TemptressofTime
Page 27
They all agreed. Meg found the poker chips and cards. Diane made sure the men had ashtrays, then pulled a drink cart to the card table.
“Who’s the house?” Diane asked.
“Rotate it,” Walker suggested and they all agreed.
“Beginning with the property owner?” Meg said.
“Walker and I own it,” Adrian told them. “Since Walker’s older, he should deal first.”
Without a retort about age, Walker shuffled. Meg cut. Walker dealt, saying, “So nobody has to waste a question, Adrian and I pooled our resources and bought this property from the last owner—an Irishman who wanted to free his family from death taxes.”
“When was that?” Meg wanted to know, beating Diane to the question.
“About ten years ago?” Adrian replied, looking to Walker for confirmation.
“To give him credit, the owner had maintained the place pretty well. But as it aged, it needed more and more in the way of upgrades and maintenance. He lost clientele to more modern B&Bs. Finally sold out.”
“To you,” Diane confirmed.
“To us.” Moving the next card to the bottom of the deck, dealing three cards facedown in the middle of the table, Walker nodded at Diane as he turned all the cards over. “Bet?”
Diane checked her hole cards, glanced at the community cards and folded. The hand already was too close to the heart flush she’d had the last time they played. That night Jason had provoked a fight and Adrian had revealed all the men were time travelers.
Meg won the hand and asked, “How did Diane and I get to the U.S.?”
Walker replied. “Restless souls travel.”
“Yours didn’t.” A hint of asperity tainted Diane’s voice.
“Fear of flying and boats,” Jason muttered, tossing in his cards.
“What’s your excuse?” Meg taunted.
Adrian told her, “You’ll have to win another hand before you can ask another question.”
Diane folded on the next four hands. With the deck back to Walker, he shuffled, but didn’t deal. “If you don’t play, Diane, you don’t get to ask questions. What are you afraid of?”
She glared at him before lowering her gaze to the table. “Not that you won the right to ask… I’m afraid I’ll learn something even more horrible about myself. Something that makes me more ashamed of myself than I already am.”
Walker and Adrian covered her hands, Adrian saying, “We’ve all done things we’re ashamed of.”
“Name one,” Diane demanded.
“I let Walker have you.”
“I demanded he allow it,” Walker said. “Something I was ashamed of in other times, but not when I first did it.” He shrugged, but she could almost feel the regret that stiffened his shoulders.
“Different times, different mores,” Adrian added as Walker dealt the next hand.
This time Diane stayed in and won. Unwilling to pose questions that could lead to more self-loathing, she asked Jason, “What were you doing with all those essential oils? That night in—”
“In the folly,” he finished quickly, as if afraid she’d reveal to Meg what they’d done. “I guess you could say I was practicing.”
Diane gave the others a quelling look. “I’m not counting this as a question I need to win to ask. ‘Practicing’ what?”
“Jason’s one of the finest perfumers in the world.” Meg sounded so proud she could have burst her buttons if she’d had any.
“And the last… What was that?” She remembered the coolness of glass against her nether lips and her face heated.
Jason’s blush deepened, but he said, “That was the essence of you.”
“Ohmigod! Do you do that for every client? Meg, you need to keep this young man on a very short leash.” She tried to look stern, but her widening smile gave her away.
“That was a…a once in a lifetime occurrence,” the young man brazened, bristling with indignation.
Quirking a brow, Meg told him, “Just make sure it doesn’t happen in this lifetime.”
“But I want to create a scent just for you,” he protested, raising Meg’s hand to his lips, his soulful brown eyes so hot Meg fanned her face.
“L-later. We’ll talk about it later.”
“Speaking of late,” Adrian said with a nod at the mantelpiece clock, “late is what it’s getting. One more round, then bed?”
Meg won the very last hand, but declined to ask another question. Smiling at each other, Jason and Meg bade the others goodnight.
Being alone with her men made Diane both uneasy and excited. “I…I think I’ll retire as well.” She waited for them to protest. When they didn’t, she left them. Her feelings hurt, grumbling under her breath, she made her way to her rooms.
She finished her nightly bedtime routine and slipped into a negligee and peignoir. Too tense to sleep, she went out on the terrace. As she stood in the moonlight, inhaling air redolent with the scents of jasmine, gardenias and roses, the date struck her. Two years ago today, she’d begun this fantastic, impossible trip to her past. Now the future stretched before her—a blank page waiting for her to write something on it. But what?
Her head hurt. Her heart ached. What if Adrian and Walker were waiting for her to tell them what she wanted? What a change that would be! What if she couldn’t humble herself and go to them—like a beggar—and confess how much she loved them both? Tears threatening, she willed herself to think of more practical matters.
Where would they live? The men had businesses to run. Obligations and duties to fulfill as peers. She could write anywhere and had few obligations other than delivering her next book on time. Nor had she relatives or friends who would miss her. Her parents were still so wrapped up in each other they barely knew others existed—even their own daughter. Given her current situation, parental indifference suited her just fine.
Damnation! Even that idea hurt—that her life was so empty no one would notice if she moved to Mars. Well, her editor might wonder but, given the number of manuscripts in her slush pile, her worrying about Diane wouldn’t last long.
And this pity party had gone on long enough! Rejection letters allowed an author twenty-four hours to wallow in self-pity. She had far less time to indulge her emotions. Emotions, crap! She wished she’d never started to feel things so deeply. Better yet, she wished she’d never felt anything—ever.
Liar, liar, pants on fire.
If she’d never felt compassion, the Days and their children might have died long before they should have. If she hadn’t shared lovemaking with Walker and Adrian, would she have learned how to compromise? If she’d never tried to gain the upper hand, would Walker and Adrian have pursued her to here and now? If she’d stayed in the States, would they have found the courage to come after her?
If they hadn’t come to her, could she have found the courage to come after them?
Footfalls heralded the men’s approach. As usual, they came at her from two directions, halting just outside arm’s reach. Relief coupled with disappointment, leaving her lost in her own confusion.
“Where do we go from here?” she wondered aloud as she noticed they still wore the clothes they’d worn earlier.
“Wherever you want,” Adrian answered.
Walker nodded. “We won’t pressure you. If nothing else, we’ve learned we can’t force you to love us.”
Diane snorted. “Love you? How can you love me?” Tears stung her eyes. She willed them away, refusing to let her shame influence them in any way.
“Are you the woman you were all those centuries ago?” Adrian’s low voice wrapped her in warmth.
“God, I hope not!”
Walker took her hand. Her fingertips tingled. “Can you forgive us for what we put you through?”
“Forgive you? How can you forgive me? I still don’t remember everything about that other Diane…” She drew a shaky breath and forced herself to say, “About me. But I remember how awful I was, playing you against each other. Forcing you, Adrian, to send aw
ay your niece and nephews.”
Turning her head, she met Walker’s steady gaze. “And you, Walker. Given everything you know about her—about me—how could you want to make love with me?”
As if he’d been waiting centuries to tell her, Walker said, “In that life my own satisfaction was all that mattered. I didn’t care about you. Only besting Adrian. Can you forgive me for mistreating you?”
She expelled a breath she hadn’t realized she held. “Is that all it takes? That we forgive each other?” Pulling her hand from Walker’s, she paced a few steps away. When he said besting Adrian her bull-crap meter had spiked. She’d read his love for her in his eyes on that day in the tent. She’d heard it in his voice and words. She’d seen what he felt in his heart.
“It can’t be that easy,” she muttered.
“It’s a start.” Adrian followed her, but didn’t touch her.
The image of them holding hands and singing Kumbaya made her laugh. Hearing an edge of hysteria in her voice, she bit her fist.
Walker cleared his throat, waiting until she and Adrian turned toward him. “We can’t settle nine hundred years of history in one night. Let’s take it up again in the morning.”
This time her tears won the battle. “M-morning, s-sure.”
As one, the men surrounded her, reminding her how much she’d missed being held. They smelled the same yet different, familiar yet strange at the same time. Maybe her sinuses were plugged so she couldn’t smell their arousal. Maybe they didn’t want her anymore. And yet their warmth seeped into her like a down-filled comforter on a freezing winter morning. They sighed, the sound that melodic blending of their voices that soothed her soul. Opening her eyes, she looked into Walker’s and almost drowned in the love in them. His lips brushed hers, once, twice before his tongue swept from corner to corner. He tasted like mint and rich dark chocolate.
Adrian’s lips along her nape raised the fine hairs on her neck and forearms. His cock pressed against her buttocks just as Walker’s thickened against her mons.
“Are you sure…this is what you want?” she whispered, arching her neck to welcome Adrian’s kisses. She felt him nod.
Walker cupped her face in both hands. “So long as it’s what you want.”
“But…” She started to list all the things they needed to decide, like where to live and… The thoughts took wing, vanishing like a falcon riding an airstream to beyond the horizon.
“Shall we go inside?” one of them asked.
Too lost in desire, she could only nod. And hold on, one arm around each of their necks as they lifted her. When they laid her on the bed she discovered something new overhead.
“Tell me about the mirror,” she said, her voice breathless as she watched them disrobe.
“Better,” Adrian said.
“We’ll show you,” Walker promised.
Laughing, she knew they had all learned yet another lesson. Together they had found contentment.
About Dee Brice
Dee believes she was born with a pen in one hand and a writing pad in the other. Determined not to work in an office, this wannabe actress never learned to type well. She still composes with pen and pad, then transcribes her manuscripts onto her computer. Sometimes Dee and her dictation program are best friends; more often they are mortal enemies.
Dee lives in northern California with her inspiration, best friend and husband. She loves to read and, of course, write. Passion’s Four Towers, her first published novel, was nominated for a Psyche Award in 2008. His Virtual Assassin finaled in Passionate Ink’s 2008 Passionate Plume contest.
Dee welcomes comments from readers. You can find her website and email addresses on her author bio page at www.ellorascave.com.
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Also by Dee Brice
Courting Kel
His Virtual Assassin
His Virtual Virgin
It Takes a Thief
Passion’s Treasures 1: Kerrie’s Quest for Passion
Passion’s Treasures 2: Passion’s Four Towers
Passion’s Treasures 3: Passion’s Twins
Print books by Dee Brice
Courting Kel
Passion’s Treasures 1: Kerrie’s Quest for Passion
Passion’s Treasures 2: Passion’s Four Towers
Passion’s Treasures 3: Passion’s Twins
Virtually His anthology
Ellora’s Cave Publishing
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Temptress of Time
ISBN 9781419935619
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
Temptress of Time Copyright © 2012 Dee Brice
Edited by Rebecca Hill
Cover art by Dar Albert
Photos: Konrad Bak, Graham Pierce and Pyma/Shutterstock.com
Electronic book publication October 2012
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