I look back at the chateau, trying to work out where she could stay without distracting me. She is too fast; she leaps in and races off.
As she showers me with pebbles, I raise my hand high. “No, wait!”
The hot mess streaks away, but a big branch comes down. Leaves blast her car, and all visibility is gone. She has also entered the old gate area too fast.
The car slides, hitting the side of the big gate. It demolishes an old statue, clips the gate side, and as the car lines up for thefirst bridge, a wheel drops into the river. “Fuck!” I yell, running as fast as I can.
I yank her door open and check her eyes. “In any pain?”
“Be specific.”
“Hold on,” I say, commanding her and crouching. I look her over and notice her leg is bleeding from a nasty cut. The sedan’s driver door has taken the hit, and steel has cut into her thigh.
“Back okay?”
She nods and winces in pain. I lift her into my arms, kick the sedan door closed, and walk her through the storm.
As we walk in the rain, I drip and look down. She looks up, and there it is again. There is something about her eyes. Having her back in my arms feels good, but I cannot do it.
Not now…
I get her to the chateau door, and we push in. Inside the lobby, she winces, and I look left and right. Because we are both dripping wet, I decide on the main kitchen.
Walking her straight through an oak door, I lay her down on the ancient wooden surface.
Chefs usually use it to prepare food, as its an old-fashioned kitchen island. It is huge, it will be suitable for cleaning her up.
I get clean tea towels from a drawer and fold several to put under her head.
“Where does it hurt? I ask, pulling off my suit jacket.
“Leg and head.”
“Where?” I ask, placing a soft hand on her forehead.
She touches an egg forming on her forehead. I look at her eyes to see if they are dilating. So far, they are not.
I check her thigh, and it is bleeding badly. “Your leg, we’re going to need to do something.”
“You’re not cutting it off.”
“You’re likely right,” I say, messing with her. “Wait here,” I command.
Two minutes later, I have a fully blown medical kit next to her. I place a tartan blanket over her chest to keep her warm, and finally, I look down at her black leather pants.
“Again, you need to take your pants off.”
“Funny.”
“No, really. Do you want to keep them, or shall I cut them off?”
“You cut, you die.”
“Right,” I say, stepping back, “then get them off.”
The hot, wet mess goes to sit up, but she can’t. “Need help,” she says, lying back down in pain.
“No shit,” I say before raising an eyebrow at her. “Would you like them removed?”
