The Willfully Wedded Virgin (Beyond Fairytales)

by D. L. Jackson

  She turned to him. Blood trickled from his nose, most likely from impact with the same kind of pillow that had whacked her. Her lips and cheeks began to throb. She blinked, not sure what she should say. How did one process this, or apologize for clearly causing the accident?

  “Why the hell did you do that? Do you have any idea what this will do to my insurance rates?” he ranted. “And don’t even get me started about filing a claim on this rental. The only way into this town is by plane. Do you have any idea what it must have cost them to haul this up here?”

  Rental? Plane?

  He slammed his hands on the wheel. “Damn it. I do not need this shit.”

  Shit. Now that word she knew, and she seemed to be sinking deeper into it by the second. Doing her best to breathe, Elizabeth couldn’t find any air. All the oxygen around her seemed to have been sucked away. Everything went black.

  Again.

  He’d think her weak for sure.

  ***

  Will sat in an overstuffed chair, drinking a soda and watching a waterfall spill down a vegetation-covered cliff outside the cottage window. Elizabeth Dodge hadn’t stirred in over an hour.

  He’d been able to drive the Explorer from the sight of the accident to the room. The damage to the SUV had been minimal, and he’d more than overreacted.

  What an ass. How would he have reacted in her place? He’d been one huge jerk since he’d met her, and she deserved an apology when she awoke. A big one.

  He’d felt like an even bigger jerk once he had gotten them back to the room and pulled out the photo. As he’d compared the image to the woman on the bed, it hadn’t taken him long to figure out why she seemed familiar. Elizabeth Dodge was the woman in the photo. Not just a fantasy of his overheated imagination and not a descendant of the original.

  After he’d stopped his nosebleed and cleaned up, he’d searched her person thoroughly, not finding any identification—not that he’d expected to. By now, after all the weird-ass shit he’d been through, he couldn’t deny her claims of being from the past.

  At first, when she had claimed to be dreaming, he’d thought for sure he might be the one in a feverish sleep. It had certainly all made sense. In his reverie, he’d brought the woman of his dreams out of the past.

  But the kiss had felt too real. His reaction, a boner that had taken him over an hour to lose, had returned, twice as fierce, when she’d moaned in her sleep. Her scent, her taste, none of it was fake. He found himself in the real world and confused as hell.

  To verify he wasn’t losing his mind, Will opened his laptop and ran Elizabeth’s profile and fingerprints through the FBI database then through international channels since she seemed to be British. However, his background investigation only raised more questions.

  Ms. Elizabeth Dodge did not exist. No birth certificate. No match on her fingerprints or photographs. Nothing. So he went to a genealogy site, searching records as far as one hundred and fifty years into the past. According to archives, she didn’t exist there either. Henry Dodge never had a daughter. He’d died a childless widower and left his money to a museum.

  Since he knew Henry had had a daughter and, as crazy as it sounded, she was lying on the bed not five feet from him, he pulled the photo of the expedition from his jacket again. The woman who had been in the picture before had vanished.

  He furrowed his brow and rubbed his temple while staring at the image. What had happened between then and now, other than her trip to the future, to make her disappear from history? A question that would need to be answered and soon. What if the same thing had started to happen to him? Did he travel into the past, or was it only Elizabeth who’d traveled? He had no definitive answer.

  Since Elizabeth Dodge came from the past, how the hell would he return her without the journal? Did she even have a past to go back to? The photo made him doubtful. She seemed to be vanishing quickly.

  Sure, they could go to the ruins and hope to find the journal there, but would it take them to the same place and time at which they’d met? Plus, they could get trapped again. Not a situation he cared to repeat. He still wasn’t sure how they got out of there in the first place.

  He didn’t have the first clue how all this worked, and there wasn’t exactly a “Dummies” guide to navigating time. The journal and the skull certainly were the keys. So as much as he hated the idea, they’d head to the ruins when she awoke and search for the skull and journal that had gotten them into this mess in the first place. He glanced at his wrist watch and turned to look at Elizabeth. She should be up soon.

  As if on cue, her eyes fluttered open. “Where am I?”

  “At the resort. I rented a small cottage. We had an accident, and you hit your head.”

  “I did?” She frowned. “Who are you?”

  “William Davidson.” Well, now what? It appeared that not only her past had pulled a vanishing act. Her memory seemed to have failed her, too. He sipped his cola, measuring the proper response in his mind before sticking his foot in his mouth. How did one explain her situation and, more to the point, why did he have to? They’d both been there, experienced the same thing. Why couldn’t she recall the nightmare? It was sure fixed in his mind. “You don’t remember?”

  “No. I feel like I should, but…. Are you my husband?” She lifted her hand and examined her finger.

  Will choked, spewing the beverage out. Would she expect a diamond now that he’d brought her to his room? Shit. He should have paid more attention to those Jane Austin movies.

  “Are you all right?”

  He jumped to his feet, needing to escape. He’d done nothing wrong, so why did he feel guilty? “I need to get you a change of clothes. You can’t wear what you’ve got on. I’m going to the gift shop. I’ll be right back.” He could deal with her lack of memory better than he could her hysterics. For the time being, he’d let her think they were married. What could it hurt? He hadn’t confirmed or denied it, so technically he hadn’t lied, and he had already decided touching her would be in neither of their best interests. He would keep his distance, return her to where she came from, and somehow go on with his life now that he’d met the one woman he’d never thought he would know.

  Chapter Six

  He shoved the pile of garments at her and pointed at a door. “Go in there and change.”

  Elizabeth glanced down. So little. “Where is the rest of it?”

  “It’s all there. You have a bra, underwear, shorts, T-shirt, and a pair of sandals.”

  “Say that again. I have what?”

  He groaned and blew out a breath, snatching the pile and setting it on the bed. He lifted up a strange garment. “A bra. It goes over your breasts.” He placed it over his chest and demonstrated. “Fastens in the back.”

  Good Lord.

  He plucked some silky blue fabric out of the pile. “Panties. You wear them like.... Just step into them and pull them up your hips. Pretty easy to figure out how they work.” He tossed them down.

  “Panties…. Unmentionables?” Couldn’t he see she didn’t want to discuss her undergarments? It simply wasn’t proper.

  “That’s right.”

  “The bra and panties are for under my…clothing? Can we please stop confabulating about them?”

  “Canfabu-what? Why? What’s wrong with…? Never mind. Moving on.” He held another garment up. “Shorts.”

  “Unmentionables.” Her cheeks flamed.

  “No.” He reached up and rubbed his forehead. “These go over…the panties.” He drew in a deep breath as if he wanted to say something else, but clamped his mouth shut instead.

  “You expect me to walk around in those? They’re indecent.”

  “Fine. Go naked. I don’t care.” Will dropped them.

  “I will not go naked.” Images of her naked, him naked, flitted through her mind, sending another flush of heat up her neck, over her cheeks, and across her scalp.

  “Then wear the shorts.”

  Elizabeth swiped them off the bed and st
omped to the door, opening it and going inside. The room appeared to be some kind of water closet, but beyond the scope of anything she’d ever seen. But then again, she couldn’t remember much. Maybe once she had the clothing on, it would feel familiar?

  She turned a lever by a nearby basin and water poured in. Indoor plumbing in a small beach cabin? It would bear further investigation.

  She examined the odd garment Will referred to as a bra for several minutes before figuring out how to fasten it and slip the straps on her shoulders. After several adjustments, she took a deep breath and sighed, skimming her fingers over the delicate fabric. Heaven. No constriction. No struggling to draw a breath. The device stretched a bit, but still managed to give her support. Whoever invented it should receive accolades.

  After wearing the bra, she’d never put on another corset. Strange. She knew what a corset was, how it felt, and that it could be rather unpleasant in the Peruvian heat, but knew nothing of the bra. It didn’t make sense.

  Dropping the trousers she wore, she grabbed the panties and wiggled them up her hips as he’d suggested. She closed her eyes and groaned, amazed something so simple could induce such pleasure. Soft, slinky, and light. They didn’t drag, bind, or abrade. Lord, was she being silly, enjoying the touch of the dainty unmentionables?

  The top he’d called a T-shirt came next. It took her a matter of seconds to pull it over her head. No buttons. She sank to sit on the edge of the tub, rubbing the bottom of the shirt against her face. Dear God, the fabric breathed, letting air through to her body. Clearly she’d missed something. Why did this feel like a new experience?

  A knock and Will called through the door, “You almost done in there?”

  “One moment.” Elizabeth lifted the shorts, turning them around and plucking at the well-stitched hems. What respectable woman in her right mind would wear them? She glanced down at her filthy trousers and sighed. Not much choice. She stepped into the shorts and tugged the stiff fabric up. After studying the strange steel teeth for a moment, Elizabeth pulled on the metal tab, drawing the front shut. The last part—the button—didn’t take a genius to fasten.

  Another knock.

  “Patience.” She turned side to side and studied herself in the full-length mirror on the door, furrowing her brow and narrowing her vision on the image. Dropping a hand to her belly, she covered it with her palm, but it didn’t settle the fluttering. Had she really worn something like this before? “Will, I think these garments need to be bigger. I can see my ankles.” She blushed as she gazed at herself in the glass. “And my thighs. Are you sure these aren’t—”

  “They’re not undergarments. Trust me on this.”

  “Trust you. You want me to walk around dressed like a woman of the streets?”

  “A what?”

  “A harlot, Will. A woman paid for…favors.”

  A heavy sigh came from the other side of the door. “Trust me. You won’t look like a prostitute. Those are on the modest side. You should have seen some of the Daisy Dukes they had in the shop.”

  “Daisy who?”

  “Short-shorts. They call them Daisy Dukes.”

  “They get smaller than this?” She tugged on the hem. “Is that possible? You can see half my legs.”

  “They’re supposed to fit that way. Come out and let me see. You’re making more out of this than you need to.”

  “I beg your pardon?” She dropped her hand and stared at her image in horror. “I see skin.”

  “Let me have a look.”

  “I most certainly will not let you have a look.”

  ***

  Elizabeth fiddled with the dials inside what Will called the cab of his rental car, changing stations and the music until she found a classical tune. All of it felt and sounded unfamiliar, as though she’d never seen or heard it before in her life. He referred to the music that came out of the box as rock, and it certainly seemed like she’d been struck over the head by one.

  She couldn’t get over the feeling she didn’t belong here with him. If she didn’t, he did a good job of covering it up.

  When Will had given her the shorts and T-shirt, she’d balked at coming out of the water closet, horrified at the thought of him seeing so much flesh even though she didn’t know why. After he’d convinced her there was nothing indecent about her clothing, she’d conceded, but still felt exposed. When they’d walked into a crowd of tourists, he’d grabbed her hand and held on tight, swinging her around when she decided to bolt for the cottage again. He’d pulled her up against him and pointed at other women, some dressed in less than she wore, so she’d collected herself and pretended none of it felt odd or unreal.

  The music in the SUV was another strange element to sort through and not the worst. Guitars and trumpets played from the “radio.” “I like this song,” she said.

  “A Mariachi band?”

  “They don’t screech when they sing. But….” What was she searching for? She sighed and changed the channel again, stopping on a horrid song, not because she liked it. Of all the tunes she’d listened to thus far, it seemed the most familiar and tugged at her memories. “Who is this?”

  “AC/DC.” He smiled. “But it’s a cover band singing the lyrics in Spanish. Do you like them?”

  “Not particularly. I’d have a horrid headache if I had to endure too much of that ruckus. Have I heard them before?”

  “I’m not sure. Maybe. Elizabeth, we need to talk.”

  “I thought that’s what we were doing.” She fingered the dial, debating if she should change it. If she listened to it long enough, maybe she’d remember. Nothing but that song seemed familiar. Well, that and William, even with his shiners and swollen nose. She also knew when he kissed her, he’d flip her world over and make her stomach do strange things.

  She reached up and touched her lower lip. Little zaps snapped in her belly, and her heart raced. Reaching out, she could almost pull a memory to the surface, but it faded, and all she got were small flashes of the way his teeth felt as he caught her lower lip and tugged. His mouth on hers and the taste of him. Clean. Lord, he had the freshest mouth. When he wrapped his arms around her....

  “I don’t know how to put this, so I’m just going to come out and say it.”

  Elizabeth twisted in her seat to face him. He kept his eyes on the road. “That’s usually the best way.”

  “I want you promise not to scream.” He glanced at her from the corner of his eye before returning his attention to what lay in front of them. “Please. Just hear me out. All right?”

  She nodded. What did he possibly have to say that would make her want to scream? Elizabeth fisted the hem of her shorts.

  He pulled the vehicle over to a curb and faced her. “I’m not your husband, and you’re from another time.”

  Only her husband would kiss her the way he had, or let her rest on the bed in his room, un-chaperoned. Such behavior from any other man would be ungentlemanly. And he had kissed her. Her gut told her so. As for his other claim….

  Laughter bubbled up uncontrollably from her throat. She couldn’t stop the reaction, no matter how hard she tried. Impossible. Completely preposterous, but it felt real.

  “I’m not kidding. You’re not my wife. And you’re from 1905 or somewhere around that time. You tried to rescue me, we kissed, and here we are in 2015.”

  “All from a peck on the lips?” She laughed harder. “I daresay that’s the most ridiculous thing I’ve heard.” She wiped away a tear on her cheek with the side of her hand.

  “It was more than a peck. When I kiss a woman…. Look. It happened. I’ll prove it.”

  “Okay, Doctor Davidson. Prove it. Show me the evidence that I’m from another time, and you’re not completely off your chump.”

  “Right there. The way you talk, and the fact that you call me Doctor Davidson. Do you hear anyone else speaking like that? And we’ve already covered that I’m not a doctor. And then remember how uncomfortable you are with the clothing I gave you? You didn’t thin
k that odd?”

  “Do I hear anyone else speaking English? No. We’re in Peru, silly. As for the clothes, since I can’t remember, I assume I’ve always been a modest lady.”

  “Understatement. You can’t even discuss underwear.”

  “Unmentionables.”

  “That’s proof.”

  “I find your argument weak, Mr. Davidson.”

  “You want something else. Fine. I’ll show you as soon as I get my hands on that journal. We’re going back to the ruins, and I’ll show you I’m not off my chump.”

  Or they could take a quicker route, Elizabeth thought, since a kiss got them into this in the first place. Though she knew a lady would never suggest it, Elizabeth blurted the words out. “I have a better idea.” Why did I say that?

  “What’s that?”

  She swallowed. Yes, pray tell, what? She stared, finding herself for once without a brilliant response. She was accomplished in the art of verbally dueling, yet felt as clumsy as a toddler with him. “Yes, of course.” She gulped and turned forward, staring at the window glass.

  “Are you going to sit there all day or tell me your marvelous plan?”

  No time like now. She sat up straight, pouring steel into her spine. Brushing her palms down her thighs, she smoothed out the non-existent fabric of her skirt, quickly stopping when she caught him watching.

  “Well, I’m waiting.”

  “Yes. Of course. I should explain.” She returned to straightening out her invisible skirt. She sucked in a deep breath. “You could kiss me again.” Her stomach fluttered the moment she said it.

  Chapter Seven

  She’d been there. Recently. The delicate scent of lavender permeated the air in the stagnant chamber. When they’d traveled through the jungle, every insect around had been drawn to the smell, and Alexander had thought about telling her that it attracted them, but he’d rather enjoyed being downwind and catching an occasional whiff of the soap she washed with. It reminded him of the rewards he’d reap once his plans fell into place.