Hanging With A Time Surfer

by Celine Chatillon

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  Atlantic Bridge

  www.atlanticbridge.net

  Copyright ©2007 by Celine Chatillon

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  NOTICE: This work is copyrighted. It is licensed only for use by the original purchaser. Making copies of this work or distributing it to any unauthorized person by any means, including without limit email, floppy disk, file transfer, paper print out, or any other method constitutes a violation of International copyright law and subjects the violator to severe fines or imprisonment.

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  Published by Liquid Silver Books, Imprint of Atlantic Bridge Publishing, 10509 Sedgegrass Dr, Indianapolis, Indiana. Copyright 2007, Celine Chatillon. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recording or otherwise, without the prior written permission of the authors.

  This is a work of fiction. The characters, incidents and dialogues in this book are of the author's imagination and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events or persons, living or dead, is completely coincidental.

  Chapter One

  How can I say no to such a sexy man?

  Shelby Schwartz moaned in her sleep and rolled onto her back. It had been difficult drifting off to sleep in the weeks since Graham had left her, but tonight was different. Exhausted by a long day at the office, she had collapsed into bed and fallen quickly into a deep sleep. A deep, erotic dream-filled sleep that made her hunger for a man's intimate touch to pleasure her throbbing pussy ... Instead she knew she would have to gratify her own sensual needs. Half asleep she reached over to the bedside table and groped around for her well-used vibrator.

  She screamed as she felt the warmth of a human hand instead.

  "Who are y-y-you?” she stammered, sitting up in bed and reaching for the lamp switch. The stranger removed her hand from the toggle before she could switch on the light and cradled it tenderly in his.

  "No need to be upset. I won't harm you. I was just passing through, and heard you moaning in you sleep. I figured you needed a little ... help."

  Help. Yeah, that's exactly what she needed—help to find her wireless phone and to dial 9-1-1 before she ended up chopped into soup-sized bits in this maniac's food processor.

  "I ... I didn't realize my voice carried quite so well through these brick walls.” She slowly curled her legs beneath her, preparing to bolt from the opposite side of the bed, explode toward the exit and fly down the steps and out the front door before her visitor even had a chance to go for his machete. “Or maybe I need to replace the windows. Pity, since the contractor told me they were top of the line."

  "Yes, they are. I can tell you've done a great job rehabbing this old brownstone. But don't worry—it's sound proof. I heard your sighs in my dreams, and I surfed on in to investigate. Is this twenty-first century Saint Louis?"

  Shelby blinked and stared hard toward the man with the resonant baritone voice kneeling next to her bed and holding her hands. She could only make out his silhouette in the darkness—and what a silhouette it was!

  He was built like a Rams linebacker with broad, muscular shoulders tapering down to svelte waistline to what she could only assume was a nice ass. And the big, strong hands that held hers made her imagine how well-endowed he'd be in the crotch area ... What a shame he was a common criminal who broke into single women's homes and scared them half out of their wits at one o'clock in the morning. If she had brought him home from the bar she frequented after work, she would have been more than happy to put her vibrator away and ask if he'd like to help scratch her “itch".

  "Twenty-first century?” she said slowly. Okay, maybe her visitor was just a plain ol’ delusional psycho and not a chainsaw murderer or run-of-the-mill rapist. If she could keep him talking, she stood a chance of getting out of this situation unharmed. “What century do you think we live in? The eighteenth?"

  He tossed back his head and gave a deep, throaty chuckle. The vibrations sent shivers of anticipation up her spine and directly to her aching clit. What a sexy laugh! Just the sound of it made her want to come. She wondered what would happen if she read the funny paper out loud with him?

  "Good one.” He sighed as his laughter faded. “Your house wouldn't be standing here in the eighteenth century. It's about one hundred-fifty years old I believe."

  Shelby nodded as her innate business radar clicked into gear. “You into fixing up old homes? I'm a real estate broker, and I can give you the scoop on a couple of real prizes in the neigh..."

  "That's not necessary,” he interrupted. He brought the back of her hand to his lips and kissed it. “I'm a traveler. I don't really need a permanent home."

  She felt breathless at the touch of his lips against her flesh. Trembling, but not out of fear or terror, she longed for him to press his kiss against her lonely lips.

  "Why, everyone needs a home of some sort,” she babbled, trying to keep the intriguing stranger engaged in conversation, “a place to park your assortment of Cardinal baseball caps and your treasured 1904 World's Fair souvenir collection. Am I right?"

  He chuckled and gave her hand a squeeze then let go. “Some do and some don't.” She heard the squeak of the old floorboards as he rose to his feet. “Some of us enjoy wandering about eternity without a place to call home. We're free agents—free to roam and explore without being tied down to a particular place ... or time."

  Time. What was it about him and time? Shelby stared at the stranger through the darkness and tried her best to focus on his face. The dim light of the moon through her sheer bedroom curtains didn't help her discern his features. He continued backing toward the door. He was going to leave her. She sighed. Yet another example of how her incessant questioning had driven a good-looking man out of her life. But desperation and desire compelled her to ask one more.

  "You never answered my question,” she interjected as he reached for the bedroom doorknob. “What century do you think you live in?"

  Shelby could have sworn she heard a smile in the stranger's silky voice as he answered, “Why, the forty-second, of course."

  * * * *

  "You're looking better rested today. Love the new hairstyle."

  Shelby frowned and put down her half-empty triple-mocha-latte on the small café table. While she adored her ditzy cousin Melynda Kerpanik, this Sunday afternoon she didn't quite feel up to making small talk.

  "This thing? Well, I just thought the mini-pigtails would make me appear younger—softer, more feminine. Not quite as harsh as I usually come across when I'm in my heels and business suits.” Shelby took another sip of her coffee and edged slightly away from her cousin's probing gaze. “Oh, all right. I couldn't get the tangles out after I tossed and turned all night long. I gave up and stuck my hair into rubber bands hoping to hide my sin and shame."

  Melynda laughed. “You saying you and ‘Freddy the Vibe’ got it on fast and furious all night long? Huh, Shel?"

  Shelby felt her pale cheeks warm. Mel was one to talk about her kinky sex life. She lived with a guy who slept days and worked nights, and she frequently wore turtleneck sweaters or wide velvet chokers to hide her growing number of hickeys. So what if she, boring Shelby Schwartz, soon-to-be-divorced and thoroughly lonesome, engaged in some autoeroticism now and then?

  "Sure. I drained every battery in the house.” Shelby slurped the rest of her latte and put down the cup. “Can we change the subject now? How are you and Mr. Val Drakul doing these days? Pose nude for anymore exhibition photos?"

  Melynda shrugged, tossing her glossy black hair over her broad shoulders for good measure. “Nah, just the one. But I have to admit it's one of Val's
biggest sellers. The tenant up in 6B wanted the print blown up to practically life-size to decorate his boudoir wall.” She took a big bite from her cream-cheese lathered bagel and mumbled, “Weird, isn't it, thinking that some stranger is looking at my nude silhouette every time he's lying in bed? Wonder if he jerks off staring at it?"

  Shelby sighed and shook her head. Her cousin's morals had definitely gone down the tubes since she moved to the big city. She wondered ... did her sexy, chuckling stranger remain in the corner of her bedroom and watch as she pleasured herself last night? Did he enjoy their late-night encounter as much as she did?

  She certainly hoped he did so he'd be tempted to return again tonight. After he left she had tossed and turned and moaned even louder, climaxing with just the lightest touch of her finger against her clit, the stranger's mysterious silhouette firmly imprinted in her mind. Who knew that a bold bedroom intruder with a deep voice and a sexy profile could be such a turn-on?

  "Luckily, Val's okay with it,” Melynda was saying as Shelby came out of her erotic reverie.

  "He's okay with what?"

  Melynda's green eyes twinkled. She began to snicker. “You weren't listening to a word I said. How unlike you to zone out like that, Shel. And our folks have always said that I was the flakiest cousin in the batch. Yeah, right! Don't tell me you're finally living up to your potential as a dizzy blonde, munchkin?"

  That was it. It had been a long and horrible two months since Graham walked out on her. Shelby didn't possess the patience or good nature anymore to put up with people's snide comments—including her dear cousin's.

  "Mel, you stop picking on me right now, or I'll call your mother and tell her all about your wicked hickeys and your Goth boyfriend."

  "You wouldn't!” Melynda frowned. “Would you?"

  "I don't know anymore.” Shelby exhaled a long, pain-filled sigh and rested her weary head in her hands. “I've been under a lot of strain recently. I think I'm going nuts. I could be absolutely crazy and not even realize it."

  "It's not like you're hearing voices, though, right?"

  Shelby involuntarily shuddered. Voices? Well, maybe. Could a person hallucinate touch as well?

  "No, I'm not hearing voices,” she insisted out loud as much for her own sake as for Melynda's. “But you know I don't care for being called a ‘dizzy blonde'. And nobody who has to shop the petite department to find adult-looking clothes enjoys being labeled a ‘munchkin'—especially when compared to your gorgeous, dark-haired, Amazonian form. I can't help it if I'm a short, blonde, blue-eyed, business whiz. Get over it."

  "All right already.” Melynda's eyes flashed hurt. Shelby instantly felt a twinge of regret. “I'm sorry to call you a dizzy blonde and a munchkin, Shel. You are a business whiz—and I mean that in a good way. Speaking of which,” she lowered her voice and leaned forward, “are you still thinking of turning over the business to your partner Sara Shaw?"

  Shelby crumpled her paper napkin and bit her lip. “Maybe. Sara is capable of running the business even better than I have, and it would take some of the strain off me.” She shrugged. “It would also give me some free time."

  "Free time to try and win Graham back?"

  Shelby swallowed hard and shook her head. “No, we're history. Any chance we had to get back together was destroyed the other day when he told me ... told me about..."

  She averted her eyes and sniffed back a tear. She hated crying in front of anyone, including her cousin, especially in a public place like the TriplExpress coffee shop.

  Melynda reached across the table and patted her hand. “He told you about what?"

  Taking a deep breath, she blurted, “He told me about the baby."

  "You mean he and that cocktail waitress are going to have a baby?” Melynda squeezed Shelby's hand and gasped. “I'm so sorry, Shel. I didn't realize he'd gotten that far into a relationship with her. So you're going to go through with the divorce?"

  She nodded. “Yes, there's no point trying to keep him tied to me when he wants to be with her.” She crumpled in her chair as a sudden pain stabbed her heart, and the tears flowed unbidden. “Oh, Mel. What did I do wrong? Why, does he want to be with her? What's she got that I don't have? I wanted to have children I told him—and send them to decent private schools, too. What's a poor cocktail waitress with no social connections got that I don't got?"

  Melynda stood, came over to her side of the table and wrapped a comforting arm around her shoulders. “Who on earth knows what gets into guys’ minds sometimes? They just go crazy and forget what a terrific wife they've got and start fooling around with the first thing in a miniskirt that looks their way twice. I never understood why my ex fooled around on me. It's not like I'm an ice princess in the bedroom."

  Shelby laughed in spite of her tears. “No, you're definitely not an ‘ice princess', Mel. But maybe I was—or I was just plain too busy with trying to become a millionaire before I turned thirty-five to notice that our marriage was going downhill fast. Graham and I were both always working, always on the road. You know since we finished the rehab project, we were never home more than one or two days together at any one time? You can't build much of a relationship if you never see each other."

  "True, very true.” Melynda squeezed her shoulders again and smiled. “But I think you've learned your lesson. Turn the business over to Sara and get back out there and meet people and do things and see places. Enjoy life, Shel! You've always been so hard on yourself that no one else ever wanted to be hard on you. Maybe Graham's leaving you is the experience that will help you change for the better?"

  Shelby swallowed hard. Could she change? Could she stop thinking of business and making money twenty-four/seven and transform herself into a well-rounded human being? In the process perhaps she could attract a man who appreciated her for herself—not only for her checkbook. It seemed a huge challenge, but it was worth a try.

  She slapped her hands palm on the table surface. “All right. I'm going to do it. I'm going to look at this divorce as an opportunity to change. What do you think I should do first?"

  Melynda bit her lip and wrinkled up her nose. “Get a decent hair cut?"

  Shelby laughed. “Agreed! I'll make an emergency appointment this afternoon. Okay, what else?"

  "Hmm ... Why not go on a short vacation or even a long vacation. Relax—unwind. You need to rest, Shel, and it's not like you're hurting for money. Take a trip and meet different people and see the world. You'll feel better, look better and, best of all, you'll think better. Give your poor brain a break."

  Shelby nodded. After her hallucination—or whatever it was—last night with the sexy stranger at her bedside, her brain could definitely use a break.

  "Perfect. That's exactly what I'll do. I'll take a long, relaxing vacation to unwind. I'll start scanning the Internet for ideas right away."

  Chapter Two

  "Around the world in eighty days on a cruise ship or take an eco-tour of the rainforest and live in a tree house? Hmm..."

  Shelby absentmindedly tapped a pencil against the high kitchen countertop and rubbed the back of her neck as she considered her choices. Her new short, close-cropped hairstyle was both sporty and sexy. Her natural curl added volume that softened her features according to her stylist. Since she had decided that she'd no longer actively play the part of real estate tycoon, she could now wear her hair in a comfortable fashion without fear it would make her look more like a munchkin than normal.

  She clicked on yet another travel agent link and surfed the listings. So many places to visit and so many things to do in the world nowadays. It boggled the mind. The task of choosing practically overwhelmed her. She just needed to get away from the bustle of the city for a spell, to sit still and re-think the direction her life was heading. She needed nature and peace and quiet ... and perhaps a bit of adventure to spice things up a bit.

  Yeah, that was the ticket! She needed to get out into the fresh air and hike and swim and climb and all that back-to-nature stuff. She
typed “whitewater rafting” into a popular search engine. Her jaw dropped open as the listings appeared.

  "Five and a half million listings for whitewater rafting? Oh, puh-lease! I'd better narrow this down some more.” She typed in “whitewater rafting holidays.” Almost six hundred thousand listings appeared. “Stars above! How's a girl supposed to decide when there's so much information being dumped in her lap all at once? Let me narrow this down again."

  "Need any help?"

  Shelby froze in place, her hands dangling in mid-air above her laptop keyboard. That voice ... No, it couldn't be him, her imaginary lover from the night before. She shook her head and scrunched up her eyes. She was going stark raving mad. She couldn't get away from this haunted house any faster if she tried.

  "Okay, that settles it.” She opened her eyes and clicked on the site link then began typing in her contact information. “Before I commit myself to a state mental institution, I'll go on an Arkansas whitewater rafting cruise. Wonder if Mel would like to go with me? Getting wet and tossed about in a small rubber raft with a bunch of burley oarsmen is probably right up her alley.” She scrolled down the page to the bottom to make payment. “Oh, it says I need to call to see if there are openings before I submit my credit card number."

  Shelby absentmindedly reached for the phone on the edge of the counter. A large hand covered hers. She let out a blood-curdling scream.

  "Agh! I have a gun—you better not try anything, mister, or you'll find yourself six feet under before you know it,” she lied.

  The intruder jumped back several feet. “I won't. Promise."

  Slowly she looked up at his face. The profile seemed familiar. Could it be her late night visitor?

  "Are you ... him?” she asked, breathless.

  He bowed briefly and removed his hand from hers. “If by ‘him’ you mean the person who chatted with you last night then yes, I am."

  Her mysterious caller smiled, a warm and friendly smile. He didn't act like a homicidal lunatic. But, then again, how would she know? In her thirty-three years of existence she hadn't met any that she knew of, and she possessed a fairly trusting personality.