Night Storm Read Online Free Page A

where it had touched his skin. Wadding the limp material, she used it to dab the moisture from his brow, cheeks, and neck. “Another stab wound.”
    “Seems you’re having an eventful evening, Charley.”
    “Don’t call me that.”
    “Why not? It’s your name.”
    “Not anymore. I’m known as Mrs. Fielding now.”
    “Why? You’ve never married.”
    “You’re sure of that fact?”
    “Yes.”
    “I did what I needed to do to keep my father’s business.”
    “Ah.” He searched her face, then he focused on the wall behind her. “Did your patient survive?”
    Lifting her hands to the two small buttons at the neck of his shirt, she said, “Barely. If you bend forward a little, I’ll help you remove your shirt.”
    Angling his body toward her, he stretched his arms out as much as his injury would allow. Charlotte gathered the fine linen near his shoulder blades in her hands and began to inch the garment over his head. Golden, smooth skin appeared, tempting her resistance, mocking her control. Muscle rippled beneath his flesh like a thoroughbred in full gallop. Sleek, powerful, beautiful.
    Swallowing back the longing that welled deep in her chest, she finished the task. And immediately wished she had lingered longer over his back, for his torso could easily stand beside any Michelangelo marble in the Royal Museum. Except for the bullet hole spoiling the perfection of his right shoulder.
    She watched his chest rise, expanding to an impossible degree. His hand lifted and his body tilted, swayed. “Cameron!” She caught him before he careened forward, and helped him back upright.
    He dropped his head in between his hands.
    Grasping a nearby newssheet, she unfolded it and placed it on the bed to protect the linens. “Lie down. You’ve lost a lot of blood.”
    “Afraid I’ll pass out from the pain?”
    “It would be a blessing for us both.”
    With exaggerated slowness he followed her directions, revealing the extent of his weakness. She folded his cravat a few times and pressed it against his shoulder wound.
    He sucked in a sharp breath. “Dammit, Charley. A little warning next time.”
    She ignored his grousing and kept the pressure steady for a full minute. “Can you take over? I’ll assess the damage to your shoulder once I have the bleeding on your leg under control.”
    Nodding, he allowed her to guide his fingers to where they needed to go.
    “Firm pressure. As much as you can handle and then some.” She opened a glass-paned cupboard where she kept several linens rolled into neat stacks. Grabbing several, she placed them within easy reach before turning back to him. “This is going to hurt.”
    “Thanks for the warning.”
    She hovered over him, undecided. Should she remove his trousers, rip the leg to get at the laceration, or cut off the entire left side?
    “Is there a problem?” he asked in a husky voice.
    “No.” She gently gripped the ragged edges of his damaged trousers, ripping them until the hole was large for her to see the deep, six-inch laceration. Carefully, she shoved a compress against the wound, pressing hard to stop the bleeding. Charlotte’s attention roamed over Cameron’s hard body and she experienced an overwhelming need to run. Everything about him was…too much. Too much masculinity. Too much perfection. Too much heartache.
    Once she had the bleeding under control, she scooped up his discarded shirt and flattened the bloody material over the palm of her hand. Although somewhat jagged, all the fibers were connected.
    “What are you doing?”
    “Trying to determine if the bullet took a piece of your shirt with it inside your shoulder.”
    “What have you decided?”
    “You are saved from being tortured by my tweezers.”
    On a sideboard sat a basin, a pitcher full of water, and the stack of linens she had pulled from the cupboard. She filled the basin with water, placed it on a tray along with the rolled linens, and carried the ensemble to the small, rectangular table