“You aren’t seeing to anything,” she assured him sharply. “And I’m just getting my knives in case you go getting ideas once you’re unchained.”
“Do not be ridiculous,” he growled, and then watched with dismay as Sarita reached the counter by the door and began to gather several knives off the metal surface. No doubt the paring knife and three steak knives she’d mentioned. Much to his dismay, she clutched them by the handles, pressed close to her chest along with the butcher knife, and began to hop back to the table.
“Stop!” Domitian bellowed with horror, visions of her falling and stabbing herself dancing in his head.
“Stop yourself,” Sarita barked continuing forward.
It was all too much for Domitian. Positive she was about to tumble to the floor and impale herself on all five of the damned knives, he sat up abruptly, snapping the remaining chain surrounding him. Some part of his mind noted that he hadn’t been left completely naked, he still had his boxers on. But most of his concentration as he lunged off the table was on getting to his life mate before the foolish woman killed herself with those damned knives.
Sarita released a startled curse when he swept her off her feet and pressed her to his hard chest. But she didn’t protest, merely clutched her knives against her bosom, and scowled up at him as he carried her out of the room.
Four
Domitian carried Sarita upstairs before slowing and then it was only to look around the office they were now in. The moment he spotted the open door into what appeared to be a living room, he headed that way, only to stop once through it.
“A bathroom?” he asked.
Instead of answering, Sarita glowered at him and demanded, “Put me down.”
Snorting at the suggestion, Domitian glanced around again. This time he spotted a door farther along the wall and instinctively headed that way. He didn’t bother to ask Sarita to turn the doorknob for him when he reached it. Half-suspecting she’d refuse anyway, he released the hold he had on her legs and reached out to open it himself, leaving her weight to balance on his arm without his hand to hold her in place. It only took a second and then he was carrying her into the room.
As his gaze slid over the sitting area, table for two, and bed, Domitian at first thought he’d made the wrong choice. His footsteps slowed, but then he spotted the long counter with double sinks through the door to the right of the bed. He continued forward more quickly now, carrying her into an opulent white bathroom and right up to the sink counter where he set her down between the two sinks.
Sarita hadn’t said a word since demanding to be put down. She’d merely glowered at him, her hands tight around her knives, her expression suggesting she’d like to plunge the lot of them into his face.
Half-afraid she’d do just that, he tried for a soothing tone. “I will not harm you.”
A snort slid from her lips and her fingers tightened around the knives. “Damned right you won’t.”
“I am just going to remove the glass from your foot and tend to your injuries,” Domitian continued, ignoring her rude response. Raising his eyebrows, he asked, “Okay?”
“I can do it myself,” she snapped.
“It will be easier if I do it,” Domitian argued and dropped to kneel in front of her. He took her foot in hand to examine it.
“It’s the other one,” Sarita said at once, her tone dry and sharp.
“Of course,” he muttered and quickly switched feet. Raising it so he could better see the bottom, Domitian tried to concentrate on the job at hand and ignore the sweet smell of her blood. It was hard, though, when all he wanted to do was lick if off her, and that desire had nothing to do with hunger, at least not the hunger for blood. He’d had enough blood to fight whatever had been used up trying to combat the drugs he’d been given. His hunger now was purely for the woman before him. She was independent and feisty and sexy as hell sitting there in that damned gown.
His eyes wandered from Sarita’s bloody foot to the trails of blood on her legs and followed one up under the gossamer cloth of her nightgown. It led all the way up her calf to her thigh, and up it to the sliced skin just below the strap of the thong she wore.
She may as well be wearing only the thong for all the protection the gown offered, he thought with disgruntlement. But he found himself licking his lips as his gaze slid between the blood trails and that pure white triangle of cloth, the only thing preventing him from having a perfect view of her—
“There are tweezers in the makeup table.”
Domitian’s eyes immediately shot to her face and he could tell she’d noticed where he’d been looking.
“I will tend to the cuts after I see to the foot,” he announced as if that’s what had held his attention. He suspected she wouldn’t fall for the ruse, though. His voice had been raspy with a desire he couldn’t hide.
Domitian set her foot down and stood to move to the makeup table she’d mentioned. A quick search produced tweezers still in their packaging, which he broke open as he moved back to Sarita.
“I will try not to hurt you,” Domitian promised as he knelt in front of her and reclaimed her foot.
Sarita merely nodded, but he couldn’t help noticing the way her hands tightened around those knives of hers again. It made him release her foot and straighten.
“What are you doing now?” she asked suspiciously.
“I would rather not be stabbed should I inadvertently hurt you while removing the glass,” Domitian said simply and then waited.
When Sarita stared at him suspiciously, not setting down the knives, he found a little exasperation of his own.
“They are really quite useless to you as a weapon anyway. It would not kill me if you stabbed me.”
“Maybe, but I bet it still hurts,” she said grimly.
“Yes. Which is why I would rather avoid it,” Domitian said pointedly, and then added stiffly, “You are my life mate, Sarita. Dr. Dressler may not have told you this, but an immortal would never willingly harm a life mate. However, unless you want to continue to hop around like a crazed bunny, I need to get that glass out of your foot, and may unintentionally hurt you doing so. I do not wish to be stabbed for my efforts. Please put the knives down.”
Sarita scowled, glanced down at the weapons she held, and then sighed and set them on the counter next to her with obvious reluctance.
“Thank you,” he said softly, and set down the tweezers to pick up the knives and quickly move them to the other side of the sink and out of her reach. When he then went to grab the tweezers again, they were gone.
Sarita had them, Domitian saw. She had also raised her injured foot to rest on her other knee so that she could see the bottom of it. Smiling at him widely, she shrugged. “No need to thank me. I couldn’t hold them and take the glass out at the same time anyway.”
Domitian opened his mouth, but then simply closed it again and leaned against the counter next to her. Waiting. There were three pieces of white porcelain in her foot, one large piece and two smaller. She could manage the large piece, but he knew the smaller ones were going to be difficult and painful to remove, which was why he’d suggested removing her knives.
Ignoring him, Sarita plucked out the larger of the three pieces first as he’d expected. She then turned her attention to the small pieces just visible under the skin and Domitian winced as she began to poke around the no-doubt tender flesh, trying to force the glass to the surface.
“Let me help,” Domitian said, straightening when she sucked in a hissing breath of pain.
“I don’t need help,” Sarita said stubbornly and continued to poke and dig, causing herself unnecessary pain.
Losing patience with her, Domitian snatched the tweezers from her hand and knelt in front of her again. “Give me your foot.”
“No,” she growled. “Give me back the tweezers.”
“No,” he responded at once, and then took a breath before saying in a more reasonable tone, “I have better eyesight. I can remove it quickly. Let me help you.”
For a moment he thought she’d refuse, but then Sarita released a pent-up sigh, and snapped, “Fine,” as if she were doing him a favor and stuck out her foot. She then crossed her arms and glared at him.