Capturing The Millionaire. Marie FerrarellaЧитать онлайн книгу.
Finding the button, she pressed it and tugged away his seat belt. Kayla looked up at his face. His eyes were shut.
“No, no, don’t fade on me now,” she begged. Getting the stranger to her house was going to be next to impossible if he was unconscious. She was strong, but not that strong. “Stay with me. Please,” she urged.
To her relief, the stranger opened his eyes again. “Best…offer…I’ve had…all day,” he said, wincing with every word that left his lips.
“Terrific,” she murmured. “Of all the men to crash into my tree, I have to get a playboy.”
Moving her fingers along his ribs gingerly, she was rewarded with another series of winces. He must have cracked or bruised them, she thought in dismay.
“Okay, hang in there,” she told him as she slowly moved his torso and legs, so that he was facing out of the vehicle. With effort, she placed her arm beneath his shoulder and grasped his wrist with her hand.
The man’s eyes remained closed, but he mumbled against her ear, “You shouldn’t…put your trees…where…people can…hit them.”
Kayla did her best to block the shiver that his breath created. Gritting her teeth against the effort she was about to make, she promised, “I’ll keep that in mind.” Spreading her feet, she braced herself, then attempted to rise while holding him. She felt him sagging. “Work with me here, mister.”
She thought she heard a chuckle. “What…did you have…in…mind?”
“Definitely not what you have in mind,” she assured him. Taking a deep breath, she straightened. The man she was trying to rescue was all but a dead weight.
Curling her arm around his waist as best she could, she focused on making the long journey across her lawn to her front door.
“Sorry…” His single word was carried away in the howling wind. The next moment, its meaning became clear: the man had passed out.
“No, no, wait,” Kayla pleaded frantically, but it was too late.
He went down like a ton of bricks. She almost pitched forward with him, but let go at the last moment. Frustrated, she looked at the blond, striking stranger. Unconscious, he was just too much for her to carry.
She glanced back toward the house. So near and yet so far.
Catching her lower lip between her teeth, Kayla thought for a moment as all three of the dogs closed ranks around the fallen stranger. And then a rather desperate idea occurred to her. “There’s more than one way to skin a cat.”
Taylor barked enthusiastically, as if to add a coda to her words. Kayla couldn’t help grinning at the large animal.
“You’d like that, wouldn’t you? Okay, gang.” She addressed the others as if they were her assistants. “Watch over him. I’ll be right back.”
The dogs appeared to take in every word. Kayla was a firm believer that animals understood what you said, as long as you were patient enough to train them from the time you brought them into your house. Just like babies.
“Oilcloth, oilcloth,” she chanted under her breath as she hurried into her house, “what did I do with that oilcloth?” She remembered buying more then ten yards of the fabric—bright red—last year. There’d been a healthy-size chunk left over. She could swear she’d seen the remainder recently.
Crossing the kitchen, she went into the garage, still searching. The oilcloth was neatly folded and tucked away in a corner. Kayla grabbed it and quickly retraced her steps.
She was back at the wrecked vehicle and her still unconscious guest almost immediately. Spying her approach, Winchester hobbled to meet her halfway, then pivoted on his hind legs to lead her back.
“Think I forgot the way?” she asked him.
Winchester took the Fifth.
As the rain continued to lash at her, Kayla spread the oilcloth, shiny side down, on the muddy ground beside the stranger. Working as quickly as she could, rain still lashing unrelentingly at her face, she rolled the man onto the cloth. His clothes had been muddied in the process, but it couldn’t be helped. Leaving him out here, bleeding and in God only knew what kind of condition, was definitely not a viable option.
“Okay,” she said to her dogs, “now comes the hard part. Times like this, a sled would really come in handy.” Winchester yipped, looking up at her with adoring eyes. She was, after all, his savior. “Easy for you to say,” she told him.
Gripping the ends of the oilcloth, one corner in each hand, she faced the house. “Here goes nothing,” she muttered under her breath, and began the long, painfully slow journey of pulling him, hoping that the stranger, with his upturned face, didn’t drown on the way.
The first thing Alain became aware of as he slowly pried his eyes opened, was the weight of the anvil currently residing on his forehead. It felt as if it weighed a thousand pounds, and a gaggle of devils danced along its surface, each taking a swing with his hammer as he passed.
The second thing he became aware of was the feel of the sheets against his skin. Against almost all of his skin. He was naked beneath the blue-and-white down comforter. Or close to it. He definitely felt linen beneath his shoulders.
Blinking, he tried very hard to focus his eyes.
Where the hell was he?
He had absolutely no idea how he had gotten here—or what he was doing here to begin with.
Or, for that matter, who that woman with the shapely hips was.
Alain blinked again. He wasn’t imagining it.
There was a woman with her back to him, a woman with sumptuous hips, bending over a fireplace. The glow from the hearth, and a handful of candles scattered throughout the large, rustic-looking room provided the only light to be had.
Why? Where was the electricity? Had he crossed some time warp?
Nothing was making any sense. Alain tried to raise his head, and instantly regretted it. The pounding intensified twofold.
His hand automatically flew to his forehead and came in contact with a sea of gauze. He slowly moved his fingertips along it.
What had happened?
Curious, he raised the comforter and sheet and saw he still had on his briefs. There were more bandages, these wrapped tightly around his chest. He was beginning to feel like some sort of cartoon character.
Alain opened his mouth to get the woman’s attention, but nothing came out. He cleared his throat before making another attempt, and she heard him.
She turned around—as did the pack of dogs that were gathered around her. Alain realized that she’d been putting food into their bowls.
Good, at least they weren’t going to eat him.
Yet, he amended warily.
“You’re awake,” she said, looking pleased as she crossed over to him. The light from the fireplace caught in the swirls of red hair that framed her face. She moved fluidly, with grace. Like someone who was comfortable within her own skin. And why not? The woman was beautiful.
Again, he wondered if he was dreaming.
“And naked,” he added.
A rueful smile slipped across her lips. He couldn’t tell if it was light from the fire or if a pink hue had just crept up her cheeks. In any event, it was alluring.
“Sorry about that.”
“Why, did you have your way with me?” he asked, a hint of amusement winning out over his confusion.
“You’re not naked,” she pointed out. “And I prefer my men to be conscious.” Then she became serious.“Your clothes were all muddy and wet. I managed to wash them before