Page 7 of Forever a Thief

“Probably just a scratch. I don’t have any other details, but everything will be okay. I’m sure of it.”

Of course, she is. Harper is forever hoisting a full glass, while mine is just shy of half-empty.

“Let me know what happens.”

“I will.” Hanging up with my sister, I clutch my phone tightly as I take a couple of steps toward the front door, fighting down my nerves. Knowing Gray and Aubrey will be here soon makes me feel better, but I’m still wary. A lot can happen before they arrive.

The sound of knocking makes me practically jump out of my shoes. Laying a hand over my racing heart, I hurry forward, moving easily between tables and chairs I navigate daily, and step into the entryway. Through the glass, I see a man with dark hair. He’s hunched over, and it looks like he’s in pain.

“Shit.” I hesitate a moment before rushing over and unlocking the main doors. Before I can say a word, he looks up at me with the most vivid green eyes I’ve ever seen, staggers inside and then collapses to the floor. “Oh, my God.”

Staring down at the unconscious man, who looks like he crawled through someone’s garden in a rainstorm, I’m not sure what to do. Then I notice the blood seeping through his beige linen shirt. Not good. Circling him, I hurriedly peek through the doors before I lock up again. No sign of Gray and Aubrey. So not good.

Okay, so that means it’s just me and, um, this injured man whose name I don’t know. Lovely.

Trying not to panic, I lower down to my knees beside him, debating whether or not I should call 911. But Harper made it sound important to be discreet. Calling 911 would mean involving the police. And I have a feeling green-eyes would have called them himself if that were an option.

I chew on my lower lip, debating what to do. Maybe just put pressure on his wound? Wait for Aubrey to decide what to do next once she gets here?

I kind of want to see what I’m dealing with, so I know how much to panic. Reaching for the edge of his shirt, I carefully lift it, cringing at the way the linen sticks to his bloody skin. Ouch.

It’s hard to tell exactly what happened, and I’m no doctor, but I do know basic first aid. Pressure it is. Hopping up, I grab a fresh cloth napkin from the hostess station and drop back down, carefully pressing it to what looks like a knife slash. I’ve spent enough time in enough kitchens to know what that looks like. And this one is not pretty.

“What kind of trouble are you in?” I whisper, taking a moment to study his face. If I were a woman who hadn’t sworn off all men, I might say he’s attractive. He has a head of thick, dark hair, a broad forehead, perfectly-straight nose and long lashes feathering over cheekbones sharper than the blade that wounded him.

I’m not sure what possesses me to do it, but I reach out and wipe a fleck of dried mud from one exquisitely chiseled cheekbone. Cleanly-shaven. Skin so smooth, I can’t help but wonder what the heck kind of products he uses. Some kind of peptide cream maybe? Because no one’s skin is naturally that flawless.

“Bonjour.”

I jerk back slightly at the deep velvety voice laced with a melodic French accent. Stunning green eyes look up at me. My mysterious patient is awake, and his mouth quirks in the slightest smile.

“Um, hi.”

“You must be—” He winces, laying a bloodied hand over mine where I’m still pressing the napkin to his side.

“Savannah,” I respond. God, those eyes. They’re like emerald shards of glass. Absolutely hypnotizing.

“Taches de rousseur,” he mumbles, then passes out again.

I have no idea what that means, and suddenly I’m wishing I’d studied French in school instead of Spanish.

Ay caramba! What have I gotten myself into?

Chapter Three: Laurent

The next time I open my eyes, I’m lying on a couch and looking into a pair of fierce amber eyes belonging to a big, broad-shouldered lion of a man. Disappointment floods through me. Where did my Freckles go?

“He’s awake,” the man states gruffly.

I try to sit up, and groan, clutching my side. My bloody shirt is gone and a fresh bandage covers my wound. The dull throbbing makes me grit my teeth, but at least it’s not a sizzling fire anymore.

“Careful,” a woman says, coming into view. She’s small and curvy with long dark hair and incredible violet eyes. “I stitched you up and gave you a painkiller, but you need to take it easy.”

“Thank you.” I lean back against a pillow and release a low breath. They’re crowding around me in a small room with a desk, filing cabinet and lots of paperwork scattered around. I’m assuming I’m still at the restaurant I stumbled into before collapsing, and maybe they moved me into a back office.

“I’m Aubrey and this is Gray, my husband.” He gives me a nod. “We’re friends with Addie and Ryland.” Ah, my Addie-Baddie came through for me, bless her morally gray heart. “And you’ve already met Savannah.”

Ah, there she is. My freckled savior. I perk up as Savannah moves into view from behind Gray’s lumbering body. I wish he’d move back a little so I could see her better.