Hearts Out of Time

by Chris Lange

  Despite an eventful day, Tracy didn’t feel tired. She needed fresh air to think, to clear her head, and to let this new universe sink in.

  Once Weedon and White Fur followed Garrett inside the parlor, she bid goodnight to the two star-crossed lovers and pretended to go upstairs. Sneaking out proved easy considering the main door was unlocked.

  Blissful air stroked her face. She didn’t intend to go very far, just a short walk up and down the street before going to bed. In spite of the chill, she enjoyed the darkness as much as the feeling of solitude.

  About a hundred feet from the mansion, someone grabbed her from behind and brought a long knife to her throat. Her heart keeled as the cold metal pricked her skin and an ominous voice whispered in her ear, “You shout, and I’ll slice your throat. Now move.”

  Never letting go of her, he started driving her toward a boxy black shape concealed in the shadows. A carriage? He was half pushing, half dragging her to the back of the wagon when the horses neighed.

  She tottered from the sudden urge to kick, punch, bite, tear, but the weapon didn’t move an edge. As panic gnawed at the edges of her brain and threatened to engulf her, a second voice cut through the night.

  “Hurry, I can’t hold the horses.”

  Before the knife-man could shove her inside, the horses neighed again, shook their manes, and began pulling the wagon forward.

  Tracy swayed on her feet, jostled by her assailant, his blade almost slicing her neck.

  “Come on, they’re edgy.”

  The carriage jolted and she heard a cry from the driver, born from pain and fear. Then the knife was wrenched away. She filled her lungs with air as the man holding the vanished blade was seized and violently repelled to the other side of the street. Knocked out, he crashed onto the sidewalk.

  The scene happened so quickly that she didn’t have time to be scared. The horses quieted as soon as the attack was over. Getting her breath back, Tracy raised her head to take a look at her Good Samaritan.

  The moon came out of the clouds, allowing her to recognize the short black hair, the night eyes, the pale complexion, the brooding features.

  “Are you hurt?” he asked.

  “No,” she said, her breath shaky.

  He was the drifter, the man who watched her earlier in the street and who stirred up Garrett’s jealousy. Why would this stranger rescue her? Coincidence, or another piece to add to the puzzle?

  “It isn’t safe in the streets,” her rescuer said. “I’ll walk you home.”

  Was she also supposed to trust this one? Probably not, yet he spoke with a faint Scottish accent that softened her distrust. As her gaze fell on the knife-man sprawled on the ground, she pushed the words out of her mouth. “Are they dead?”

  “No, they’ll live. Don’t look at them. I’ll take care of this.”

  She wouldn’t have looked, but for the whimpering. A wail of pain that prompted her to advance toward the sound. The driver lay on the seat, blood running down his neck from distinctive punctures.

  The kind of wound only seen in science-fiction blockbusters and television shows, seemingly inflicted by an undead citizen who had clawed his way out of his grave. A vampire’s bite.

  “What did you do to him?” she asked.

  Damn, didn’t she already know the answer to that? But it was too late to swallow back her spontaneous question.

  “They were going to hurt you.”

  Unlikely characters. Her father found the exact term to name what had to be a vampire. Should she feel surprised, frightened or simply upset? With everything going on, the sole emotion now pushing toward the surface was curiosity.

  She touched the spot on her throat where the blade had pinched her skin before looking at her savior. “Who are you?”

  “I’m no one.” He sounded so weary that she felt sorry for him.

  Moved by compassion and gratefulness, she hugged him.

  He returned her embrace fiercely, iron arms around her, their minds linked in a wordless understanding.

  Her belly fluttered with an uncanny awareness while she enjoyed his arms around her. Shit had kept on happening since she set foot in this universe, but for a split second, she reveled in the peaceful feeling induced by the vampire’s grip. So much so that letting go of him sapped her strength. Really, who was this guy?

  She didn’t trust herself to speak as they walked back to the mansion in silence, just tried to retain the relieving sensation of his presence. Lights glowed in the windows, the door still unlocked.

  When she opened it, he stepped backward. “Goodbye. And thank you.”

  “I should be thanking you,” she said. “After all, you saved me.”

  His slow smile was heartbreaking. Although he appeared able to dissolve in the dark landscape, he retreated into the shadows. “You’re the very image of what’s good in this world and I won’t let anyone hurt you. Don’t worry, I’ll be around.”

  But she couldn’t let him go. This man was important to her. Vampire he may be, yet something linked them since they first laid eyes on each other. What she didn’t know though, she intended to find out. “Wait! What’s your name?”

  A gust of air, and he was gone before she had a chance to blink. She’d see him again for sure because the connection between them couldn’t be severed. Whatever linked them would stand the test of time and distance. If only she had the means to put a name on the feeling he elicited in her.

  He vanished into the night as swiftly and soundlessly as he’d rescued her. But not before she heard his last murmur. “My name is Raphael.”

  She never, ever hugged strangers. She didn’t even talk to them, let alone when they turned out to be creatures of the night. Stunned by this oh-so-weird encounter almost as much as by the intensity of her intimate reaction to Raphael, she let herself into the house with very slow motions.

  Garrett and Weedon were just coming out of the parlor when she slipped back in and closed the door. No guests could be seen in the entrance hall and living room, only servants clearing up the remnants of the diner. In all likelihood, Jake and Jessica had gone upstairs to their rooms.

  And there she stood, caught like a teenager going over the wall on her way back from a spring break party.

  The three of them stared at each other, a funny twinkle lighting Weedon’s gaze and naked irritation icing Garrett’s face.

  Garrett inhaled sharply, his rigid stance and frosty tone matching the harsh lines creasing his brow. “Where have you been?” he demanded. “Please, do not tell me you strayed outside alone. Have you no judgment at all?”

  “Actually, I have, but thank you very much for asking. I just needed fresh air to sort things out.”

  He regarded her with a total lack of understanding. Okay, they hadn’t picked flowers in the countryside together when they were kiddos, and she didn’t know him that well. But she perceived it. The invisible sensation telling her he obeyed orders. Had he been in her shoes, he’d have stayed in his room.

  “In that case,” he practically growled, “feel free to sort things out in your own chambers.”

  She wanted to snap back at him so much that her muscles tensed and a nerve in her lip twitched. “Am I grounded?”

  Chapter 7

  Garrett shot her a fierce look. His anger was palpable and she realized too late her cheeky attitude wasn’t helping, yet he kept his temper.

  “I shouldn’t have to remind you that your life is in danger,” he snapped. “Or must I keep a watch on you at all times?”

  “Chill out, Garrett,” she said. “I’m fine, no thanks to you.”

  Her tone dropped a hint at being reminded of what transpired outside.

  Lines of worry wrinkling his warm face, Weedon touched her arm. “What do you mean? Has something happened to you?”<
br />
  “Well, yeah. It’s over now and I swear I’m all right. Two men tried to kidnap me, but I was rescued.”

  “By whom?” Weedon asked.

  “The man you were telling us about on our way here,” she replied. “The drifter. He showed up on cue, and he’s been very helpful.”

  Garrett raised his arms, only to flap his hands against the sides of his thighs. He sneered with exasperation. “I take it you’re surrounded by knights in white armor. Has it ever occurred to you that one has tasks to attend besides untangling you from pitfalls of your own making?”

  Weedon placed a conciliatory hand on his friend’s shoulder, probably sensing a deviation in the conversation. “Easy, man. I don’t believe Tracy got into trouble intentionally.”

  “That’s the whole point, isn’t it?” Garrett said with a sneer. “She doesn’t think, she doesn’t anticipate. One cannot waste one’s time keeping an eye on her.”

  Garrett was mad at her, and he had a point. Gosh, she was so busted. Yet for all his classy talk of her so-called frivolous behavior, he sounded kind of phony. Like he was using her mistake as an excuse to lash out. Whatever, she didn’t have to listen to him discussing her shortcomings.

  “Excuse me,” she said, “I’m standing right here. If you have something to say to me, go ahead.”

  Looking down at her as though she represented nothing but a waste of time, Garrett said, “I have nothing more to say to you. Goodnight, Miss Richardson. And to you too, Weedon.”

  “Goodnight, Garrett,” his friend replied. “I’ll see you tomorrow morning.”

  After Garrett climbed the stairs, his straight back proof of his resentment, Weedon turned to her.

  “Please try to take heart, Tracy. I understand Garrett can be forbidding at times but he’s a good man.”

  “I don’t care, Weedon. How can I not take it personally when he’s nice to everybody but me? We met this morning and I know we’re only strangers to each other, but still . . . I feel like he hates me.”

  Weedon placed a comforting hand on her shoulder to soothe the hurt inflicted by Garrett’s defensive attitude toward her.

  “Trust me, my dear, I’m certain he doesn’t. As I understand it, his very formal upbringing makes him uncomfortable with strangers. But given time, you’ll get the drift of him. I can assure you he isn’t that bad.”

  “Thanks. I wish Garrett was as perceptive as you are.”

  “If he was, you might not like him so much.” Weedon winked while rubbing his chin. “You know, I’ve spent good years in the wilderness. Life perspectives are somewhat different out there, instincts prevailing over anything else.”

  The change of topic alleviated her distress and allowed her to overlook his odd remark on her feelings for Garrett.

  “I’d love to hear your stories someday,” she said tentatively. “Your life in Canada with White Fur must be fascinating.”

  Sitting at his feet, the wolfdog stood up at the mention of his name while Weedon’s gaze traveled to him. “It can be. Speaking of which . . . I think we’ll go for a walk before returning and retiring for the night. What do you say, my friend?”

  White Fur rubbed against her legs once before padding to the front door and glancing at his master.

  “Goodnight, Tracy,” Weedon said. “Don’t think too much and get a good rest. Tomorrow might be a long day, for all we know.”

  “Goodnight, Weedon.”

  She watched them step outside, the man and the wolfdog who belonged to a cold country but who nurtured warmth in their hearts.

  Back in her room, a new task awaited her: taking off the beautiful gown. She didn’t want to disturb the maid at this late hour so she managed it by herself. Then she donned the nightdress that rested on the bed.

  She’d never seen nor worn its kind. Long-sleeved, white with English embroidery, falling to her feet, the heavy cottoned dress was anything but enjoyable and seductive. A damn long stretch from the twenty-first century silky, smooth negligees she used to wear for Tim’s pleasure.

  She needed to sleep but the squabble with Garrett left her peeved and restless. Opening the window didn’t help so she closed it again. She hated the idea they might spend the next days bickering or ignoring each other because of immature hard feelings.

  More to the point, she couldn’t stand the thought of having disappointed him. Going over it in her mind wouldn’t change a damn thing. She’d done nothing wrong, and she needed to talk about it. Right now.

  After making sure the corridor was empty, she tiptoed on bare feet, crossed the hallway and knocked on Garrett’s door.

  “Come in.”

  She took a deep breath at the sound of his voice, stilled her fingers around the handle, entered his room, and shut the door.

  “Can I talk to you for a second?” she asked.

  “Not in that attire, you cannot. Miss Richardson, this is most inappropriate.”

  Garrett’s chest heaved and fell, apparently from the shocking sight of her camouflage nightdress.

  He wore a dark red heavy bathrobe adorned with golden patterns. Even at a relaxed time of night, he looked handsome, but so formal that she had to stifle a spontaneous smile. She sucked in another long breath. Although she viewed herself as easy-going, apologizing had never been natural to her.

  “I’m sorry,” she said reluctantly. “What I did was kind of selfish, and I should have told you I was going out. Can we act as mature adults now?”

  Garrett glared at her. Squaring his shoulders, he drew himself up to a tall and haughty posture. “Don’t lecture me about being mature. Your attitude was reckless and unacceptable, Miss Richardson. As things presently stand, you aren’t even expressing regret for your actions, but merely talking your way out of a guilty conscience.”

  What? She’d just given him her best shot and he wasn’t satisfied? A single day in his company and she was sick and tired of him. She didn’t understand him. She couldn’t. She apologized, what more did he want?

  “Okay,” she snapped. “That’s it. I’ve had enough of you. You’re nothing but a mean, spiteful man, and you don’t deserve the trust Dad puts in you.”

  Shaking with fury, she didn’t wait for his answer, just banged the door behind her and went back to the sanctuary of her room. How could a mere guy irritate her so? A man she barely knew.

  Before she had the chance to figure it out, Garrett barged in after her and slammed the door with a loud bang. “How dare you insult me? How in heaven’s name have you the audacity to intrude on my privacy and display yourself like a . . . like a—” Matching his glowering eyes, his tone flayed her like a fleet of razors, blasting its way through her protective anger.

  “Like a slut?” She finished his sentence, hurt beyond words, wanting so much to hurt him back, wanting so much to take it out on him. “Well, Mister Burnes, I’ll let you on a little secret. In my universe, we sleep in T-shirts this short.”

  She lifted the hem of the thick night dress right up the top of her thighs to demonstrate. Although she defied him in the worst possible way, she hadn’t expected his impulsive reaction.

  Bolting toward her, he took her in his arms. His mouth crushed hers, his firm lips intent on showing her the extent of his indignation.

  Startled, she still could have pushed him back but jaws opened inside her. Hungry, ravenous. She wanted this out-of-her-world man, and she’d have him.

  Turned on by his resolute touch, she parted her lips, seeking his tongue, enfolding it in the warmth of her mouth. She was pretty sure he intended to pull back before things got too far, in spite of his arousal.

  But he fell into his own trap.

  Tongues entwined and swirling, she moved into his embrace to press her wound up body against his. She felt him hard upon her stomach.

  He slid a hand
behind her neck, kissing her as if his life depended on it, caressing her tongue, drinking her lips until she moaned, her whole body awakening to desire, starving for downright possession.

  “Garrett, look at me.” She spoke in a low voice as she took a step away from him and discarded the long nightgown.

  He did. He looked at her unwaveringly, his eyes betraying the same starvation stirring within her. What did he see when he stared at her? She tried to envision herself as he must view her, through their haze of mutual desire.

  Her blond hair brushing her shoulders, tender pink lips swollen from their kiss, skin glowing in the soft light, nipples erect, legs slightly apart and all her feminine curves calling for the touch of a man’s body. His body.

  “I want to see you too,” she said in a husky voice.

  He loosened his bathrobe and let it fall to the floor. He was magnificent with wide shoulders, a broad chest, a taut belly, narrow hips, and below, pure lust now in full command of his otherwise composed demeanor.

  Still staring at her, he reached for her nipples. He grazed the sensitive flesh before rubbing her buds with gentle hands, twirling them between deft fingers.

  She gasped under the enticing caress, excitement coursing through her body, a deep drum throbbing between her thighs.

  In slow motion, he lowered his hands to hover above her stomach, already drifting toward her moistness, not quite sliding one finger into her, probing, closing down on the delicate swelling. He fondled it ever so leisurely, all the while watching the blurred emotion in her eyes.

  When he touched her soft spot, her pulse went wild and she thought she’d pass out from desire. Sex wasn’t new to her, but this raw, compelling sensation was. She felt paralyzed, defenseless against the heat waves flashing within her, the relentless ache crying out for his touch, demanding release.