Charlie touched her face gently with long, tanned fingers. “Sometimes I don’t know half of what you say, but I’m damn glad I get to hear it.”“I bet you say that to all the mortals,” she joked, then winced as the pain shot through her again.“You’ve been hurt,” he said, as if noticing for the first time all the blood and gore and exposed body goo.“Yeah, but it only hurts when I laugh.”“Then don’t laugh,” he murmured, finishing the old routine as if he’d been born into Vaudeville. His hands gently probed the edges of the gash.
Cheryl Sterling, What Do You Say to a Naked Elf?
paranormal-romance