One look at the stubborn set of his mouth told Gina she had a choice. Lie or come clean. She opted for the truth and prayed John wouldn’t freak out.
Chapter Five
“Well?” John’s voice rang with impatience.
She took the plunge. “My name is Gina Locke and you’re Luke Harding. Ruth McPherson sent us here on Christmas Eve, 2006. Don’t you remember? We were sitting in the living room, drinking her homemade elderberry wine.”
John studied her face for a long moment then threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Do continue. I did not know you were a weaver of tales.”
Gina choked back tears of frustration and rose to her knees to grasp his shoulders. “This is not a story. It’s the truth.” She fought the urge to shake him.
“Come here.” John tugged her close. “That knock on the head must have been a bad one.”
Gina sighed. “You don’t believe me?”
“Shall I tell you what I believe? You hit your head and had a dream. When you woke, you clung to the dream as reality.” He kissed her forehead. “We must be patient. Your memory will return.”
If only yours would. Gina huddled closer, lapping up his caresses and murmured phrases of concern. Still, his concern didn’t calm her fears of remaining in the past. If John remembered who he was—that he’d been her lover in another time—she’d be willing to accept her situation. One thing was certain. There was no way John was going to listen tonight. So she sighed and said, “Perhaps I’m dreaming right now. How old am I?”
“Four and twenty as of last month. Now be silent and kiss me.”
She turned her head away to escape his lips, now feathering her cheek.
“What is wrong?” Gina heard genuine puzzlement in his voice.
“I don’t feel like having sex with someone who doesn’t trust me…who thinks I’m…I’m daft.” God, it seemed so strange to use that word.
“Try to understand,” he coaxed. “I’ve been with you at this inn for three years. One morning I wake to find a different person inside the body of the woman I love. We must become reacquainted.”
Gina couldn’t argue that his reasoning was sound. For tonight, she’d put her problems in the closet. Looping her arms around his neck, she captured his lips. For an instant, he grew rigid at her aggression before his mouth opened to her questing tongue. Within seconds, their raspy breathing sounded loud in the otherwise silent room. Gina tugged and yanked on John’s clothes, never losing lip contact.
He tore his mouth away. “Wait. I will do it.”
Gina bit back a smile at the haste with which John stripped off his clothes. She pressed against him as he slipped in bed and gasped at the thrill of pleasure that shot through her. His body sliding against hers started a tingling in her breasts that worked its way down to her toes.
She kneaded the knots in his back until he relaxed. Luke always had loved that. There wasn’t an ounce of softness on his body. Feeling his cock against her stomach, she reached between his legs and ran her hand over its smooth sheath. “Hmmm…like silk.”
Hands on her shoulders, he pushed her away. “Rachel! What are you doing?”
“Don’t you like it?” she whispered, trailing kisses across his chin to his mouth. She swallowed his next words. Her tongue slipped between his teeth.
John groaned and tightened his hands on her arms before sliding them around her back. His erection grew in her hands. Yet, it seemed he didn’t know the first thing about pleasing a woman and had no clue what a woman could do to please him. Gina wouldn’t have been satisfied with the sex life John and Rachel must have had. Probably a quick slam-bam process. God, she was confused. Right now, all she wanted was a release from her worries.
Since she was stuck in this godforsaken century with no home and no money, she sure as hell was going to enjoy herself with a man who, if by some horrible twist of fate turned out not to be Luke, was his double.
A sob tore at her throat. Please, Luke, remember me.
John pushed her to mattress and thrust his knee between her legs. “I will have you now, Rachel.”
She giggled. How formal and how rude. “I don’t think so. We’re not through playing.”
He drew back. The last candle flickered and died. She couldn’t see, yet sensed his gaze on her face. “Play? Whatever do you mean?”
Gina drew his hands to her breasts. His sudden intake of air sounded like he’d been sucker punched. She held his trembling fingers and brushed them over her hardened nipples. He didn’t need any more tutoring.
“That feels so good, John. Don’t stop.”
He played with her breasts, making her wetter. She ran her hands up his chest and tweaked his nipples. His cock twitched. Snaking her hands down his belly, she grasped it and gently pumped its length, eliciting a drawn-out groan.
If only she could take him in her mouth. Poor John. He would more than likely run back to the stables as if the devil were after him. She wanted to laugh, remembering he’d called her a lusty wench. Obviously, he didn’t know the meaning of the word.
Then a thought struck her as fast as a bolt of lightning. Could the real Rachel be back in the present in Gina’s body getting it on with Luke? No, that couldn’t happen. This was Luke in bed with her. She had to believe that or she’d crumble.
She jumped as a jolt of pleasure-filled pain shot through her. John had grown bold and captured a nipple between his lips. He sucked. For such a big man, everything he did was gentle. Tonight she didn’t want gentle. She wanted to forget and lose herself in the moment.
* * *
John wiped beaded sweat from his forehead. Who was this pliant woman stroking him as if it were an everyday occurrence? What had happened to the woman he had come to love? Rachel had never been this passionate. Would never have handled his manhood with such boldness. His concerns vanished as lust overtook him.
He ran his lips across one nipple. Her moans of pleasure excited him, brought him to his limit of stimulation. Grasping her hips, he pulled her under his body and settled between her spread thighs. He took a deep breath and resisted the temptation to plunge himself to the hilt. Rachel did not care for frantic coupling. Tentative as always, he ground his teeth in frustration and slowly pushed into her moist warmth…and almost died with joy. Rachel was moister than she’d ever been. Proof that she wanted him with equal fervor. He pushed again, gaining another two inches. He hesitated and rested his forehead on hers, willing his body to remain under his control. She would be angry if he was too rough.
Suddenly, the woman beneath him raised her legs and wrapped them high around his waist. The new position opened her wider and drove him over the edge. All rational thought fled. He thrust hard with no thought of her discomfort until he was fully embedded. He breathed like a hard-ridden horse. “I’m sorry,” he gasped. “Did I hurt you?”
Expecting to hear cries of protest, her words shocked him. “Don’t stop. Please.”
He was nearing the brink of explosion and strove to please the lady. He captured her cries with his mouth, his manhood swelling when clenched by her feminine muscles. He rocked his body a few more times and emptied his seed deep in her womb. She continued to squirm underneath him.
“Rachel?” he asked in a hoarse voice. “What are you do—”
Her lips sought his in a wrenching kiss. Stunned, he held on tightly as she spasmed around his shrinking manhood. He could not believe that he grew hard again. Unable to control the need to couple for the second time, he pushed to his knees. Her legs slipped off his back. He grasped under her knees and pulled her tight against his groin, working her hips back and forth. With the second explosion, he collapsed. “Rachel, by all that’s sacred, you are going to kill me.”
“Don’t,” she protested when he started to roll away. “Stay inside me.”
Totally confused at this turn of events, John stayed put. He was shrinking and knew he’d soon slip out of her moist center. His heart thumped wildly. “Are you all right?”
“Hmmm…
” she murmured. “That was good.”
This woman may look like his love, but she was not his Rachel. He was no doctor, but he did not think a simple bump on the head would turn a proper lady into a wanton woman. He frowned, unsure of his feelings. Rachel was the woman he wanted to marry. A wife to bear his children. God-fearing women did not behave like this. No matter how much he loved their coupling this night, did he want to marry a woman such as this?
His member came to attention when her fingers trailed across his backside. Pebble-hard nipples rubbed his chest. Despite doubts and questions, he craved more of the pleasure this woman had just given him.
He leaned on an elbow and looked at her face in the dim light. Mouth slightly open, her eyes were closed. A small pink tongue darted across her bottom lip. Of their own volition, his hands cupped and kneaded her breasts.
Her head thrashed side to side on the pillow. “Please, John. Make love to me again.”
He could not resist. For better or for worse, he loved this woman and he planned to do everything in his power to please her.
* * *
After she hoisted the huge black cast iron pot onto the hook over the fireplace, Gina rubbed her lower back in an attempt to ease the aching muscles. John had brought her the meat of fresh-killed rabbit and handed her a bouquet of Queen Anne’s Lace. When she’d thanked him for the flowers, he’d looked at her strangely and told her to put the roots in the stew. Wild carrots, he’d said.
She was so damn sore. It was only the second morning in this strange new world and she could barely walk. She and John had made love into the wee hours of the morning.
Two warm hands cupped her hips from behind. A rock-hard erection poked her butt. “What’s wrong?” John whispered into her neck. “Are your muscles saying nay to your antics of last night?”
Gina straightened and slapped his hands away. “I’ll tell you what’s wrong, you jackass,” she snapped, her chest rising and falling with anger. “I’m not accustomed to hard prison labor.”
John’s eyes twinkled, and he dared to laugh. Gina glared. Dimples creased his cheeks. Just like Luke’s. “What’s so funny?”
“I have never seen you in a temper. Anger adds a new dimension to your beauty.”
She faced him, hands on her hips. “Is that right? Well, prepare yourself, because you’re in for an anger fest.”
John’s brows pulled together as he leaned against the doorframe. “An anger fest?” He held up his hand when she opened her mouth. “Never mind. I have no time for your explanations. There is plenty to do in the stable. Just make sure you watch the stew and prepare some sort of dessert for tonight’s meal.”
Gina panicked. “Dessert?” What type of desserts did people eat in 1778?
John dropped a quick kiss on her cheek. An innocent kiss, yet shivers raced over her skin. Her nipples tightened.
“I just picked a few bowls of whortleberries. Make a pie.”
Great. The one thing she’d never learned from her mother. Anytime she’d attempted to make a pie, the crust never came out right. “Where’s the flour? And the shortening? And sugar?” Hell! Where’s the Betty Crocker cookbook?
“Everything you need is where it has been for the past three years.”
Gina rubbed her temples. A deep sigh rumbled from John’s chest. She feared he was fast growing tired of her ignorance. How could she convince him she spoke the truth last night?
“You will find the flour, lard and leavening agents in the pantry.”
“John? Wait a min…” He was gone.
The broom she heaved hit the door with a thud. Something had to give. No way could she keep up the pace of this difficult work. “Pie, my ass,” she mumbled picking up the bowl John had set on the counter. What he called whortleberries were actually blueberries. At least something looked familiar.
Three hours later she had a pie sitting on the counter. Now how the hell was she supposed to cook the damn thing? Couldn’t very well hang it over the open fire the way she cooked everything else.
Think, Gina. How did the colonists bake? She studied the hearth and the answer popped into her head. Bread ovens. Most fireplaces had a brick oven on the side. She hurried over and sure enough, there it was. Proud of herself, she opened the heavy door and pushed in the pie.
With no timer or thermometer, she’d have to watch the damn thing like a hawk. The rabbit meat already simmered in a Dutch oven over the fire. All it needed now were some spices. After checking the pie, she left through the back door.
In the aromatic herb garden tucked into an L-shaped alcove behind the kitchen, she recognized a lot of the herbs, although there were twice as many that remained a puzzle. Huge patches of mint, lemon balm and lavender sprawled across the ground on one side of the path. On the opposite side she recognized thyme, sage and rosemary. She fondled a huge yellow tansy blossom. In modern times, tansy was a weed. She’d have to ask John what purpose it served here. And lamb’s ears. A welcome plant in her own perennial garden, but an herb?
Gina hunkered to the ground and picked oregano, thyme and marjoram to flavor the stew. As tempting as it was to lie in the pungent herbs to take a nap, she pushed herself up and headed back to the kitchen.
She found John checking on her pie. “What’s wrong? You don’t trust me not to burn the damn thing?”
“I only meant to help, Rachel.”
His sincerity made her feel like a bitch. “I’m sorry. I’m tired.”
He glanced at the herbs in her apron. “Put them in the stew, and let’s go for a short walk. George has left and will be gone for a few days.”
George took a lot of trips. He’d just returned yesterday and now he was off again. Curiosity prompted her to ask, “Where’s he go? You’d think he’d stay home and keep the home fire burning since he owns the place.” Gina dipped the herbs into a fresh pail of water.
“Don’t do that. You will wash away the herb’s oils.”
Gina glanced up in time to see that confused expression she was coming to know so well. “I’m washing away bugs and germs.”
“Germs? No, never mind. I am not interested. And as for George, I do not know where he goes, and ’tis not my place to question his actions.”
“Come on, John,” Gina coaxed. “You must wonder about it.”
John refused to meet her gaze. Interesting. “You don’t think he’s a spy, do you?”
The color drained from John’s face. “Hush. Never speak that word.”
Gina clapped her hands. “You do think he’s a spy. The bastard. Let’s turn him in.”
John was on her in a heartbeat. He shook her until her hair fell out the bun she’d spent ten minutes working at this morning.
“I’m serious, Rachel. Don’t even think such things. Your life is precarious enough as it is without accusing George of being a Tory spy.”
Chapter Six
Gina sucked it up and swallowed her flaring temper. “Don’t you understand? If we can prove that he’s a spy, then he’ll be arrested. I’ll be a free woman.”
“This is a matter best not discussed. Trust me.”
“Why?”
John’s mouth tightened. “Women do not talk politics.”
“Is that right? I’ll have you know—”
They both turned at a soft gasp from behind.
“Amy.” John hurried toward a diminutive woman standing in the dining area entrance. “What brings you here today?”
“I…I am sorry. I did not mean to interrupt.” Her gaze went to Gina. “Do you not remember? You asked me to bring bayberries to make candles.” She glanced down at the sacks by her feet. “My father just returned from the coast and…”
“Do come in, Amy. Rachel has been unwell.”
“Oh. Are you feeling better?”
John drew Gina close. “Rachel?”
“I’m sorry, Amy. It slipped my mind.”
Amy puckered her delicate brow. “Slipped your mind?”
“She means she forgot,” John transl
ated.
“Well, I’ll just leave the berries and be on my way.”
“Nonsense,” John replied. “George is gone. Why not stay and visit while Rachel makes the candles?”
Gina had all she could do not to kick him. Just then she smelled something burning and turned to see smoke coming from the oven. “My pie! Damn it, my pie is ruined.” She ran to the brick oven and tripped over John, who’d managed to get there first.
“It will be fine. We need to remove it for a time. Later, when the fire cools down, we’ll return it to the oven.”
Gina wanted to scream her frustration. Amy stood still as a statue, her eyes as wide as the bull’s eye of a target. “Please excuse me,” Gina muttered. With as much dignity as she could muster, she forced herself to walk to her room in the stuffy attic when what she really wanted to do was run like the hounds of hell were on her heels.
She entered the small room, flopped on the bed and laid on her back to stare at the ceiling, her mind numb. Her very nature was to make the best of bad times, but this was too much. The least Ruth McPherson could have done was send her back in time as a rich woman, complete with servants. Tears pooled in the corners of her eyes and slipped down her cheeks. She rolled over and buried her face in the pillow. The coarse cloth of the pillow case smelled like John, so she cried in earnest.
“Rachel? Whatever is wrong, my friend?”
Gina bolted upright. The timid Amy hovered in the doorway, reminding her of a butterfly suspended above a flower. “I’m moody, that’s all.”
A sweet smile appeared on Amy’s face. “How can I help you?”
“I’m afraid there’s nothing anyone can do to cure what’s wrong with me. Unless you have a time machine in your possession?”
Amy ventured a laugh. “A what?”
“Nothing. Let’s get on with this candle-making business. I’d appreciate your help as I’ve forgotten how to do it.”
Amy nodded. “Of course, I will help. John told me of your affliction.”
* * *
“Has Amy left?”
The Enchanted Inn Page 4
