She found the extra blanket and left him to make up his bed after she pointed out the small washroom near the main door. As she was about to leave he took her hand.
“Thank you,” he said. “I know you must find me a major inconvenience. But for me, all this is marvelous. As I said, I feel as if I’m in one of my Jules Verne novels, only better.”
His hand was warm and strong. He had calluses on his fingers exactly where a rider would hold the reins, and she fought the urge to run her thumb along the ridges.
“I hope you sleep well,” she said.
She beat a hasty retreat and only remembered as she entered the kitchen that he had no night clothes. Now, on top of everything else, she had to struggle to avoid imagining him lying naked in a bed not a hundred yards away. She’d longed for someone to come 30
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and help her in the stables, but had never dreamed of this. Suppose the mirror never opened up again? It wasn’t possible that a man from the past could suddenly appear, be totally charming and set all kinds of bells buzzing inside her, and be everything she needed.
She switched off the lights and checked the doors.
“I bet he’s useless at real work,” she muttered as she put toothpaste onto her brush in the upstairs bathroom. Oh heck, she hadn’t given him a toothbrush. Too bad, she thought as she spat out the foam. One day without cleaning his teeth won’t kill him.
There was no way she was going out there again. He might have taken off all his clothes by now and be wrapped only in a blanket.
The thought made her stomach quiver.
Determined to put Quinn out of her mind, she slid into bed and buried her head under the covers. The fuchsia-pink vibrator was still on her bedside table where she’d left it last night. Should she? No. She needed to avoid stimulation, not seek it out.
Besides, what was a vibrator really, compared with a warm, hard-muscled man?
She thought it would take a long while for her to fall asleep, but she sank quickly into oblivion. Her dreams were a tangled mix of people and fantasy. Jordan introduced her to Quinn and then jumped on the back of a big black stallion and rode off into a darkening sky. Quinn took her hand and said, “Mr. Verne has sent the submarine for me. I have to go.” She watched both men fade away and her heart filled with a deep sadness.
The sun hit her full in the eyes and she woke feeling tired and irritable despite the hours of sleep. She’d forgotten to pull the blinds. Yawning, she peered at the alarm.
Five-thirty! The birds had started their chorus for the day and a horse whinnied from the paddocks. Normal sounds.
She sat up straight and flung herself from the bed in one movement. Why the hell were there horses out there? Had she forgotten to bolt the stable doors last night?
Last night flashed through her mind as she peered out the window. She could only see part of the paddocks, but there was definitely a horse out there. She reached for her jeans. Had it all been a dream? Had she really pulled a man through the mirror and then blithely left him alone in the stables? She zipped the pants and thrust her arms into the sleeves of her shirt. Not to mention the memory of him kissing her in a way no one had kissed her since Jordan, sending a zinging tingle all through her, giving hints of wickedly exciting possibilities.
She dragged a comb through her hair and thrust her feet into her shoes. In less than three minutes from that first waking moment, she clattered down the stairs, out the door and toward the horse enclosures.
She covered the ground at a run and skidded to a halt at the railing. The brown gelding she used to lead the trail rides lifted his head placidly and looked at her as if 31
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wondering what all the fuss was about. He chewed rhythmically, a few wisps of hay hanging from his mouth, then tossed his head and snorted.
Quinn appeared from the other side of the horse. He wore his grey trousers and his boots, but no shirt. He was no figment of her imagination. That kiss had been real.
Strong muscles moved smoothly on his arms and shoulders.
“You’re still here,” she said, foolishly.
He lifted a hand to her. “I am indeed. I’ve just about finished.”
“Finished? What are you doing with my horses?”
“I brought them out as soon as it was light,” he said. “They’ve all been curried and fed. That’s a good system you have for water.”
“System?” All they had was a pipe into a central sink. She was turning into a silly echo.
He nodded and ran his hand over the haunches of the gelding. “Better than a well.
That’s what we have on my father’s estate.” He picked up the horse’s back hoof, tucking the leg expertly under his arm. “Looks as if you need the blacksmith to take a look at this. He’s close to losing the shoe.” He dropped the hoof but stayed half hidden by the animal. She saw a flicker in his eyes as he took in her jeans.
She’d also forgotten to give him a razor. Fine stubble, darker than his hair, outlined the contours of his jaw. After a moment, he dusted off his hands and stepped out from behind the horse to pick up his shirt from the railing.
He half turned to slip his hands into the sleeves. On his back a crisscross of thin white lines marred the silk of his skin. At some time he’d received a severe beating.
Despite the scars, or maybe because of them, she would have liked to touch his bare back, to feel the shape of muscle and sinew— She pulled her thoughts together. They were inappropriate at any time, let alone at six in the morning with a complete stranger.
He bent his head to button the shirt and his hair fell forward on his forehead. His fingers were long and slim with faint white scars against the brown. They weren’t the hands of an idler.
“I realize my being here might be compromising for you,” he went on, oblivious to her turmoil.
She pushed back her hair and gave a small laugh. “Things have changed. You don’t need to worry about that in this day and age.”
“Your husband might.”
She didn’t want to lie to him. “I’m alone. My husband died some time ago.”
“I’m sorry.”
Was he sorry? His eyes dwelt on her for a long moment, skimming her from head to toe. She was suddenly aware she wasn’t wearing a bra. What was he thinking? Had she just issued an open invitation?
She pulled herself together. “You must be hungry.”
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“As a hunter.”
She turned to back to the house and called over her shoulder. “You probably want to wash up first. Breakfast in fifteen minutes.”
Quinn watched her walk back to the house, then went into the barn. He opened the tap in the tack room and peered into the small mirror over the washbasin. He’d managed to control the outward expression of astonishment at the marvels in Ellie’s house, but the sight of her in those tight trousers had taken his breath away. When she’d appeared with the blue material clinging to her legs in a decidedly provocative fashion a sudden stab of desire had shot through him and every muscle he had sprung to life. He’d had to move around behind the horse and examine the hoof to hide the bulge in his breeches. Then when she’d turned toward the house—! He caught water in his hands and sluiced his hot face.
Surely women didn’t wear such things as a general rule? He was going to need all his wits about him if they did. There was a music hall star in London who’d worn men’s trousers on a fine pair of legs and enjoyed great popularity, but all the well-bred ladies he knew wore long skirts, even if they rode. Ellie seemed serious and well brought up.
She’d most likely gone back in the house to change into a gown, even a simple one like she’d worn last night, but enough to veil her legs.
He stripped off his shirt again and plunged his head and shoulders under the flow of water. He had no idea how the hell he’d arrived here, but he had all his faculties and no harm done except a slight muzziness in his head, which more coffee woul
d clear.
Clear it enough for him to focus on the mining deal rather than all the incredible machines in Ellie’s house. The mining men would be waiting for him at the Imperial Hotel next Monday and he meant to be there. Once and for all he’d prove his father wrong and show he could make a success of his new life.
His skin tingled from the cold water and he rubbed hard with a towel until it glowed. He hung up the towel and slipped on his shirt. So he’d had the good luck to land in a stable. Truth to tell, he’d been in a bit of a funk last night, so he’d done what he always did, put on a good show, but deep down he’d not been so sure of himself.
He’d slept like a log and woken to do what he did best, see to the horses.
If the mirror worked today he’d find himself back in 1880 in short order. If things had been different, he wouldn’t have minded staying around for a while to get to know Ellie better.
Elaine heard Quinn coming up the steps to the kitchen door and broke two eggs into the pan. She’d not cooked breakfast for anyone since Gramps had died and she was enjoying it. Jordan had loved his weekend bacon and eggs and she supposed the combination was pretty timeless.
“Good Lord, but that smells good,” Quinn said as he closed the door behind him.
She felt a little spurt of pleasure at having guessed right. She slid the bacon onto a warm 33
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plate. “There’s coffee in the pot.” She nodded toward the percolator. He filled a generous-sized mug and sat at the kitchen table as she placed the steaming plate in front of him. She caught him taking a quick look at her jeans and then averting his eyes.
Well, they probably were pretty unusual for him.
“We can talk while you eat.” She refilled her own mug and slid into the chair opposite him.
His hair was damp and he’d finger combed it back from his face. She hadn’t even supplied a comb. But he was going back today. This evening.
“I’m thinking a bit straighter this morning,” she began. Not really true. She still wanted to reach out and slip her hand down where the linen shirt gaped at his throat, wanted to feel the skin under her fingers—
“Good.” He took a large forkful of bacon and mopped some egg yolk with bread.
She watched the muscles move under his jaw and she longed to place a butterfly kiss on that tempting mouth. She had to get him out of here before she lost all control.
“What year was it when you left?” she asked again.
“1880.”
“A hundred and twenty-five years.”
“Amazing. I shall write everything down as soon as I get back.” He ate the rest of his bread. “You said the mirror seemed to let you through in the evenings—”
“Yes.”
He ran his hands through his hair. “I know this is an inconvenience for you, having a strange man about—”
She gave a thin laugh. “On the contrary, a man around the place is exactly what I need. I need someone working in the stables for a few months.”
“I can help you today. I’d like to be around horses again.”
“Thank you.” What would it hurt to give him a few more hours? He’d be gone by tonight and she’d work where she wouldn’t have to see him. “Are you ready to try the mirror again this evening?”
He swallowed the last of his coffee. “Yes. I must.” At least he was no longer talking about staying for four days.
She took the plates and placed them in the sink. As if with one mind they moved in silence to the living room and he picked up his blue coat. “I have to get this mended before next week.”
“Yes, you said you had a business appointment. I hope it goes well,” she added.
“Thank you.” He looked at her and they both stood frozen for a long moment. If he kissed her again, she didn’t know what she’d do.
They gazed at the mirror that reflected only their own faces and Elaine’s living room.
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After a moment she broke the spell and moved back toward the kitchen, her heartbeat thumping in a spot just below her throat. She felt like the heroine in Sliding Doors. Gwyneth Paltrow chose one path and events unfurled in a certain way. A different decision led to different outcomes. Elaine had no idea if she was sending Quinn back never to see him again, or if the mirror was going to act like a portal, allowing either of them to come and go as they pleased.
He leaned against the counter. “Do you think I could ever come through again?” he asked, echoing her thoughts.
“I have no idea. Would you want to?”
“Have an insight into the future? And see you again? Of course.”
She plunked fresh coffee next to him and folded her arms. The thought that he was going to be around for the rest of the day had set the buzzing in her stomach going again. She felt her breasts swell under the thin cotton of blouse, the nipples enlarging and rubbing against the thin fabric. She still hadn’t put on her bra. “We’ll try the mirror again tonight.”
He put down the electric mixer he’d been examining, but ignored the steaming coffee. He looked up at her with a smile that made her heart turn over. “If you wish.
That means we have one whole day.”
Before she could stop him he thrust away from the counter, flung his arms around her and swept her off her feet. He swung around and let out a shout of laughter. Her breasts were pressed hard against his chest and her hands clutched at the hard biceps that rippled when he lifted her.
She opened her mouth to protest, but the feel of him was exactly what she’d fantasized. She stayed silent and let herself savor the moment. Caught by his sincere pleasure, she laughed too. Suddenly it was the most beautiful morning in a long time.
He set her feet on the ground, his arms still holding her tight against him. “I couldn’t ask for anything better than a few more hours with you, in this place,” he whispered.
For one breathless moment time stood still, then something in the atmosphere changed. As if some mischievous god had flipped a switch, they began touching each other, stroking, kissing, risking exploration. All else faded in the storm that swept through Elaine as the feelings from last night’s kiss flooded back. She no longer cared that Quinn was a stranger, that he came from another time and place. Her body craved the fulfillment that only he could give. She rubbed against him, feeling the warmth of his breath at her ear as his hands explored every inch of her back then pressed her head to his shoulder.
His beard rasped against her cheek as he sought her mouth again with hungry lips and she gave herself up to him, stroking his arms, luxuriating in the feel of firm muscle under skin. Slipping her fingers under his shirt, she explored the warm hollows and ridges of his back, tracing the lines of the welts she had seen earlier.
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With an impatient movement he pulled her blouse from the waistband of her jeans and tugged until the buttons popped off, exposing her naked breasts. He shoved the fabric from her shoulders, pinning her arms. His eyes were hot with desire and a flush stained his cheekbones. He gave a muffled groan before he plunged his face between her breasts and showered tiny kisses on her nakedness. He drew her nipple into his mouth. Fire shot through her and she arched her back, held prisoner by the steel of his arms, by her own shirt wrapped around her wrists and by the firm grasp of his teeth and lips.
Quinn lifted his head and took her chin in one hand. Reaching down with his other hand, he cupped her bottom and squeezed her through the denim. There was nothing she could do to resist him. She no longer wanted to resist him. She relaxed, allowing her body to depend on his. They kissed again, even more deeply, and her hands fumbled blindly at the fastening of his trousers. She felt the heat and hardness of his erection through the fabric and stroked him before she found the way to set him free.
When the buttons were undone he released her mouth and shoved his trousers down, kicking at the folds encumbering his ankles. She smiled as he fought to extricate
himself, freed her own arms from the sleeves of her shirt, took a pace back and undid the stud and zipper of her jeans. He kept his eyes on her as she slid the denim down her legs and stepped out of the pants, revealing the lace of her panties.
He moistened his lips as his ardent gaze took in every inch of her, then reached out a hand to touch her, brushing the mound between her legs with the tips of his fingers.
She moaned.
“Damnation,” he muttered.
“What?”
“No French letters.”
For once she was glad her doctor had advised her to continue with her birth control pills to regulate her erratic cycle. Her lips curved in a smile. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I won’t.” His eyes still on her, he took off his shirt and stood buck-naked in her kitchen, like some computer-generated fantasy. His body was hard and taut, rippling cords marking his belly and a fine, thick cock sprouting from a nest of darker hair at the juncture of his thighs. The well-developed muscles of his legs betrayed his years of riding, of holding and guiding a moving animal. She felt dizzy at the thought of being held between those steely thighs.
“Your turn,” he said quietly. “Take them off for me.”
She hooked her thumbs on the sides of her panties, pulled them down and heard his breath in a great exhalation as she revealed the curls nestling at the base of her belly.
“Beautiful,” he whispered as she stepped to one side, leaving the scrap of lace on the floor.
He seized her again and sank with her to his knees. They stayed for a long moment, her naked breasts pressed to his bare chest, his engorged cock trapped between them.
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Then in a lithe movement he sat, propped his back against the cabinets, spread her legs and lifted her onto his lap to face him. She straddled him, her feet flat on the kitchen tiles alongside his thighs. He held her leg with one hand and she remained motionless, open to his devouring gaze, as he traced a line of fire down her bare breasts, to her abdomen, down to her wet pussy. He paused for a moment, his hand resting lightly on the curls between her thighs. She held her breath as moisture creamed from her, knowing what would happen when he touched her, longing for it, yet dreading it at the same time.
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