Soldier, Come Home

by Quinn, Jane Leopold

  As if talking to a child, he said gently, "That is the only way out." Striding across the room, he escorted her back to the door, his hand brushing the small of her back, sending shivers all over her body. She stepped out again. It was the courtyard, the people, and the animals.

  "God!" Her breath hitching, she grabbed him, unconsciously digging her fingernails into his hard forearm. "Where is the door I came in?" she cried desperately.

  Staring at her as if she were mad, he gripped her shoulders, his thumbs bracketing her neck. He forced her to look into his deep brown eyes. "Janney Forrester, there is only one door and that's it. Tell me where you're going, and I'll take you there."

  Her face flushed hot. "I need to get out of here." She pushed at his solid chest, tried to twist herself out of his arms. "Don't touch me!"

  "Marek!" The warning tone was low, but sharp.

  They both turned to look at Augusta. Janney had forgotten she was there. Breaking from his grasp, she ran to Augusta and begged, "Please, help me. I can't get out. The door's not the same one I came in." Her words tumbled out all in a rush. "He won't let me out!"

  "Janney, my dear," Augusta calmly began. "Marek will not hurt you. No one will hurt you." She talked softly and assuredly to Janney. "There is only one door. Let's go look out together."

  They walked to the door, opened it, and looked out into the courtyard again. Frantic, Janney pushed herself back inside. Her back to the atrium wall, she slid along until she reached the corner. Thoughts wouldn't light in her brain and the ones that finally did, she couldn't believe. What seemed to be true couldn't possibly be. She just needed to think logically. These people were actors. They had to be. She took a deep breath trying to calm her wildly beating heart and spoke, her voice barely above a whisper, "Where am I?"

  "You're at Aquae Sulis, dear."

  "You mean Bath." It was a statement. A demand. Not a question.

  "The baths are here, but this town is called Aquae Sulis," Augusta said calmly.

  Janney's frantic gaze flickered to the man. Aquae Sulis was the ancient name for the town of Bath.

  His brows had drawn together over his nose.

  "What year is this?" She was afraid her breath wouldn't last.

  "It is the year 161."

  "No, I mean really, in real life, not this fake restored Roman thing."

  Augusta approached her, her hands out, palms up. "Janney dear, you are in Britannia in the Roman Empire. This is Aquae Sulis. My name is Augusta, and this is my friend, Marek."

  Shivering, pressing herself further into the corner, Janney crossed both palms over her mouth. Eyes wide, she stared at the couple for what seemed an interminable time as her brain tried to slog through what was happening. It isn't possible. It can't be. Things like this don't happen in real life.

  It's impossible. Unthinkable. She could hardly utter the words even in her mind, let alone out loud. They'd tie her up in a rubber room, or whatever they did back in Roman times with insane people.

  She babbled, "I'm Janney Forrester from Mission River, Iowa, in America. I teach third grade, and I'm on summer vacation in England. I live in the year 2012. I don't understand what happened. It can't possibly be true, but…but I've…" Her panicked eyes darted around the room. "I think I've gone back in time."

  She sank to the floor and buried her face in her arms, hugging her knees to her chest, holding herself as tightly as she could.

  "Marek, she's not mad," Augusta uttered the feared word—mad. "I don't fully understand it, but I think her story is somehow true."

  Tears trickled down her cheeks. "Oh, my God. My mother will die of worry if I don't get back. My kids… No one will know what happened to me."

  She felt a large heated presence. Raising her head, she saw Marek kneeling in front of her. He took her cold and shaking hands in his warm, steady ones and gently asked, "What happened right before you came in the door? Where were you? Look at me, Janney Forrester," he commanded gently. "Where were you?"

  She blinked as if coming into the light out of a dark room. Not knowing what was happening to her was making her crazy. Marek and Augusta were the only solid pieces in this whole bizarre puzzle. She'd heard his questions and knew that he was trying to help her regain control. God, she needed to be in control again.

  Shuddering with fear that hovered too closely, she held his gaze and hands as if her life depended on it and whispered, "I was at the doorway. Outside the door. It wasn't wooden. It wasn't there." She pointed, clinging to what she knew for sure. "It was all overgrown with weeds and vines. I walked through grass and wild flowers up to that door. It was all open, and I could see the ruins inside here. It didn't look like this. It smelled of dust. There was no roof. The tiles were broken. The fountain didn't work." Her voice rose in pitch again. "But when I stepped in, it was perfect. Like it had been restored. Like it is now. It doesn't make any sense."

  He glanced at the door. Helping her up gently, his hand firmly around her waist, he walked with her to the door. They stepped out together. The courtyard. They stepped back inside. He urged her through alone. It was the same scene. She leaned against the doorframe turning her back to the street. She couldn't bear to look out there again. She was lost, trapped in a nightmare.

  ***

  Mt. Olympus

  "Well, that takes care of that," the Goddess of Love chirped, gleefully dusting off her palms. Venus reclined on her chaise with a self-satisfied expression on her dazzling face.

  "What takes care of what?" the God of War asked. Mars reluctantly turned his concentration from the current battle being waged against Parthia.

  "I brought the woman back from her time to his."

  "Whose?"

  "Marek Benin's."

  "Why in all the heavens would you do that?"

  "Because I have the power." Venus always enjoyed having the last word over Mars.

  Ancient Ties at Loose Id

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  Chapter One

  "Unhhh…Ohhh, God…" The sounds tore from her throat in deep, raspy growls. Liz's hips undulated in time to her heartbeat as shudders rolled through her body.

  She'd set the scene in her bedroom: glowing candles, fluffy pillows, the covers pushed to the bottom of the bed. She settled against the pillows to play with her toy and fantasize about her sexy neighbor. It was all his fault. His fault she had to resort to her vibrator.

  Sweeping her lashes closed and swirling the tip of his imagined cock through the cream pooling in her cleft, the presence of Mr. Mysterious seemed to invade the room. The sight of his broad shoulders and chest dominated her mind's eye. Arching her neck, she moaned, "God, yes…" He teasingly nudged himself into her sheath, pulsated, pulled out, and then did it again. She gasped, panted, drove herself mad pretending this ecstasy came from him, from the imagined wicked gleam in his eyes knowing he tormented her unmercifully.

  Part of her knew the truth—that her dangerous, pretend lover wasn't really here, his cock only plastic and batteries. But it felt so real, the rotating ridges and length stimulating all her innermost nerve endings. Concentrating on the sensations, she tortured her lower lip and thrust her new lover in as deeply as possible. The rotating tip polished over the ultra-sensitive knot of nerves inside and always brought her to orgasm. Always. Ah, yes.

  In her illusion—her delusion—long, muscular, hairy legs rasped against her tender inner thighs. She heard his groan as he tracked the tips of his fingers along her skin from her knees to her drenched pubic hair.

  "Baby," he'd whisper huskily. "I'm gonna fuck you blind. I'm gonna eat my way down your body 'til your luscious clit pops into my mouth like a ripe cherry.

  Groaning loudly at the fantasy fucking, at first she tried to catalogue her feelings, to catalogue everything about him. The rakish flash of the gold hoop in his ear turned her on. So did his demonically-trimmed goatee, and she wasn't usually fond of facial hair.

  She stopped thinking and
succumbed to the forces inside her body, squeezing her thighs together to keep the vibrator in place. Her hands slid over her belly and breasts, squeezing and twisting her nipples, the dual sensations heavenly. Oh, God, her clit throbbed. It needed…something. It wanted lips, the soft suctioning of a man's lips feasting on the tender nub.

  On a sob, she speared her fingers through the lubricant, stroked faster and faster on the sides of her clit, smoothly and rhythmically, until the added friction drove her over the edge. She arched her hips, grinding her heels into the sheets, groaning guttural sounds until the waves passed over her. Pressing her hand on her mound contained the electric aftershocks. She didn't want to pull the vibrator out or even hit the off button. All she wanted to do was curl up and cry. How could such a profound climax—a good thing—make her feel so alone?

  Because you are alone.

  The euphoric orgasm inspired by the dark-haired stranger should have consumed her, but quickly cooling perspiration on her face and between her breasts reminded her that she was absolutely alone.

  Self doubt and insecurity did not factor into Elizabeth Aspen's usual repertoire of emotions. A popular and busy actress in local Chicago theater productions, she exuded confidence and enjoyed her sexy, flirtatious persona. She enjoyed her freedom, but sometimes she feared that very same freedom. It also meant loneliness.

  Several months ago, she'd been callously dumped by her boyfriend, Fred Travis. At first she'd been shocked when he announced he'd been transferred to his Houston office. He'd accepted that move without even discussing it with her. Then he delivered the final coup de grâce. He didn't want a small time actress going with him.

  A small time actress? She considered the stage her life and was thrilled to be working. How could she have missed his contemptuous attitude? Both her sister and her best friend said she was well rid of him, but it hurt to have her career belittled by someone you thought cared. So, now, she would focus on her career, swearing off men and relationships.

  She loved acting, and, after a hectic day, she loved coming home to her adorable yellow stucco coach house. Inside, the peaked roof gave her enough height to stand upright in the loft bedroom. The main floor had just enough room for her cozy furniture. A glamorous, spa-like bathroom and large walk-in closet completed the perfect home, a slice of snug normalcy in contrast to her chaotic life as an actress.

  A few weeks ago, she'd first noticed the hunky guy living in the Victorian next door. She'd been shocked at the intense jolt of carnal pleasure his dark, dangerous good looks had sent through her belly.

  Sex on two legs. Worn jeans lovingly encased muscular thighs. His straight, black mane flopped over his forehead accentuating deeply set eyes and an angular face. A mustache and closely cropped goatee couldn't soften his strong jaw line. And the glint of a gold hoop in his left ear did not, in any way, lead her to suspect he might be gay.

  This afternoon she'd spotted him climbing the porch steps, gorgeous in jeans and black leather jacket. His long hair, broad shoulders, and tight butt, combined with a face like an ultra-sexy Jake Gyllenhaal, made him irresistible. It was absurd to compare him with the blond-haired, lithe Fred. Their features were as opposite as a clear, uncomplicated day and the sexy, preternatural night. A night promising breathtaking, sensuous passion and uninhibited, rough sex.

  Rough sex? She'd never had rough sex in her life, but the thought of Mr. Hunkalicious holding her down, his fierce expression focused on her reactions as he sensuously tortured her body… She squeezed her eyes closed, forcing aside the lustful yearning. She'd surreptitiously watched that gorgeous butt take the steps two at a time. Flushing hot with imagining the bulge she'd glimpsed behind his zipper, her heart pulsed in her throat, her breath came fast, and her nerves tautened with a ravenous, sexual desire.

  Nothing else would work but to employ the services of Mr. Fake-nine-inch-cock to get thoughts of the flesh and blood guy out of her system.

  Undercover Lover at Siren

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