Somewhere in Time (The Crosse Harbor Time Travel Trilogy)

by Barbara Bretton

  Her eyes widened at first in dismay then she laughed. "I guess it really didn't matter, did it?"

  He pushed the plate aside. "Lie down."

  "What?"

  "Lie down," he repeated, more forcefully this time.

  And she did because this was part of the fantasy. In that secret world, for just this one night, a man could command and a woman would obey.

  The sheets felt cool and silky against her back. The champagne had softened the edges of her perception. It was difficult to tell where her body ended and the feather bed began. She was floating on a cloud, drifting along in a wonderful erotic haze--

  "Trust me." Dangerous, seductive words. She closed her eyes and let herself float free.

  Her belly was warm. The champagne wasn't. She gasped at the sensation as it trickled toward her navel.

  "You're crazy!" she said, laughing. "The sheets...."

  The sheets, however, were in no danger. Drop by drop, inch by tantalizing inch, he licked the golden wine from her skin. Her navel...the slope of her belly...the juncture of her thighs...the sweet, sweet center of her being.

  She threaded her fingers through his hair, holding him close to her, wanting this dark splendor to go on until she exploded into a thousand glittering pieces of gold.

  But more than anything, she didn't want it to end.

  #

  Emilie sat up against the headboard the next morning and stared down at the man sleeping next to her. She'd been lying there for ages, eyes pressed tightly closed, listening to the slow and even ticking of the clock on her nightstand, praying she would wake up to discover she was alone in her bed, same as she'd been every single night for the past five years.

  The gentle ache between her thighs...the delicious feeling of having been loved often and well...the sensation of standing at the edge of a high cliff and stepping out into space.

  Vivid images of his mouth against her belly, his hands against the small of her back...she couldn't have imagined the deep, almost primal pleasures, no matter how hard she tried.

  She reached over and touched his shoulder. Hard muscle. Warm flesh. A living, breathing ex-husband.

  "Oh God." She pulled the covers over her head and scooted to the edge of the mattress. She'd gone insane, that was it. Totally, completely mad.

  Zane mumbled something and punched at his pillow. Emilie held her breath. He turned over and flung a hard, muscular leg across her hip, pressing up against her. She found herself leaning back into his warmth, wanting his strength....

  "No!" she said out loud. She wasn't going to give into the urge to throw caution to the winds again. Last night was last night. It was over and if she had her way, it would be forgotten as quickly as possible.

  Last night he'd talked about a future she found difficult to imagine, a future together filled with passion and excitement and surprises and, God help her, but she had been tempted to throw in her lot with him one more time.

  For the first time it wasn't the need to banish his loneliness that touched her heart. His restless searching nature struck a chord inside her that she hadn't realized existed until recently. She was older now and wiser. Was it that crazy to hope that maybe he had changed too?

  She had no family left to speak of, nobody to question her decision to toss everything aside and take off with her ex-husband for parts unknown. If she wanted to, she could lock her front door, climb into the passenger seat of his sports car and go wherever the winds blew them.

  And when inevitable time came when it was no longer fun, when the passion between them dimmed, they could part as friends with memories that would warm her in her old age because this time she wouldn't be crazy enough to love him.

  But she'd been a little crazy last night, drunk on champagne and the romance of it all. History and adventure and passion and a dangerous full moon spilling its silvery glow on them – she was lucky they weren't halfway to the South Pacific right now.

  Giving her heart to a man like Zane Rutledge was the romantic equivalent of tying herself to the railroad tracks and waiting for the next train to arrive. She'd escaped once with her heart intact. She'd be crazy to think she could escape a second time.

  He seemed too comfortable sprawled out on her pale peach sheets with the satin duvet barely covering the essentials. Almost as if he belonged there, which definitely was not the case. Still he made an imposing sight. Even lying down it was obvious that he was tall and inordinately broad-shouldered with powerful muscles that had felt like warm marble beneath her hands and--

  Thinking like that would only get her in trouble.

  Taking a deep breath, she took another look at him, determined to see only his shortcomings. Wouldn't you think he'd have the decency to look out-of-place in such a frankly feminine setting? Instead he looked as if he'd conquered her bedroom the same way he'd conquered her body.

  The thought annoyed her and she poked his shoulder. "Zane." He stirred but he didn't awaken. "Zane, wake up. I have to leave in an hour."

  "Mmph." He rolled over on his stomach and scrunched his face more deeply into the pillow.

  Her pillow.

  She debated the wisdom of yanking at the corner of the duvet but the thought of all that naked male splendor was more than she could bear. She fled for the bathroom as if the hounds of hells were nipping at her heels then closed the door behind her.

  It was almost enough to make her laugh. Wasn't it the man who was supposed to be counting the seconds until he could make his escape? She read the women's magazines. She knew they would say she should be in the kitchen whipping up a delectable post-tryst breakfast of French roast coffee, fresh strawberries and cream while he calculated the distance between the bedroom and freedom.

  Instead she found herself hiding in the bathroom, wondering if she could squeeze through the tiny window and vanish into the woods behind her house.

  Quietly she padded into the dressing room off the bath then slipped into a pair of leggings and an intricately laced bodice with ribbon ties that was part of her costume. It was too hot to wear the entire ensemble. She'd slip into the skirt and sash on the balloon.

  She caught a glimpse of herself in the full length mirror and stifled a laugh. She looked like Mad Magazine's idea of an 18th century streetwalker. An embroidered purse, faded with age, rested on the window ledge. She added a few dollar bills, two quarters, her driver's license and American Express card to the sewing kit inside, then tucked it into the waistband of her leggings. Sliding her feet into a pair of ballerina flats, she gathered up the flower-sprigged muslin skirt and draped it over her arm.

  She glanced into the bedroom as she headed toward the kitchen. He was still asleep, sprawled diagonally across her bed and looking as if he intended to stay awhile. It took a certain kind of person to get that comfortable that quickly. Emilie shook her head in dismay. Some things never changed.

  A pad of hot pink Post-it notes rested atop the microwave. She scribbled a quick note with a bright-green felt tip pen then stuck the note to the sugar bowl in the center of the scarred maple breakfast table. Her car keys hung from a hook near the door and she grabbed them on her way out.

  Backing her car of the driveway she absolutely refused to look at the sexy black Porsche parked in her driveway or think about its incredibly sexy owner.

  She'd made a mistake. It was over.

  If the fates were kind, she wouldn't think about it again as long as she lived.

  #

  Langley Park was a good half-hour drive from her house. The morning was cool for late July and surprisingly clear. Although it was barely past dawn, the low-lying fog had already burned off. If it wasn't for the smell of auto exhaust mingling with the scent of salt air and summer flowers, it would be a perfect day.

  She switched on the car radio, tapping her fingers on the wheel as an old Beach Boys' song came on. She was far too young to remember them in their prime, but there was something wonderful about their music that made it absolutely perfect for driving down a coun
try lane on a beautiful summer morning.

  Glancing in the rearview mirror she saw a jazzy black sports car making the left onto the main road and she groaned out loud. "Come on," she muttered. "You're supposed to be asleep." Or nursing a hangover at the very least. She pressed down harder on the gas pedal but the sports car still trailed behind.

  Gunning the engine, she made a sharp right onto a side road only to see the black car follow suit a few moments later. Her heart lurched. Maybe he'd lost his wallet or misplaced his watch. She slowed down, expecting him to pull even with her but he maintained his distance. He looked grimly determined.

  She turned back to the main road. He did the same.

  She considered trying to lose him but the huge crimson balloon in which she'd soon be riding was a destination you couldn't hide. It hovered over the trees, gleaming bright red in the morning light, impossible to ignore.

  "Stop tailgating," she muttered as turned into the parking lot and swung into a spot. He'd always driven as if he had a death wish. She had half a mind to slam on the brakes then sue him for rear-ending her old sedan. It would serve him right.

  He screeched to a stop behind her.

  The Porsche's door swung open so fast it nearly popped its hinges. She considered locking her door and waiting out the storm but had the feeling he would peel the door open with his bare hands. He stormed over to where she sat.

  "Get out," he said through clenched teeth.

  Obedience didn't come naturally to her but neither did causing a scene in front of half the town.

  She took a deep breath and swung her legs out of the sedan. He didn't offer any help. Not that she needed any, but it would have been a nice gesture.

  #

  "What the hell do you think you're doing?" Zane demanded in a voice even he didn't recognize.

  She looked up at him, her grass-green eyes wide and innocent. "I'm afraid I don't know what you're talking about."

  "The hell you don't."

  Her gaze darted toward the crimson balloon, looming large in the open field and what little remained of his self-control snapped.

  "A Post-it on the kitchen table? You can do better than that, Em. At least last time you typed your goodbye note on monogrammed stationery."

  At least she looked embarrassed. It was small comfort but he'd take what he could get.

  "Don't make such a big deal out of it." She looked up at him, the expression in her eyes all fire and heat. "I tried to wake you, but you were out cold."

  She pulled away and started toward the balloon.

  He blocked her exit. She tried to duck around him but failed. "You could have tried harder."

  "Short of setting off a bomb, I don't see what I could have done."

  "You were trying to sneak out."

  "You're sounding a tad paranoid."

  "If I'd walked out on you like that, you'd call me a son of a bitch."

  "I didn't walk out on you. I have obligations."

  "You ran for your life."

  "Don't flatter yourself, Rutledge." She ducked under his outstretched arm but he blocked her escape.

  "We made plans last night."

  "Those were fantasies, not plans."

  "You were thinking about coming away with me."

  Her cheeks flamed as she looked away. "That was the Cristal talking."

  "Last night you said you were feeling hemmed in, that you were looking for something more –"

  "Last night was last night," she interrupted him, her tone clipped. "You always were good at seducing me."

  "I didn't seduce you, Emilie," he reminded her. "What happened between us was your decision as well as mine."

  She had the grace to look embarrassed.

  "Hey, Em!" A man's voice carried across the parking lot. "Better get it in gear. We're ready to let 'er rip."

  #

  Emilie had never liked town councilman Dan Walsh more than she did at that moment.

  "I have to go," she said to Zane. "They rent those contraptions by the hour."

  She started toward the balloon with him hard on her heels.

  The roar of the propane tank sounded loud in the quiet morning air. Two young men sat in a yellow minivan, sipping coffee and stifling yawns.

  "There's the rescue squad," Zane said.

  She winced. "What do you mean, rescue squad?"

  "Spotters," he said. "Your ground crew. They keep you in eyeshot in case you run into trouble."

  "Trouble? Don't say that! I've never been up in one of those things before."

  "Nothing to it. You go where the winds take you."

  "We're supposed to land near the village green."

  "You will if nature cooperates."

  "I suppose you've been up in a balloon before?"

  He nodded, grinning broadly. "Balloons, gliders, ultralights."

  "Have you ever considered gainful employment?" she mumbled.

  "Hey, Em," said Dan looking from Emilie to Zane with open curiosity. "Baxter's ready to go." He pointed toward an overweight man in a red satin bomber jacket that had the logo Soul Man embroidered across the back. "He's grabbing a last cup of coffee before you take off or whatever they call it."

  Emilie took a good look at the cane gondola. It was about six feet wide with a large tank of propane secured to a support anchored to the centerpiece. "That's it?" she asked, swallowing.

  "That's it," said Dan. "Just glad it's you and not me. I told the missus you wouldn't get me going up in anything smaller than a DC-9."

  Wise man. "How do I get in there?"

  Zane grabbed her by the waist and swung her into the basket.

  "Oh," she said, feeling very alone and very nervous. "My skirt," she said, pointing toward her car. "I'll need it when we land." The colonial hooker look wouldn't be appreciated at the Patriots Day celebration.

  "Do you mind?" Zane asked the older man. "We have a few things to settle."

  Dan hesitated.

  "It's okay," said Zane with a friendly smile. "Emilie and I are engaged."

  "Well, whaddya know," said Dan as he turned to retrieve the skirt from Emilie's Buick.

  Emilie leaned out of the basket and landed a punch on Zane's shoulder. "Why did you say something so stupid?"

  "I didn't think you'd like it if I told him we were lovers."

  "Why didn't you tell him the truth?"

  "I told him the truth," he said with maddening male logic. "We were engaged...once."

  "Now the whole town will be buzzing about it by the time we land."

  "That we're engaged or that we're lovers?"

  He was enjoying this altogether too much for her taste. "That I'm a total idiot."

  "A touch of scandal never hurt anyone."

  "You don't know Crosse Harbor."

  "I don't need to know Crosse Harbor. Come with me tonight, Emilie." His smile was piratical, seductive. "We'll explore Tahiti. I'll show you moonlight in Cairo and sunrise in Spain. We can breakfast in Paris and dine in Hawaii and make love in every city, port, and country in between before you say goodbye."

  Her heart thundered inside her chest as a fierce longing sprang to life. When she was old and grey and sitting on her front porch counting down the days, she'd have something to warm her soul besides an afghan and a pot of tea. The notion of walking away from reality and into Zane's dream was extremely compelling.

  "Absolutely not," she said over the insistent noise of the pilot burner.

  "Last chance," he said, eyes narrowing.

  "Forget it," she said. "I'm not going anywhere with you."

  "Then I'll come with you."

  She froze in place, motionless with shock as he pulled up the two stakes anchoring the balloon to the ground then leaped into the gondola as it started to rise.

  "Hey!" Dan Walsh was running back from the parking lot, Emilie's skirt waving behind him like a muslin banner. "You come back here!"

  "Do something!" Emilie shrieked. "Grab the ropes, Dan! Stop this thing!"

  "Relax
," said Zane adjusting the flow of gas. "I'll get you to your celebration in one piece."

  "Are you crazy?" she screamed over the roar of the propane tank that was propelling the balloon upward into the sky. "What do you think you're doing?"

  "Taking you for a ride."

  "You are crazy!" She backed away toward the edge of the basket. "Do you even know how to fly this thing?"

  "We'll find out soon enough." He jimmied with the control on the propane tank. "I've flown in hot-air balloons before."

  "And I've flown in a 747. That doesn't mean I think I could pilot one."

  "That's the difference between us. I'm willing to give it a try." And the problem was he usually succeeded.

  The flame shot upward while Emilie entertained visions of tangled power lines, and giant birds with very sharp beaks. The crimson-colored silk balloon carried them higher and higher, leaving the safety of earth far below.

  "I hope they arrest you for this," she said, struggling with a combination of fear and elation. He'd always been one for grand gestures and, fool that she was, she always been a sucker for them.

  "Would you press charges?"

  "In a heartbeat. How dare you risk my life because you feel like pulling some crazy stunt!"

  "Playing it safe has killed more people than craziness ever could."

  "You think you can move mountains, don't you?"

  Again that pirate's grin. "If there was something I wanted on the other side, I'd give it a try."

  His meaning was unmistakable. She closed her eyes for a second against a flood of longing that went beyond sex to a place she'd thought existed only in her dreams. "I wish you hadn't done this," she whispered. "There's no point to it. Last night was last night. We both know there can't be a future for us." Why couldn't he have the soul of a poet besides the face of a god? "I want more from a man than great sex. I want a man I can love."

  "You loved me once."

  She sighed. "I thought I did."

  "You did," he said, a note of steel in his voice. "Just because it didn't last doesn't mean it wasn't real."

  She shook her head and looked out at the panorama drifting by below them. If that had been enough they would still be married. "You never did understand me."