Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,81

giddy. “This is some kind of record,” she told him. “I mean, there’s awkward, and then there’s this scenario. I’d have called Dyma, but … well, that’s the problem with being the mom. I’d have to tell her what to do, and I’m not sure what to do, other than call the front desk for some Band-Aids, and even then …”

He wasn’t listening. He’d hoisted her into his arms, was carrying her over to the couch and putting her down. “Lie down,” he said. “You need to be on your back.”

“That’s surprisingly sexy, under the circumstances,” she said. “Who knew you were so kinky?” But that towel was even redder now, and she was grabbing for it like she thought she could keep the blood contained. “And I can’t lie down here. I’d bleed all over the couch. Can you get me another towel, please? I was trying to just bleed in the bathroom, where it’s tiled. Why’d you have to get such a fancy room? The phone was way too far away. If we’d done that motel in Wyoming like Owen said, this would be a much cheaper date. Especially since they’d have plastic glasses.”

“Would you shut up,” he said, “and lie down? This isn’t a joke.”

“Well, yeah,” she said. “It kind of is. It’s not a disaster. It’s just really, really stupid. And I’m going to bleed on you, if you sit there.” But when he didn’t move, just stared at her, she sighed and lay down.

He put her legs in his lap and started unwrapping the towel, and she said, “Don’t put that on the floor! You need to get a clean towel from the bathroom and put it on the coffee table first, then put the bloody one on top. Good thing they give you so many, because paying for these towels is going to be a whole lot cheaper than paying to clean this couch.”

He didn’t pay attention to that, either. He took a look, then pressed a single layer of toweling against the arch of her foot, and the heel, too, because she’d cut both places. Deeply. He pressed hard, and she jumped and called out.

“We need to stop the bleeding,” he said. “Have you been putting pressure on it?”

“Yeah. I tried. But it kept bleeding.” The words came out breathy, because it was hurting bad. There’d better not be glass still in there, or he’d be making this worse.

He grabbed the phone from the side table, and she eyed his bloodstained hands, breathed hard, and, for once, didn’t say anything. He hit 0 and said, “Yeah, hi. This is Harlan Kristiansen. I’m in the Morocco Suite with Jennifer, uh …”

“Cardello,” she said.

“Cardello,” he said. “We need a doctor up here. Fast as you can get him.”

“Harlan,” Jennifer was saying, and some other stuff, but he wasn’t listening.

“No ambulance,” he said. “No police. But we need a doctor.”

“Police?” Jennifer said. “And there’s no way a doctor’s coming here.”

“You think not?” he said, still pressing hard on her foot. “That’s the least of their worries. The clerk’s calling the manager right now, and he’s trying to figure out whether to call the cops, whatever I said. Ten bucks says they go with the cops. They can’t afford the publicity otherwise, if they allowed a woman to be injured to the point of bloodshed by an NFL player in one of their rooms and didn’t even report it when they found out. There’s too much blood here. The maids are going to talk. Also, you’re probably not somebody with … status, since I couldn’t remember your name, which will make it worse. What happened?”

She said, “I … I cut myself. And it’s not my fault you can’t remember my name! What, I’m a hooker now?” The last part was a gasp. The wounds were still seeping despite the pressure, and he could tell they hurt like crazy. He couldn’t even tell exactly how much she was bleeding, because the towel was soaked. He thought about tendons and the arch of a foot, and started to worry.

“I got that you cut yourself,” he said. Keep her talking. Keep her from freaking out. Although so far, she was about the least freaked-out woman he’d ever met. The only thing that seemed to be exercising her mind was that he’d actually care about her. “How did it happen?”

“Dropped my wine glass,” she said. “In the bathroom. I slipped. Wet. And I was crying, which is stupid and embarrassing, but