The Seventh Night Read Online Free PDF

Headlights from the approaching car trapped me in their beam like a mounted insect under a microscope.
    I put out both hands, a pitiful shield against themomentum of horsepower. Mist tossed between us, waist high and glowing golden as the glare from the lights struck it.
    I heard the squeal of tires biting slick pavement. I saw the fog separate like the parted Red Sea. I sensed, more than felt, the impact of metal against my skin.
    And then blessedly, the whole world went black.

CHAPTER TWO
    The Second Day
    I couldn’t seem to open my eyes.
    I moved my hand and touched cold, smooth metal. That brought me awake. My lids drifted open and I gazed around. The metal bars on the sides of the bed were my first indication that something was terribly wrong. I tried to sit up, but my movements were sluggish, almost drugged.
    Gazing around, I took in the white, antiseptic walls and floors, the shuttered window, the crisp cotton sheets on the bed.
    A movement in the deep shadows of the room startled me, and I gasped, almost expecting to see the painted specters of my nightmare. But the man moving toward my bed was no ghostly phantasm, no hideous apparition, though he might well have been the product of an overly stimulated imagination. As he stepped out of the shadows, our gazes met and I had the oddest sensation in my stomach, as if I were descending several stories in a fast-moving elevator.
    I knew who he was, of course, but the shock wasn’t lessened by the knowledge. My breath seemed to be stuck somewhere in the back of my throat as tingles of apprehension raced up and down my spine.
    Reid St. Pierre stood looking down at me with the most extraordinary blue eyes I’d ever seen. Deep blue. Mysterious blue. Bluer even than I had remembered, and heavily fringed with jet lashes.
    The thick black hair—with just a hint of wave—fell across his brow, and as he carelessly swept it back, I noticed irrelevantly how large his hands were—huge, well-shaped hands that were ringless. The sight of his hands seemed to further complicate the commotion in my stomach.
    He was taller than I remembered—and older of course. More…formidable somehow. His full, sensuous lips were set in a line that hinted at displeasure. Beneath the expensively tailored gray suit he wore, his shoulders appeared massive, his chest broad and hard, narrowing to a lean waist and hips.
    Aside from the rather spectacular physical attributes, however, there was something about him that was harder to define. He possessed a kind of latent sexual appeal that was almost tangible in the small confines of that room.
    His indigo eyes held mine for the longest time as he stood looking down at me from the foot of my bed. Then he said, “So you’re finally awake. How are you feeling?”
    He asked the question without the slightest bit of emotion, as though politeness dictated he make the inquiry, but he could care less about my answer.
    I frowned in response. “Where am I?”
    “You’re in a hospital in Port Royale. You were brought here last night by an elderly couple who nearly ran you down with their car. Don’t you remember?”
    “Last night?” Had I been here that long? I looked at the shuttered window across the room. A tiny stream of sunlight filtered in where the bottom of the blind didn’t quite meet the windowsill. Sunlight. The last thing I remembered was darkness. Weakly I lifted my hand to my forehead. “Is my father here?”
    He hesitated. “Not yet. It’s past noon. Are you hungry? I can ring for the nurse. She was just in here a minute ago.”
    The queasiness in my stomach bubbled at the mention of food. “No, please. I just want to know what happened. Am I…hurt?”
    A look swept through his eyes so quickly I could hardly decipher the meaning. I couldn’t be sure, but I thought it might be anger.
    “A few bruises, but no broken bones. You’ll live.”
    “Then why have I been here so long?”
    “Dr. LeClerc said you were quite distraught when