Slowly rising to his feet, he glanced at the other three packets in the bag. Anticipation tingled down his spine. He looked into her teasing gaze and raised a brow. “Feeling energetic are we?”
Her chuckle bordered on wicked and throbbed through his entire body, especially the part longing for her touch.
“As a matter of fact, yes,” she said, ripping her shirt up and over her head in one swift move. “What we don’t use we’ll take home.”
So, they were going to use more than one. Hell yeah. He liked where this night was heading. And that she was stepping out of her pants to stand in front of him in just a black lacey bra and thong barely containing her curves.
He was the luckiest damn bastard alive.
She sauntered close, each sway of her hips tightening his groin until he swore his zipper would bust.
“I’ll take that,” she said, grabbing the packet from his hand to tuck inside her thong.
Burst. His zipper was ready to burst. And so was he.
“Why don’t you get undressed so you can take me on Lullabelle.”
His heart literally stopped for a full beat, then thudded out of control.
“I want you to take me for a different kind of ride. You know, the other kind you’re so good at.” She walked backwards as she spoke, sexy smile teasing her lips and his libido.
Mitch was stripped and stalking her in under forty seconds. To hell with buttons and shoe laces. He’d buy more.
By the time she’d reached the plane, he was on top of her, grabbing her ass as she jumped up and wrapped her legs around his hips. Their mouths connected the same time he set her on the wing and kissed her long and wet and deep.
He stroked his hands up her curves to reach behind and unhook her bra, helping her shrug out of the lace without releasing her mouth. Tight and perked, her nipples poked his chest, demanding his utmost attention.
As always, he was more than happy to oblige.
Releasing her lips, he cupped one peaked beauty in his hand and captured the other in his mouth, nipping and sucking until she clung to him. God, she was soft, and her moans…they fueled his hunger like jet fuel to a plane. He drew back and watched her face as he blew a breath over her wet skin.
She shivered and her eyes darkened. “I think you need to come up here and join me.”
He watched her scoot further up on the wing and lay back. Air funneled into his lungs while his whole body tightened at once. So damn beautiful.
Mitch stared at the woman, drinking in the sight of her nearly naked body, sprawled out on the bent wing of the Corsair, hair tumbled around, eyes full of love and need and heat. Never, would he ever forget this moment. The image would remain with him forever.
Before joining her, he trailed kisses up her body until he reached her last scrap of clothing. His finger scraped across skin smooth as silk as he removed the condom from beneath the thong. Placing the packet by her side, he grasped the lace with his teeth and tugged the material all the way down her legs, his hands following to caress every inch right down to her toes.
“Hurry, Mitch,” she urged in a needy, breathless tone.
Standing back, he admired the view. She looked good. So damn good. He grabbed one of her ankles and pushed until she was bent at the knee, foot flat on the wing. Spreading her other leg a little further, he groaned, looking his fill. A desperate sound left her throat, spurring his hands on a return journey that had him leaning over her, caressing her soft, silky wet folds.
Gasping and writhing, she moved under his touch.
“Mitch…please…”
On a heady high, Mitch watched as he teased and stroked, knowing what she loved, eventually moving a finger inside while his thumb lightly touched outside. She writhed and cried out again.
“Mitch.” She sat up, her breasts brushing his head as she ripped the packet open. “Get up here. I need you inside me, now.”
His erection jumped at her words and he had to clench his jaw and fight for control as she rolled the condom on his throbbing dick. Cripes. For as desperate as she was, the wicked woman took her damn sweet time about it, stroking and squeezing until he saw stars.
Cursing, he captured her mouth and kissed her hot and fierce while he pushed her back and crawled up her body. Those wicked fingers of hers continued to stroke his erection, nudging the tip into her creamy, wet folds.
He released her mouth to nip at her neck, biting the sensitive spot behind her ear, and as she writhed, like he knew she would, he plunged deep inside her in one swift move. Fighting back the need for release, he held his hips still and slowly rose onto his arms.
Samantha smiled lazily up at him, eyes dark and gleaming, face flushed. “I love you, Mitch,” she said, trailing a hand down his side to rest on his ass, the other touched his face while she slowly rocked her hips. “Take me to the sky.”
He growled and kissed the thumb she rubbed over his lips. “I love you, too, Samantha. And I’ll do better than that,” he told her, running his hand across her belly down to their connection before brushing a thumb over her swollen flesh. “I’ll take you to the moon.”
She inhaled and rocked again. And again, lifted up to draw him in deeper.
“Cripes, you feel incredible, Samantha.”
So damn incredible.
He palmed the wing on either side of her head and bent down to kiss her, practically growling when her tongue skittered across his, tempting, teasing in a heated frenzy. And she kept on rocking and rocking. Heat skittered down his spine, signaling release was near. He adjusted the angle and she ripped her mouth away to gasp.
“Yeah….please…”
“Whatever you want, Samantha.” He really would give her the moon if he could.
“You. Now. Faster.”
With one last kiss to her mouth, he locked his elbows and moved faster and deeper, reveling in her glazy green gaze as she clutched at his hips. Arching, she cried out, her body squeezing around him, the exquisite pleasure pulling him right over the edge with her. He drew back then drove deep, coming hard and fierce, with an intensity that zapped his strength as the last of the pleasure faded.
Dropping onto his elbows, he nuzzled her neck as they worked to catch their breath. Mitch’s heart and body were both completely satisfied. The only other time he’d experience such total bliss was in another life…
…when he’d been John and Samantha had been Anna.
***
Mitch entered the loft with a duffle bag slung over each shoulder and a pile of books in his hand. He dropped the books on the table and Samantha’s gear and his bag on the floor near the wall. He’d unpack his stuff later. With her leaving in the morning, he wasn’t about to waste a second of their time together on a menial task.
A few minutes ago, he had to talk her into going to the break room for coffee because he knew if she’d come up with him they’d end up in bed and never leave. Not that that was a bad thing. Hell no. It was a great thing. A perfect thing. But, he had their whole day planned out, including another airplane ride—both on and off the ground.
Just thinking of the other night in the hangar perked up his engine. He wanted to do that again. Several times.
The image of Samantha sprawled out on that wing shot through his head, along with the memory of her straddling him in the cockpit, turning the location literal. All night long, they’d stayed in the hangar, and when they’d run out of condoms, she’d pushed him against the Corsair and dropped to her knees.
Cripes. She’d felt so damn good working him over. It had been unexpected and incredible. Even now, his body could still feel her mouth on him.
Fuck.
He closed his eyes and reached for the table, trying to regain his control. Overshooting his mark, he smacked into the pile of books, sending one of them to the floor. He opened his eyes and spotted Shep’s album, along with several photos and a clipping by his feet.
“Shit,” he muttered, bending to gather the memories, quickly placing the pictures into the f
ront of the book. He’d fix them tomorrow. He grabbed the clipping and hesitated when the headline caught his attention.
My God!
The world literally tilted.
Stumbling backwards, he sank onto the bed and slowly read the full article. Dear God. No. Mitch could hardly breathe, and when he did, his chest was so tight barely anything got through. It was like sucking air from a straw with a fucking finger on the bottom.
For ten minutes he sat there reading and rereading the clipping, hoping, praying he was seeing things. But he wasn’t. And everything changed in that small space of time. Slowly rising to his feet, he drew in another breath and headed for the door. He knew what he had to do.
He had to get back to 1943.
Chapter 17
A fission of unease settled over Sam. She glanced at the clock on the break room wall. Something was wrong. Resembling the nose of a plane, the timepiece was one of her grandfather’s prized possessions and usually made her smile. But not now. Now her chest was becoming increasingly tight. Where was Mitch? It didn’t take ten minutes to drop their bags and a couple of books off in the loft.
Maybe he changed his mind and was waiting for her to join him?
“Sam? Earth to Sam. Are you even listening to me? I said the new guy Jack starts on Monday. Wait till you see him, he’s gorgeous. And so is his brother Adam. He’s the Marine.” Maria’s voice wafted through her brain, causing her to blink.
“Yeah, Adam starts the following week,” her brother informed.
She focused on her friend’s smiling face and the rest of the room became clear. When had her dad and Jenny arrived?
“I wish I could tune her out,” Jensen said, folding his paper with a snap.
Her brother chuckled. “My sister’s had years of practice.”
“Ha ha. Very funny.” Maria eye-rolled them. “It’s not me. She’s got flyboy on her brain.”
Her father strolled closer and smiled. “Hello, hun.” He kissed her cheek on his way to get his morning coffee.
Provided Maria left him some.
“Hello, Dad,” she replied. “Are you going to need me today?”
“No. No. We’re good,” he reassured, dumping a packet of sugar into his coffee.
“And if they do, that’s why I’m…”
Sam didn’t hear the rest of Maria’s sentence because Mitch walked in, and she knew. She knew. One look at the serious expression on his pale face and she knew the horrible feeling brewing in her gut held merit. Something was wrong. Terribly wrong.
“Mitch.” She dropped her cup on the counter, crossed the room and was in front of him, grabbing his hand in two seconds flat. “What is it? What’s wrong?”
He opened his mouth and drew in a breath. “I think you’d better sit down,” he said, leading her to a chair her brother pulled out.
Shit. No. Nothing good ever came from a sentence like that. She shook her head and tugged her hands free. “No. I—I don’t think I want to sit down.”
“Samantha, please.” Mitch’s eyes and tone matched, imploring her to listen.
She grit her teeth and slowly sank onto the chair next to Jenny. “You’re scaring me.”
“Mitch, what is it, man?” Jensen asked, leaning closer.
Her father and Maria drew near, worried expressions wrinkling their brows. All of a sudden, Sam didn’t want to hear. She didn’t want to know.
“Yeah, what’s wrong?” her brother asked quietly.
Mitch pulled up a chair and sat in front of her, taking her hand in his while his gaze bore deep. “Samantha, who do you think I am?”
She reeled back, totally not expecting the question. “What? What do you mean?”
“What’s my name?”
Cripes. Did he fall and hit his head? Is that what had taken him so long? “Are you hurt?” She yanked free to run her fingers through his hair, looking for lumps.
“No. I’m fine,” he said, capturing her hands in his once more. “Please, answer the question.”
He wasn’t making sense. Why did his name matter? It was going to change come the middle of next week anyway when Maria’s cousin arrived with his new identity.
“Samantha…”
She drew in a breath and lifted her shoulder. “You’re Captain Anthony Mitchell. You went MIA on December 28th 1943. But I don’t understand…”
Her voice trailed off as she watched him close his eyes and slowly shake his head. Dear God, had she been wrong?
“No. I’m not,” he stated, eyes opening wide, gaze locked on her.
The room spun wildly out of control. She squeezed his hands and sucked in several deep breaths to remain conscious.
“What?” Her dad and brother asked in unison.
“Y-you’re not? What do you mean you’re not?” She paused to force out the toughest question of her life. “Who are you?”
The deep gut-wrenching dread, wracking her body with a relentless vigor, darkened his eyes to a stormy blue.
“Captain Mitch Carson.”
A sharp inhale mixed with an Oh my God and echoed through the suddenly quiet room.
“No. No.” She shot to her feet and backed away from him until she hit the wall. “That’s not possible. You’re Captain Mitchell. Anthony Mitchell. Your uniform said Mitchell. Right, Maria? It said Mitchell.”
Her gaze sliced to her friend in desperate need of assurance. Maria nodded. Good, because he couldn’t be Mitch Carson. That would mean…
This wasn’t happening. This wasn’t happening. Oh God, please…this wasn’t happening.
The memory of that day in the cabin came crashing back. No wonder she’d felt to her soul Mitch was the reason she was alive. Because he was—literally. God, she’d thought it was so he could love her…not die for her.
Sam tried. She really tried, but couldn’t get air into her lungs.
“Christ,” he muttered walking toward her, his blue-green gaze full of sorrow. “I’m so sorry, Samantha. Tony and I shared a bunk. We were always grabbing each other’s shirts when the siren went off...”
When he reached her, he lifted his hands to cup her face and stared silently into her eyes. No. She knew what he was going to say before he said it. Not going to happen. No. She put her hand over his mouth and shook her head.
“Don’t you dare. Don’t you say it,” she begged, hot tears spilling down her face.
He tugged her hand from his face and squeezed. “I have to go back, Samantha,” he said quietly but firmly. “You know it, and I know it. I have to go back.”
Maria drew up on her left and stared at Mitch. “Back? Where? To 1943?”
“Yes,” Mitch replied without removing his gaze or touch from Sam.
The others converged around them.
“Why?” Jensen asked. “If that’s even possible, why do you have to go back?”
Sam knew why. Oh yes, she knew why, but her throat was too swollen for speech, and her heart was too shattered to even contemplate answering.
“Because,” her father spoke quietly, “Captain Mitch Carson was my dad’s best friend, and on January 12th, 1944 my dad, Burt Miller and Fred Jones where hit. Mitch saved their lives when he took on enemy aircraft, drawing them away so those three could limp safely back to base. They made it, but Mitch did not.”
Sam knew the tale by heart. She knew the article word for word. All her life she’d been grateful to Captain Mitch Carson for saving her beloved grandfather. Her whole family was thankful. The C in SC Charters was for him. Todd even named his son after Mitch. He was a true hero, and she’d always been appreciative because his sacrifice had given her life; had given her a wonderful family.
But now?
God. Now? No. Now she was so sick inside she couldn’t think. Couldn’t breathe and was fighting to keep from throwing up.
“You can’t go back, Mitch. You’ll die.” She leaned into his broad chest and slipped her arms around his back, tuning everyone out but him. Her connection to this man was unexplainable. Strong. They ha
d a history together. And dammit to hell! They were supposed to have a future. “I won’t let you, go. I love you.”
“Hey, hey. It’s all right, Samantha.” He eased back, tucked a finger under her chin, and forced her to look up. Warmth, regret and deep affection met her gaze. “I love you, too. That’s why I have to go back.”
“No!”
He silenced her lips with a gentle finger. “Yes. If I don’t go back, you don’t exist.” He sucked in a breath and crushed her to his chest. “I can’t live with that. God. No. I won’t live with that, Samantha. No way in hell.”
This can’t be happening.
“Please.” She squeezed him tight, drawing on his strength to fight the urge to be sick. “If you go, you’ll die, and I can’t live with that.”
Warm fingers curled around her upper arms and held her away while he gazed deep into her eyes. “Samantha, if I don’t go back, you’ll die. Your grandfather will die. Your father will die.” He waited a beat then added, “Carson will die.”
Jenny sucked in a breath. “No,” the strangled cry left her sister-in-law’s mouth despite the finger pressed to her lips.
Todd pulled his wife close and looked over her head at Sam and shook his head, clearly in distress.
She swallowed, and returned her gaze back to Mitch, her heart torn to shreds. “Then take me with you.”
“No,” Maria and the four men said in unison.
“Sweetheart, you can’t,” Mitch said gently. “Then we’d still be changing history.”
She hiccupped a merciless laugh. “I don’t care.”
“Well, I do. What will you do when I die?”
Air funneled into her lungs as she clutched at his shirt. “Mitch…please.”
“I’m sorry, Samantha. You’re not meant to be back there anymore than I am meant to be here now.” He cupped her face again. “You know I’m right. Deep down you know I’m right. You can feel it.”
His gaze bore deep, and as much as she wanted to give voice to the vehement denial burning her lips, she couldn’t. He was right. This feeling something was off…something couldn’t click into place…had shadowed her ever since she flew from the cabin.
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