Page 38 of Heart Strings
“I’d rather do it where I can see properly. And I’ll need something to stop the bleeding then anyway.”
“How do you know so much about this?”
“One of my first patients chopped two of his fingers off reaching under a lawn mower to free a jammed stick.”
One moment, I’m holding Cielo’s wet, nearly nude body against me. The next, I’m being feasted on by a parasite and discussing dismemberment. I wince but fail to see the connection.
“Medicinal leeches are helpful when we have a replantation of the digits,” Lo explains. “They help the swelling. It sounds like something from another century, but when other methods fail, applying leeches to the healing site can mean the difference between keeping your fingers or not. Pretty revolting, though.”
In different circumstances, I might find that fascinating. Lo’s perpetual curiosity has rubbed off on me before. Currently, however, I just want this bloodsucker off me.
Towels wrapped around ourselves, we sprint back to the castle. She borrows a first aid kit from reception, leaving a dripping trail through the lobby as she leads me to her room. It’s decorated in the same decadent, historically inspired style as mine, and as pristine as it was upon check-in.
We set our clothes on a chair and rush to the bathroom sink. Lo’s face barely contorts when she sees the leech writhe against my skin. I think it’s because she knows I can see her clearly now. She’s the picture of professionalism, neatly arranging the first aid kit on the counter before we begin: tweezers, tongue depressor, a small tube of hemostatic powder, saline, ointment, plasters.
“So much for a night swim being relaxing for you,” I say. She’d always gravitated to the water to blow off steam, so it sounded like a good idea to me. “Now you’re back to work.”
“No, no. It was just what I needed.”
We smile at each other a moment, still damp and dripping under the vanity light. I’d let myself get covered in these retched things if it meant Lo’s happiness. Then she arms herself with a set of tweezers in one hand and a wooden tongue depressor in the other and my anxiety spikes.
“Wait.”
“Don’t worry. It won’t hurt. There’s also an analgesic in their saliva,” she tells me. “So you probably won’t feel anything at all.”
“Before you start, I should check you for leeches.”
“Stop stalling.”
“Just let me check. I know you don’t want one of these on you.”
Cielo had been so concerned about me that she hadn’t thought to do a quick scan of herself. Her expression wavers between revulsion and hesitation. “Okay. But this isn’t some striptease.”
I ought to school my expression, but when she opens the white towel to reveal the lovely expanse of lace and light brown skin, I can’t help what my face does.
“You’re enjoying this parasite check far too much.”
“Guilty. Turn around so I can check your back.”
Lo holds the towel in front of her and slowly turns. Those lace knickers form a little triangle at her sacrum, drawing my eye to her deliciously wide hips and round ass. I do not have the willpower for this.
“All clear.”
She draws the towel back around her and tucks it under her arms. “Now you.”
“Me?”
“You might have one in a place other than your neck.”
“You’re awfully keen to get a look at my arse.”
She pretends to be scandalized. “I’m a healthcare professional performing a duty here.”
“Only fair, I guess, after you showed me yours.” My towel drops and her pupils dilate as they skim over the ink on my chest and the wet briefs clinging to me. Her gaze hovers a little too long to be purely clinical.
“Just the one,” Cielo says. “Now if you’re done showing off, let’s take care of it.”
The terrycloth wrapped around her torso slips a little when she presses against my neck to break the suction.
