Blackwell 2 - Timeswept Rogue

by Amy J. Fetzer

  He blinked, false innocence shaping his face. "Which crack? The one about your lack of lovers, or the one—"

  Penny schooled her features, a mask of cool indifference she wore well. "All the way out of the building, gentlemen," she said to someone behind Max.

  His shoulders sagged. He knew that you've pushed too far today tone. "Okay, okay, I'm going. But I'm not quitting," he warned, wagging a finger.

  Penny handed the camera over to the guards. "I never expected you to. Max." She turned away. "It's your nature to be a royal pain in the rear."

  His gaze dropped to her buttocks, his smile appreciative.

  "And it's such a nice rear, too, Miss Hamilton." The guards grabbed Maxwell, dragging him backwards down the hall as Penny slipped into the room. Letting out her breath, she sagged

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  back against the door, then drew the blinds. At least it was just one of them this time.

  She stared at O'Keefe, pulling the heavy bag from her shoul­der. The weight of it jerked her arm and she rubbed the strap bruise, walking to the side of his bed.

  "Hey, Mister O'Keefe? Are you awake?"

  No response. Asleep, she assumed, dropping the bag on the floor and sliding into the bedside chair. I'll wait. She picked up a magazine, the pages crackling as she flipped distractedly.

  "Go away, woman."

  Penny flinched, glancing up, He didn't look at her and she imagined he was embarrassed by the swelling from the reaction.

  "No, thank you." She returned her gaze to the magazine. "I'll wait here, if you don't mind."

  "I do mind."

  "Yes, well, you'll have to suffer my presence for just a little while longer." In truth, Penny needed only a few minutes for the guards to get Max off this floor.

  "I do not-wish-your-company!" Tortured, raspy.

  Penny looked up, slowly laying the magazine aside as she stood. "Are you feeling all right, Mister O'Keefe? Can 1 get the doctor for you?"

  "Nay! *Tis my wish that you simply leave me in peace!" By the blood of Triton, Ram despaired, was the woman so addle-patted she could not see 'twas embarrassing to have her here, in his room, when he was shackled to tubes and such? Sweet Christ, a damned bottle of piss lay not but a foot from her!

  "Wish I could. But I've got your things, and well, there's this, ah—" Her gaze clung to the muscle working violently in his jaw. Something was definitely wrong. "Are you sure there isn't anything I can do for you?" An uneasy silence filled the air between them. "Mister O'Keefe?" His breath came quick and harsh. His tanned fists clenched and unclenched, crumpling the pristine sheets. And she nearly swallowed her tongue when he slowly turned his head, stunned by the rage in his dark eyes.

  "Get me out of here," Precise and biting.

  "Out?" Her brows rose. "Right now?"

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  "Aye!" By God, but it unmanned him to ask for her help.

  She glanced over her shoulder to the unblinded windows. A pair of white nurses' caps peeked the high desk; computer screens pulsed green lines beyond them. She returned her gaze to his. "How much of this are you hooked up to?" She waved at his sheet-covered body.

  Ramsey's skin darkened, and briefly he glanced away, humil­iated. "A great deal,-'I fear."

  "Yeah, me too," she agreed and he made a pained sound, sinking into the pillows. "If I help you," she couldn't fathom why she was even considering it, "what happens if you croak on me?"

  He looked at her, his brows tight. "Croak?"

  "Die. Keel over."

  "I assure you, madame, I am quite fit."

  Her gaze slid easily over him again. I just bet you are, she thought, then dropped into the chair. "I don't see how you can manage."

  Ramsey folded his arms over his chest, certain if forced to spend another moment captive to those white knights of torture, he'd lose his sanity. "You need only show me the way out."

  Her gaze shifted from the monitors, to the I.V.s, to the wires disappearing beneath his gown, then to the clear green oxygen tube stretched beneath his nose and she could only imagine what else was holding him in that bed.

  "Impossible." She met his gaze and saw his disappointment. "Well, just look at you!" She waved at the bed.

  With a viscous snarl Ramsey yanked at the oxygen tube until it snapped, then threw it aside, pure air hissing against blue tile. Grasping a handful of the gown, he tugged once and it gave, the ripping sound catapulting her to her feet. Before she could stop him he peeled off the two EKG leads on his chest, the monitor drawing a blank line, the alarm sounding as he dispensed with the third.

  "Mister O'Keefe!" He tore the tapes from his forearm, footsteps thumping down the hail as he made to pull out the long I.V. needle. "Oh, Jesus. Don't," She slapped her hand over the area, their faces inches apart. "Okay. Okay! I get the

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  message," she rushed to say. "You're serious. But for God's sake, don't pull anything else out."

  Without so much as flinching, he yanked. Blood dampened her palm and she applied pressure, snatching up tissues as a nurse burst into the room.

  Ramsey pointed to the door. "Begone!" he roared and the nurse's wide gaze shot to Penny.

  She waved her off. "He's fine, obviously," she assured and the nurse backed out of the room as Penny switched off the beeping monitor. She looked at Ramsey.

  And only his eyes shifted, the stare ice cold. "I believe they've stowed my clothing in the wardrobe." He gestured to the closet.

  She hesitated, replacing her'palm with tissues. "But aren't you, ah, well you know, attached?" Smoothly he arched a brow. "Nothing?" Her gaze darted down the length of him.

  Ramsey leaned on his elbow, close, his dark eyes sparkling. "Mayhaps the lady would like to verify the fact?" He lifted the sheet lying on his bare stomach.

  "Spare me the thrill," she said, deadpan, ignoring the effects of that smile and searching the nightstand for a bandage. God. He went from raging to lusty tease in the space of a heartbeat.

  Ramsey studied her as she tended the scratch, his gaze roam­ing leisurely over the claret-red hair pulled high on her crown with a thin ribbon. Her skin was golden, smooth, yet he could see the light touch of paints enhancing her beauty. He'd like to see her without it. For that matter he'd truly enjoy viewing her shapely assets in naught but a smile—which she'd yet to bestow on him. And why in God's name was she wearing garments ten sizes too big, he wondered, eyeing the man's jacket pushed up at the elbows, her rose silk blouse disguising her plumper attributes. But 'twas her faded blue breeches that gathered his attention—and held it. He couldn't drag his gaze from their snug fit across her hips, and lower, the fabric outlining every curve and valley of her more softer parts. He swallowed. God save me, did every woman in this century wear such provocative garments? He lifted his gaze to find her glaring at him, her lips pressed tight, arms akimbo.

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  "Are you quite through?" she snapped and he flashed her an unexpected grin.

  "Nay, lass, yet 'twill do for now." Her deep green eyes narrowed, and his smile broadened. "My clothing, please."

  His high handedness irritated and she folded her arms in silent challenge. "If you're so hot to get out of here, you get them!"

  "If you insist." He tossed the sheet back and climbed from the bed, naked.

  "Oh, wonderful."

  Reaching for the wardrobe, Ramsey glanced up, expecting to see her back and had the good grace to blush, for she stood with her arms folded still, looking him up and down just as bold as she pleased. Saucy wench, he thought, meeting her gaze. "Are you through, madame?"

  "Get dressed, Mister O'Keefe, that's nothing I haven't seen before." Penny nearly choked on the He. God, it was a crime to have a body like that.

  "I am truly moved by your compliments, lass." He opened the door, blocking her view, a bit ashamed of his tactics. Was she a bawd, he wondered, donning his breeches an
d ignoring his slight dizziness. Nay, the lass was simply returning his jibe. Like Tess would. He grinned, bending to yank on his boots, intrigued. And he dared a little more. " 'Tis a shame the con­noisseur finds naught to her liking."

  "Watch your mouth, mister," she warned softly, smiling at his elegantly delivered payback, more than just those muscular tanned thighs burning across her memory. The closet door jolted and Penny moved closer. "O'Keefe?" She peered around the wood. "Damn." He was slumped against the wall, still standing, his eyes squeezed shut, his breathing heavy. "Here, lean on me." She slipped her arm around his waist, groaning as his weight sagged against her. "I thought you said you were quite fit?"

  He straightened, blinking down at her. "Do forgive me the slight indiscretion, m'lady."

  Penny wasn't sure which one he meant; the flasher scene or this, but his skin was warm where it brushed her cheek, rock

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  hard beneath her hand on his bare ribs. And she noticed several shiny scars on his chest as she lifted her gaze to his. He smiled, slow and masculine, and her insides sang like a finely tuned violin. Max was right; it has been a while.

  "What name have you, little one?"

  She responded instantly to the whispered question.

  "Penny—Penelope Hamilton." She hadn't had to introduce herself since her first movie hit the theatres. God, this was strange. And she couldn't shake the terrifying feeling that help­ing funny talking Ramsey O'Keefe, in any way, would some­how destroy her very private life.

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  Chapter 7

  Ramsey was tempted.

  God almighty, but he sorely itched to ply that sour mouth with long wet kisses, til she was breathless and wanting. And mayhaps smiling. 'Twould be easy enough. For her face was near, close enough to see the vivid starburst green of her eyes, feel the brush of her breath against his bare chest. Her body, lusher than he first imagined, was pressed to his side, warm and yielding and smelling exotically sweet, yet he resisted the allure, unaware of how a woman of this time—whichever the deuce it was—would react.

  Her screaming like a banshee would not do just now.

  And he needed her help.

  His gaze drifted past her and he nodded beyond. "I believe 'tis time to make our escape, Mistress Hamilton."

  She twisted to look. Two uniformed men walked away from the elevators. "Oh, splendid. The cops."

  "I beg your pardon?"

  She returned her gaze to his and as if just realizing how intimately they touched, smoothly disengaged herself and stepped back. "The police."

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  He continued to frown as he shrugged into his shirt, aware of the chill surrounding her now.

  "The authorities," she clarified, grabbing her tote bag and pulling out his jacket.

  "The constabulary, aye." Ram stood, stuffing the shirt tails in his breeches. " 'Tis an unpleasant lot, those."

  It was her turn to frown, her eyes suspicious. "Have you committed a crime or something?"

  Though Ramsey considered time-travel might be a sin, he denied the allegation, then pulled a ribbon from her hair as if 'twere his right. Vivid deep red silk cascaded over her shoulders, and she shoved it back, irritated.

  Ramsey raked his fingers through his own hair and secured it with her ribbon, grinning hugely. Fiesty lass. "Nay, do not bind it," he said when she gathered her hair into a knot. " Tis a glorious sight, Mistress Hamilton,'' He lifted a deep-red lock, sanding it atween his fingers. "As if a fire's trapped inside every strand." He brought it to his nose and inhaled, closing his eyes.

  She couldn't move, her gaze on his serene expression, its effect running like quicksilver to her heart. Then she yanked her hair from his grasp. ''Your toys are bundled inside, Casa­nova," she muttered, shoving the rolled coat in his stomach. He just smiled that sappy grin and Penny turned away, striding to the windows. No attachment, no emotion, she reminded as she peered between the half tilted blinds. The police were speaking to Dr. Markum.

  "Please hurry."

  Completely dressed Ramsey slipped his knives into their hiding proper places, wincing when the blade tip grazed his stitched calf, then began loading the pistol.

  She glanced over her shoulder. "What are you doing?"

  "Arming meself," he said as if she should know.

  She was entranced, watching his long fingers swiftly load

  the antique gun, then considered that thing might actually fire.

  "Do you plan to shoot your way out of here?"

  ''If need be.'' He rammed the shot home, then stuffed the pistol in his waist band.

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  He was dead serious, she realized, examining his expression. "Look, Mister O'Keefe—"

  He flashed her an easy smile. "I'm called Ramsey, lass."

  "Give me that." She held out her hand.

  He scoffed. "Methinks you envision a fool here, woman."

  She nearly laughed at his antiquated words. "Swear to me you won't use it." She didn't believe it would work, especially after getting wet, but just the same ... "Swear to me."

  He planted his hands on his lean hips, his belligerent expres­sion implying she was insane to even ask.

  "Terrific," she said, rolling her eyes. "A mutiny in the ICU." Voices grew louder and she glanced out the window, then flipped off the lights.

  "What the ruddy hell—?"

  "Shhh! They're coming this way. I'll stall them, you get into bed and cover up." She slipped out of the room before he could say another word.

  Ramsey didn't get himself abed and instead stuffed pillows into a mound, made the proper indentations, then stood by the door, listening. He frowned at the ceiling, as yet unable to comprehend how the light appeared and disappeared on com­mand. 'Twas so bright afore, he marveled. Surely the captured fire would burn the place to cinders? Sudden movement beyond the room drew his attention. Mistress Hamilton conversed with the doctor and the authorities, though the men appeared more enraptured with her figure than her words. Any male breathing would, he thought, unable to hear a scrap. He flattened against the wall when one gent moved closer to the glass, peering inside. Ramsey remained still til footsteps receded, then dared a look. After giving a calling card to the lass, the two departed

  with the doctor.

  Ramsey waited, impatient and restless, annoyed he was dependent on Mistress Hamilton to lead him out. Oh, she was a damn fine piece of woman, even if she always looked dower enough to clabber milk, yet 'twere a chilling side to the lass he'd already recognized, and 'twas obvious she wanted naught but to end their association, however thin. Though Ramsey honestly didn't know what he'd do once he was free of this

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  hellish chamber, aught was safer than suffering humiliation on an hourly basis by these white clad creatures of the future.

  Ramsey still wanted to go back. To his time. He'd seen enough of this century and didn't care for much of it. Expect mayhaps a little redhead, he corrected with a wry smile, stepping back as the door opened. The woman slipped inside, and he cupped a hand over her mouth, pulling her back against his chest.

  "Now we depart, lass, afore I go bleedin' mad."

  She nodded, and in the dim light he twisted her til she looked him in the eye. "Ahh, you've a fine temper I see." He grinned.

  "I do so love a wench with spirit."

  She bit his palm, and he released her instantly. "Wench?" she hissed. "Good God, who let you out of your cave?" She rubbed her mouth. "And was holding me hostage absolutely necessary?"

  Unaffected, Ram sucked his abused hand. "Nay, 'twas mere curiosity.''

  "About what?"

  He leaned down in her face, cognac-brown eyes brimming with mischief. "Whether or nay you always be looking as if you've supped on a bucketful of lemons?" She glared murder­ously up at him. "Pray tell, lass, nary a word in your defense?" he teased, then withdrew his pistol, gesturing with the barrel for her to lead.

&n
bsp; "Oh, for crying out loud, holster that thing," she said, push­ing the barrel aside and quickly retrieving her bag. "You can walk out of here if you want. It just takes some time, a few forms, but you certainly don't need a weapon."

  "Then why all the espionage?" he asked as she returned to his side, suddenly distrusting her.

  Penny still couldn't believe this guy. "Because / want to avoid being seen."

  "Have you committed a crime?" he whispered close to her ear. She shushed him like a schoolmaster and eased the door open. Poking her head out, she waved for him to follow, and they tiptoed out of the room and down the hall to a door marked

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  stairs. The heavy steel closed behind them with such a soft hush, Ramsey paused to glare at it.

  "Come on," she whispered, racing down the stairs. Penny always got a weird thrill evading the press like this.

  They covered two more flights in record time. Even with his wounded leg, he was right behind her, soundless for such a big man.

  "Boy, am I outta shape," she said, winded and leaning against the cement wall.

  "Fishing for praise, lass?" he whispered, towering over her and Penny smirked, then opened the door a crack. A clear shot to the car. After digging in her purse for the keys, she inclined her head for him to follow and slipped through the door.

  Ramsey trailed like an obedient puppy til she stopped afore a large silver contraption, pushing a key into a lock and turning it.

  "Get in," she said, removing the key and striding round the beast.

  He looked in horror at the low, shiny wheeled beast, then to her. "In? You want to climb into its belly?"

  Penny couldn't be more puzzled. "Yes, and now would be good."

  "In God's name, woman, how?"

  "The handle," she said over the top of the car and still he hesitated, rapping on the roof and peering into the car. "Today, Mister O'Keefe,"