An odd sensation ran through Sam, sending her pulse into a tailspin. She stepped closer, taking in his unbuttoned shirt, the five-o’clock shadow teasing his jaw, ruffled hair…images shot through her mind like a fast moving slide show. Nineteenth century. Farther east. She stopped in front of him and glanced at his hand. It was naked. In her images, he wore a ring.
She did, too.
They were married.
“Something I can help you with?” Mitch regarded her lazily.
“John…I-I called you John,” she stammered, trying to reconcile her thoughts.
In one fluid motion, he leaned forward and grabbed her wrist, eyes fully alert. “What did you say?”
Chapter 9
“John,” Sam repeated, ignoring the stinging where his fingers pressed into her broken skin. “I used to call you John. We had a life together. How is that possible?”
Mitch released her and shrugged. “Past life, I guess.”
Past life? She sank down onto a nearby couch and let out a breath. Could that be the answer? She never thought one way or the other about reincarnation, but now…
Her gaze slowly rose from the clasped hands shaking on her lap to find he had turned his chair, and was still watching her through that intense blue-green gaze. The same gaze as John.
“We had children, Mitch.”
His chin lifted and something unreadable flashed through his eyes before they became guarded again. After a moment, he spoke. “That was John and Anna’s life, not ours.”
Pain, unexpected and strong, squeezed her heart tight. She didn’t know why his words hurt, but they had. Still, he was right. They weren’t Anna and John.
Were they?
“I’m more concerned with my life, right now,” he added.
“Yeah.” She managed to snicker. “Cause it’s not weird or anything I’m sitting in my grandfather’s cabin, in the twenty-first century with his friend I brought back from last century.”
Damn. They’d be a therapist’s wet dream. Between past lives and time travel. Wait. She sat up straight.
“It’s time-shift lag.” Had to be. She snapped her fingers. “My brain is befuddled, imagining us in a past life because of time-shifting.”
She watched the captain fold his arms across that magnificent chest of his and slowly shake his head.
“Doesn’t explain the images I had before you ever showed up at Vella Lavella.”
Shoot. He was right. She sank back into the cushions. He’d called her Anna just before Maria had shoved the needle into his neck.
“But it doesn’t matter.” He leaned forward. “Like I said, I’m interested in right now, and what exactly I should do with you, Samantha.”
A barrage of naughty images sprang to mind. Some from the past, some completely original and fueled by her lust for the man. She cleared her throat and shot to her feet.
“How about you fulfill your promise and give me my pill?” She thrust her palm out.
He glanced at her hand, then frowned. Once again, his warm fingers encircled her wrist, this time, above her cut. “Did I do that to you?”
When she found her voice, it came out a little throaty. “No, I-I did when I struggled.”
“Shit.” He released her and stood up, shoving a hand through his thick brown hair.
Good thing he didn’t know about her other bruises. She stepped back a few feet in order to keep her brain functioning.
“I’m sorry, Samantha,” he said. “You may be my prisoner, but I had no right to hurt you.”
His prisoner?
She bit both lips to keep from laughing. Something told her he wouldn’t appreciate the sentiment. He had no idea how well trained she was, not only in flying but in combat, too. It was better if she let him think he was in control.
“It’s all right. I’m sure your leg hurts like a bitch.”
His lips twitched into a smile. “Touché.”
Since he seemed a little more lax, she pressed him again, “So…can I have my pill now?”
After studying her a long moment, he pulled out the packet and extracted one pill. Thank God, she thought as she swallowed the tiny pill. Last thing she needed was to screw up her hormone therapy and give those damn cysts a chance to grow. She was already five minutes late.
“Thanks,” she said, then added, “And thanks for my clothes, although, I really would love to have my underwear back. I can’t tell you how weird it feels to not wear anything under my jeans.”
The clamping of his jaw echoed between them and she watched as his gaze lowered to her crotch. Holy Hannah. If he continued to stare at her, the heat building in her core was going to liquefy all the bones in her legs.
He swallowed. Twice. A minute later, his dark gaze rose, and she could tell he was struggling to fight their attraction.
“Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “But I’m not entirely convinced they’re not weapons.”
A smile split her lips as she half moaned/half groaned. “God, you’re so cute, Mitch. I don’t know what I’m going to do with you, either.”
The words were out before Sam could stop them. But why should she? They were the God’s honest truth.
***
Over the next eight hours, they fell into a civil, yet guarded routine. Mitch shadowed his captor’s every move, joining her morning physical training, which consisted of stretching, then running halfway around the lake and back. The whole time, he expected the enemy to jump out of the bushes at any moment. They never did. After midday fishing, afternoon hiking, followed by a relaxing canoe ride across the lake and back with still no sign of another living soul, he began to have doubts.
Of course, that’s what the enemy would want. For him to drop his guard. Lull him into a false sense of security so they could swoop in and make their move. No. No. They were near, and by God he’d wait them out.
After helping his captor secure the canoe on dry land, he walked back with her to the dock where he fished out the line of trout they’d caught earlier in the day.
The outing had been fruitful, and Mitch had, from time to time, actually relaxed and forgotten about his situation. He should be shot. At ease with the enemy? What the hell was wrong with him?
“You’re quite the fisherman, Mitch.”
Samantha’s voice brought him out of his thoughts. He glanced over at her and noted a genuine smile on her face as she gathered their poles and tackle box. The cold air brought color to her cheeks and intensified the sparkle in her eyes. Cripes. He was such a pansy. The setting sun didn’t help either, adding copper streaks to her brown hair.
He shoved his free hand deep into his pocket to keep from reaching out and running his fingers through the silky strands.
“You did good.” She nodded to the catch he carried to the cabin.
Her regard toward him had been nothing but warm and friendly the whole day. Between her genuine charm and beauty, she was becoming harder and harder to resist.
But he had long since learned what he needed and what he wanted didn’t necessarily coincide.
He shrugged. “Beginner’s luck.”
Back in the South Pacific, a stream led to a lagoon where the guys fished in order to relieve stress. He eyed the poles in her hand. Of course, on the island they used sticks, not fancy get up. The Germans sure spared no expense in this ruse.
“Beginner’s luck my ass.”
Her snort ricocheted between them. He tried not to let the sound affect him, but damn if it didn’t tug at his insides anyway. His lips twitched.
“You caught the most, so fair is fair, I’ll cook ‘em.” She reached for the fish when they stepped onto the porch. “I’m going to need your knife, though. All the others in the cabin seem to have mysteriously disappeared over night.”
Damn right they did.
“Sorry, sweetheart. Not going to happen.” He stared down at her, and his insides rippled as a mischievous grin claimed her lips.
“Oh, darn, guess that means you get to gut them. Have
fun.” She patted his chest with her palm. A half a second and a wink later, he was alone on the porch with the fish.
He’d been had.
Mitch smiled and shook his head. Damn, sexy, smartass. Still, he preferred not to leave the woman alone. He entered the cabin with the trout.
“What do you think you’re doing?” She stared at him in front of the closet full of fishing gear and nodded at their catch. “You take them right back outside, mister. No cleaning fish in here.”
“You’re in here so they’ll be gutted in here,” he mimicked her righteous tone.
A heavy sigh preceded her body. “We’re still doing the shadow thing, I see.”
“Absolutely.”
With a sigh, she slipped back into her flannel lined jacket and stared at him. “You still don’t trust me, do you?”
He studied her clear green gaze, a gaze open and free of anger and malice, full of wonder and hope. Somehow, he knew she didn’t mean him any harm. The woman was the enemy. How could she not?
Green eyes full of hope stared expectantly at him. His gut twisted tight. He didn’t want to hurt her.
Cripes. Yeah, he was the biggest fuckin’ pansy.
“It’s the situation I don’t trust, Samantha.”
Her eyes darkened a moment before her chin lifted. “Fair enough.” She flipped the porch light on and glanced at the fish again. “Now, let’s go outside so you can gut my supper. I’m hungry.”
“Yes, Ma’am,” he said, and followed her out the door.
For five minutes, he cleaned the fish in silence, glancing at the quiet woman every so often. She sat a few feet away, on the edge of the porch, feet dangling, face turned skyward. The stars started to make their appearance as the sun slowly slid behind the mountain.
She caught him glancing and smiled. “What do you see in the sky, Mitch?”
Surprised by her question, he blinked before glancing up. The night sky appeared a little different on the island a few nights ago. The stars emerged as clear and sharp, and he recognized patterns with ease.
“The big and little dippers, and the star Arcturus in the constellation Bootes the Herdsmen,” he replied, pointing out each one with a jab of his knife.
“Ah, you know your constellations.”
He returned his attention to the last fish. “Yes, Ma’am, I do.”
“What do you think of the moon?”
The moon? He glanced from her hopeful gaze to the moon slowly rising in the sky. “I think it’s bright despite not quite being full.”
She laughed. “I agree. It’s brilliant. Someday, I’m going to fly to the moon.”
The wind carried her sigh, and damn if he didn’t feel it wash over his skin. He stared at her hard, trying to decide if she was shitting him.
“To the moon?”
“Yes,” she said, a smile tugging her lips. “Come on, haven’t you ever wanted to keep going when you had the nose of your plane tipped to the atmosphere?”
He shook his head and got back to the fish in his hand. “No. I just want to avoid enemy fire.”
“Well, this is another instance where you’re not going to believe me, but we’ve already had several lunar landings.”
He stilled and glanced at her again. A straight face. How the hell did she tell him that with a straight face?
She shook her head, sadness darkening her eyes. “You have so much to catch up on. I’ll help you. The internet will come in handy, too. As for the moon,” her chin lifted. “On July 20th, 1969 astronaut Neal Armstrong was the first man to step foot on the moon.”
Shit, no. He blinked at her. “The Germans sent a guy to the moon?”
“Not the Germans, the Americans, silly.” She eye-rolled him. “That was forty-three years ago. Think about it, Mitch. Space. We can travel to outer space.”
Think? He was thinking all right. He was thinking the woman appeared as batty as she was beautiful. Cripes. What a story.
“There’s an international space station, too.”
Of course. And a diner. And aliens…
“Can you imagine docking to the station?” she asked with a wide smile. “Fifteen nations worked together to design, assemble and man the station. God, it must be incredible up close.”
Talk about elaborate.
Mitch swallowed a groan and turned back to the fish. What the hell had the enemy hoped to accomplish sticking him with Samantha the sexy fruitcake?
“This past summer we sent an unmanned probe to Mars. The pictures they’ve sent back are incredible. I sure hope we’ll be able to fly to the red planet during my lifetime.” Her face, once again, tipped up to the stars.
Astronauts?
Space stations?
Now Mars?
Okay, she was definitely toying with him. He finished the last fish and turned to her, expecting a teasing smile. None. Face flushed, eyes bright with excitement, she stopped his heart.
My God…the beautiful woman actually believed the line of bullshit she fed him.
“Although, I don’t know what all the cutbacks will do to my dream of someday piloting the space shuttle. I hope I—”
Her abrupt stop when their gazes met, told him she’d read his thoughts.
A swift shaft of sadness extinguished the light in her eyes. As Mitch saw her animated expression turn lifeless, an overwhelming sense of loss hit him between the solar plexus.
“I’ll get supper started,” she said, all emotion vacant from her tone and face. Without meeting his gaze, she grabbed the tray of fillets and moved toward the door. “Dump the rest down by the water. Keeps the wildlife at bay.”
“Samantha—”
Too late. She’d already disappeared into the cabin.
Swallowing a curse and questioning his sanity, Mitch did as directed, then marched into the cabin. Busy by the stove, Samantha didn’t glance up, didn’t acknowledge him, didn’t smile a heart-stopping smile, didn’t tear into him with her sharp tongue. Nothing.
For the first time since he’d arrived in this Godforsaken place, Mitch minded the cold. He shivered as he rinsed his knife in the sink and washed his hands. Christ. He needed his head examined. But, he missed the woman’s heat. Angry or happy, Samantha had always exuded a heat he’d felt clear to his soul.
Until now.
After several more seconds of silence, he caved. Fuckin’ pansy. “Listen, Samantha—”
“It’s okay, Captain,” she said, joining him at the sink. “I understand.”
Captain? What the hell had happened to Mitch?
Her gaze finally met his over a can of potatoes she drained. “I forgot for a moment we weren’t on the same page…or the same century.” She laughed, but amusement never quite reached her eyes. A second later, the potatoes hit the cookie tray with a thud. “All that’s going to change three days from now.”
He stilled and studied her intently. “What’s going on in three days?”
“Maria comes for us.” She stopped seasoning the potatoes to give him a direct stare. “Ready or not, Captain, you have a date with the twenty-first century on Monday.”
Her tone was informative, not mean, yet a chill raced down his spine. One way or another, he’d finally get some answers.
“Dinner will be ready in ten minutes.” Her chin tipped ever so slightly. “You have enough time for a quick shower, but heaven forbid you should leave me alone.”
Yeah, okay, she was still bitter.
He stepped closer, trapping her body between him and the counter before lifting a finger to smooth back a piece of hair from her face.
“You could always take one with me…”
Where the hell had that come from?
Mouth slightly parted, she stared at him, color tingeing her cheeks, but her gaze remained dull. She arched a brow.
“Now who’s seducing who, Captain?” She pushed past him to grab the tray, placed the seasoned potatoes in the oven before turning to face him, delicate brow rising again. “Ten minutes and counting.”
Her gaze spoke volumes. The woman expected him to pull up a chair and monitor her every move. He couldn’t blame her. Hell, he’d been doing that ever since her arrival.
Call him stupid, but Mitch had the sudden need to prove her wrong. To be less predictable. To keep the enemy guessing. So, with a small nod and a wink, he swiveled around and strode to the bathroom, but not before noting her stunned expression. Good.
Showered in under six minutes, he set a new personal record…except the time the air siren had gone off while in the middle of one at base. His lips twitched. After he’d landed eighteen hours later, his soap-dried hair had been stiff enough to hold the form of his pilot cap long after removal. Conditions on the island sucked, but…
A pang of regret seized him hard. Dammit. He shouldn’t be here flirting with the sexy spy. Hell. He shouldn’t fucking be here at all. What if he never got back?
No. Not going to happen. He straightened his shoulders. Not an option.
Since his clean clothes were in the other room, he left the bathroom with a towel wrapped around his waist and a mission on his mind. Get back to my squadron.
“Two more…”
Samantha’s voice trailed off into an audible inhale. Eyes wide, she slowly slid her gaze down his body then back up. Cripes. Humidity on the island had nothing on the heat of her gaze. He watched her swallow and had the sudden need to do the same.
Damn, the woman’s potent. Even clear across the room, he could feel her warmth. His groin jerked as if touched.
Pansy.
Once he entered his room, breathing became a normal function again. He quickly dressed in a pair of jeans she’d brought. It’d been years since he’d had the pleasure. They fit. Of course they did. The spy no doubt had his measurements. He swallowed a curse and shrugged into a long-sleeved navy shirt with a hood attached. Damn, the fabric was soft. He ran his hand down his arm, amazed by the material.
“Food’s on the table,” Samantha called from the other room. The sound of a chair scraping the floor signaled she wasn’t waiting.
Foregoing his shoes, Mitch joined her, his mouth watering as he inhaled the delicious aroma.
10 Timeless Heroes; A Time Travel Romance Boxed Set Page 214
