Wendy Rosnau - The Long Hot Summer

She closed her eyes at the first prick of pain. “Talk to me,” she insisted. “Say anything. Gran said you were a marine,” she began, sucking in her breath as the pain began to build.

“For five years.”

“Ouch!” Nicole bit her lip.

“Easy. This damn thing’s twice as long as it is deep. Just breathe slow and even.”

He sounded sincere. Nicole braced herself and tried to do as she was told. “Why did you quit the military?”

“I didn’t quit. I was medically discharged.” His hand stilled, and he glanced up. He offered her a smile before he lowered his head and went back to work. Quietly, he drawled, “I won’t cut your toes off, cherie. I promise.”

“I didn’t mean to—”

“I spent some time in Kuwait.” He looked up, laid the knife in the grass. “This isn’t working, cherie, but I know what will.”

Before Nicole could ask him what he had in mind, he lifted her foot upward and pulled. The movement dragged her away from the tree, and, to keep her balance, she arched her back and rested on her elbows for support. He took in her sprawled position and said, “Now, don’t move, no matter what. Okay?”

Nicole hesitated, then nodded warily.

He lowered his head, and a moment later his warm breath touched the bottom of her foot. Nicole had no idea what he meant to do until she felt his tongue slide over the cut. She clutched the grass at her sides in tight fists and craned her neck to see what was going on. He’d said don’t move, but my God, he was licking the bottom of her foot!

She tried to sit up while at the same time pulling her foot away. He looked up. “I said, don’t move. Trust me. I know what I’m doing.”

He went back to work, and Nicole felt his tongue glide slowly over her foot once more. She decided to give him exactly one minute, and if he didn’t—

“Ou-ouch!” Nicole jerked her foot away from him with such force that it sent her falling onto her back. She closed her eyes for a second, the pain momentarily stealing her breath. It had felt as if he’d sent the sliver clean through the top of her foot.

“You all right?”

Nicole slowly opened her eyes. Johnny was kneeling over her, the ends of his black hair almost tickling her face, those unnerving eyes smiling down at her. He opened his mouth and stuck out his tongue. And there it was—the wicked-looking sliver.

“It’s huge,” Nicole gasped.

He turned his head away from her and spit the splinter into the thick brush, then sat back on his heels. “When I was a kid, my mama used to take slivers out that way. We never owned a pair of tweezers.” He reached for his knife and slipped it back into his pocket, then stood and held out his hand to help her up.

Nicole took his offered hand, and he easily pulled her up. She tested out her foot, the pain only slight now. “Thank you,” she said softly.

“You’re welcome.”

Now that her crisis was past, Nicole once again became fully aware of Johnny Bernard. They were standing close, his chest gleaming and hard, his half-zipped fly exposing an appealing dark navel. Yes, she’d noticed his attributes yesterday and again this morning in her bedroom, but that didn’t mean she wanted anything from him, because she most definitely did not.

“I need to get back,” she announced quickly.

“Yeah, me, too. I’ve been invited to supper.”

Nicole reached for her shoes and slipped them on. “I thought you said you didn’t have many friends.”

“That’s right. Just so you know, cherie, the old lady invited me to join the two of you for supper. See you at seven.”

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