Kiss Me Forever/Love Me Forever. Rosemary Laurey

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 travel miniatures of deodorant and shaving cream. The only one he needed was the comb. She had a lot to learn about vampires and the longer she stayed ignorant, the better for all of them.

      “Dixie?” he called as he pushed open the door at the top of the stairs. He didn’t want to scare her again.

      “Hello.” She looked up and smiled. Her shoulders relaxed as he stepped through the door. Had she expected him to burst through naked? Probably.

      “Thanks.”

      She smiled, as if unsure of what to say next. “I got you some blood.” She nodded at the glass jug in the center of the scrubbed pine table.

      His feast beckoned, the aroma heady and intoxicating. Driven by instinct, he hefted the jug in both hands and chug-a-lugged. He savored the sweet taste on his tongue, as richness and nourishment flowed down his throat, warming his core. Renewed strength flooded to his extremities as he drained the last drops from the tilted jug, and his eye met Dixie’s over the glass rim. “Sorry. Should have done that in private. We’re not an elegant species when it comes to feeding.”

      She nodded, her face visibly paler than before. “Want a napkin?” She handed him a paper towel. He didn’t doubt he needed it.

      As he sat down and wiped his mouth, a hideous thought shook him. “Was that your blood?” He’d had over a pint. How could she have…?

      “Chickens.”

      “You never got that much from a chicken.”

      “No, I defrosted twenty-five pounds of chicken liver. I’ve done some odd things since I came here, but today’s been positively surreal.”

      “It’s not been an average day for me, either.”

      Her chuckle brought light and amusement to the tension that lay between them and reminded him of the gulf wider than humanity. “You look better. Your color’s returning. You were so white…” She broke off and bit her lip as understanding clouded her eyes.

      “I was pale because I needed to feed. Lack of nourishment combined with the torture nearly finished me.” He reached across the table, his will urging her not to draw back. He closed her warm fingers between his cold hands. “I owe you my existence, Dixie. Anything you want, just ask.” What else could he say? As if the rescue wasn’t enough, she’d spent the afternoon defrosting liver to gather blood for him—and she couldn’t bear the thought of eating a bacon sandwich.

      “You could start by answering a few questions.”

      And he could end by putting her in danger when they discovered he wasn’t dead. “You might be better off not knowing.”

      Eyebrows rose over those bright green eyes. Most mortals would flinch at the sight of his disfigurement. Not his Dixie. “I’ll decide about that.” She moved