluctantly, his hand smoothed up her neck and through her hair. She sighed and her tongue reached for his.

      The heat of summer burst through her. She gasped, but not for breath; for more. And he gave it. Sweetness flooded her soul and need surged like a current through her brain. It was a mating of mouths, a coupling of spirits. Time stopped. Dixie knew nothing but spiraling warmth and an aching need for more.

      “Christopher,” she murmured as he pulled away.

      “Remember my reputation,” he teased. She leaned into his strong shoulder. His fingers smoothed her neck from her ear to her throat. His touch promised heaven. She prayed he’d never stop. That he’d ask her to stay. Anything to feel this way forever. Her hand reached for his chest, searching for shirt buttons, questing warm, male flesh.

      His hand closed over hers. “Dixie, we have to stop. I need time to rest.” She sat up. How thoughtless of her! He was injured, bruised at the very least and here she was, jumping his bones. “Go back to Emily’s and stay there. Don’t try any heroics over the house. It’s safe for tonight. Promise?”

      She agreed but waited until the door closed behind him. She would have stopped by her house but she’d given her word. She couldn’t break a promise made after a kiss like that.

      Undressing in the room under the eaves, Dixie glanced at her watch. The whole incident with Christopher, her house and the maniac intruder had lasted less than a half-hour. She stifled a shiver. It was over. She didn’t need to worry. She was too worn to worry. Repulsing amorous swains, chasing robbers and aiding the wounded had worn her out. She tossed her clothes on the chair and fell into bed without even brushing her teeth. Emily’s linen sheets felt like cool, soothing balm to her worn body but nothing eased the turmoil in her brain. What had she done? Acted like a crazy wanton. Thrown herself on a man, an injured man at that, just because her hormones went into overdrive through a bit of stress. She still tasted his lips on hers, felt his tongue in her mouth and what the rest of her body was doing didn’t bear examining. Tomorrow he was coming to go through her books. What had she started?

      Sebastian ignored six rings, shrill above Emily’s sighs. He slipped his hand over her breast as the answering machine clicked on. “Uncle, you have to be there. Talk to me!”

      Sebastian wanted to spit. Couldn’t James manage anything? He’d had all evening with that troublesome woman out of the way. He’d better be calling to announce success. Sebastian leaned over Emily and picked up the phone. “You found everything, I hope.”

      “No way. This makes three times I’ve scoured that room. Nothing’s there.”

      “You’ll find it on the fourth. Go back and don’t come home without it.”

      “Not on your Nellie! You can’t make me go back. That place is haunted. Not just noises. Tonight I saw a white face at the window. You’re not telling me that was a local yokel.”

      “Get back there!”

      “Never!”

      Sebastian cussed as James hung up. He turned back to Emily.

      She sat up on the desk, slowly pulled her skirts down and tucked in her blouse. “If he didn’t find their records, we’re in trouble.”

      “Not yet. We’ll find them. If they’re that well hidden, Miss LePage isn’t likely to stumble across them. They have to be in that book room. I’ve gone through every other paper with a fine-tooth comb. Nothing’s in the bank. I checked. Being executor has its advantages.” He tucked in his shirt and zipped his pants.

      Emily stood up. “What do we do if we can’t find them?”

      “Win time. Delay things. Inconvenience our Miss LePage. Maybe James needs a helper.”

      “Who?” Emily stopped. Her eyes widened as they met his. She shook her head. “Not me. Not in a million years.”

      “You have a lot to lose if the truth comes out. The bank wouldn’t be too happy at the idea of a witch among their staff. Rather spoils the image.”

      “It’s not illegal anymore. I don’t have to worry.”

      “No?” One hand grasped her neck as the other stroked her chin. He kissed her, pressing his mouth down to part her lips. He kissed her long enough to release a sigh then drew back, his hand still firm on her neck. “You’ll do what I ask, Emily. Because I want it.”

      “What shall I do?” What a mess she looked with her rumpled hair, smudged lipstick and creased skirt.

      “Give me two days. Fix a nice Sunday breakfast for our Dixie and make sure it keeps her in bed for a couple of days.”

      Her