Redeeming Vows (20 page)

He bent his knees and allowed his erection to slip between their bodies.

She started to turn toward him, wanting to feel him inside her. He refused and kept her facing the mirror. He reached down, opened one of the drawers, and lifted her knee up until her foot rested on the wood.

Fin wanted to watch. Damn if that didn’t turn what wasn’t already lava in her blood into a fiery mass of liquid heat.

Liz released her death-grip on the dresser and reached around to stroke Fin’s steel-like thigh. He ground his teeth when her fingers brushed his erection.

Liz found the pearly drop of moisture at the tip of his cock and ran her thumb over it. Fin cursed and thrust his hips into her hand and closed his eyes. She stroked his heat once, twice and then leaned forward on the dresser. Opening his eyes, Fin bent his knees until she felt the length of him sliding up behind her. He wrapped his hand, wet with her moisture, around his erection, and slid it down the cleft of her ass.

His hand gripped her hips and spread her wider for him. His eyes kept hers in the mirror as his thumb caressed her from behind. A flicker of challenge crossed over his face.

Pleasure ricocheted over her skin.

He positioned the large bolus of his erection between her folds. “This is where I always want to be.” One swift thrust and he penetrated her completely.

Liz bit her lip to keep from moaning too loud.

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“Yes,” she whimpered. This was what she wanted, what she needed. Fin held her hips and set the pace of forceful, well-placed thrusts. The long hard length of him filled her completely. Each time he retreated, he rubbed against her at the perfect spot. Tension raced through her and kept her hovering over bliss.

Her eyes lost focus and started to close.

“Please, Elizabeth. Open your eyes.”

She did. His hungry body melted into hers. Her eyes shifted in the mirror and saw them joined. Her orgasm hovered, just out of reach. Then she saw, before she felt, Fin reaching around to stroke her swollen flesh. Her eyes met his when pleasure shifted and her release collided with his. They rode the waves of ecstasy together. His mouth gaped and his arms held her close as his seed filled her.

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Coffee dripped from the pot at a slow, painful rate. Selma sat at the counter with a cup of tea, Jake watched the news on the TV. The pipes in the apartment hummed since Fin was taking a shower.

He’d been in there a long time. But who could blame him. Showers were a taste of heaven!

Unable to wait any longer, Liz removed the carafe and poured herself a cup of java. As the first sip rolled down her tongue, Liz savored the taste.

There was very little left of the stash of coffee Myra had brought back with her. They didn’t indulge in it often, which made this taste all that much better.

“So are you and Fin married?”

Liz coughed up the coffee and sent a spray over her new friend’s shirt.

“W-what?”

Selma chuckled. “I guess not.”

“No. We’re not married.” Liz mopped up the mess she’d made.

“But you’re close.”

Oh, God, how loud had they been last night? But then, Selma had walked in with the two of them buck naked the day before.

Yesterday already felt like a lifetime ago.

“We’re close.”

Selma rubbed her chin. “Isn’t
that
frowned upon in the sixteenth century?”

Probably.
“Would you like some more tea?” Liz changed the subject.

“You don’t strike me as shy, Liz. Unless…”

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“Unless what?” She didn’t know if she wanted in on Selma’s thoughts.

“Your closeness is new, isn’t it?”

Liz shifted to the cupboard, found it bare. “Uh, you could say that.”

Selma lowered her voice. “How long have you two been lovers? If you don’t mind me asking.”

“What time is it?” Liz wasn’t shy, so what was up with her hesitation?

“Eight, and you’re changing the subject again.”

“No, I’m not. Let’s see. Seventeen hours, give or take...”

Selma plopped her tea on the counter. Her mouth opened.

Liz waited for a barrage of questions, but was saved by the sound of pounding.

Jake jumped to his feet as Liz and Selma rounded the corner of the hall. The sound emanated from the bathroom.

“Fin, is everything okay?” Liz called through the door.

“Aye,” he grunted. Another crash came. It sounded as if something hard fell against the bathtub. Was Fin showering with his sword?

“What’s going on?”

Another grunt, another crash. Liz turned the handle, found it unlocked, and opened the door.

Fin stood in only a towel and was pulling chunks of drywall off the wall, along with the tile from the shower.

“What in the hell are you doing?”

Wiping dust from his hands, Fin peered into the wall. His hand slipped into the dark space and came back with a handful of insulation. Before long, he exposed the pipes, reached in, and grasped the copper. He started to pull.

Liz placed a hand on his arm, stopping him.

“Leave me be. I need to see what holds the water 173

Catherine Bybee

inside.”

“Son of a—” This came from Jake. “You really are from the past.”

Liz started to laugh. Of course, Fin had struggled with the commission of a modern day bathroom ever since Tara returned to the sixteenth century. Until now, he’d only seen diagrams in books and hadn’t any idea how the plumbing really worked. Of course, he was destroying her apartment and stopping their ability to use the shower while they were there. He had to be stopped.

“Fin, stop. If we have time, I’ll take you to a plumbing store for a demonstration. Right now isn’t the time.” Although the determined expression on his face did bring a smile to hers.

“I just need this part here I think.”

“If you rip that out, the room will fill with water and our presence will be discovered.”

Fin glanced at her and stopped his mutilation of the bathroom wall.

“Why don’t you get dressed?”

Jake and Selma turned to leave.

“He’s going to need something other than his kilt to wear,” Liz said. “Can you go get something, Jake?”

“And leave you two? I don’t think so.”

“What is up with you?” Selma yelled at him.

In the end, Selma left with a few measurements and returned within the hour with jeans, a T-shirt, and a pair of sneakers.

When Fin walked out of the bedroom, his shirt snug over his chest with muscles rippling underneath, Liz’s heart lifted with pride.

“Nice! I kinda liked the kilt, but this isn’t bad, either,” Selma said, her tone teasing.

Jake grunted.

Liz didn’t have the patience for small talk. They needed to find a way home. According to her note 174

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from the past, they only had days to do it.

An idea formed from the information Selma gave them, or at the very least, clued Liz into a starting place.

“Okay, let’s go.”

“Go where?”

Liz glanced at Fin. “Selma, you said the trunk came to you from Graystones.”

“That’s right.”

“Well, the name didn’t just appear out of thin air. That’s the auction house Myra used to sell the candlesticks when she traveled here. I remember Mr. Harrison asking if we’d met before? He acted like he’d seen me and Myra, but I know we hadn’t.”

“You think he may have some information, lass?”

“I think we need to look, find out what he knows about that trunk. Maybe it’s been hidden somewhere, and whoever had it, could give us clues about what to do. It’s a long shot, but we need to try.” “Sounds like a plan to me.” Selma picked up her purse.

Liz reached over and picked up the remote from the coffee table. She glanced at the news. “Michael Jackson died?”

“Yeah,” Selma said.

“Who is Michael Jackson?” asked Fin.

The news switched over to a story taking place at the observatory. Liz turned off the set. “He’s a singer.”

Fin tilted his head to the side in question.

“Never mind, I’ll explain later.”

After a quick discussion about how Fin couldn’t walk around the streets of the city with a sword strapped to his hip, they left the apartment with the sacred stone and the ancient note Liz hadn’t yet written from five hundred years in the past. Talk 175

Catherine Bybee

about an oxymoron.

****

As much as she wouldn’t mind seeing an old friend or two, she didn’t have time for explanations and didn’t need the complications that would arise from her sudden appearance.

Selma stepped inside first, followed by Liz and Fin, with Jake trailing behind. Liz never forgot for a moment that Jake now carried his guns and didn’t trust them an inch.

It didn’t take long for Mr. Harrison to make his way to Selma’s side.

“Ms. Mayfair, how good it is to see you again.

I’ve thought of you often over the last year.”

Selma shook the man’s hand, sent him a smile.

“I do hope all your thoughts were good.”

The man’s belly shook when he laughed. “Of course. I’d hoped you’d come back this way.”

“Really, why?”

Liz wondered briefly if the man had something else for her from the past. Something to help them.

“I’ve wondered endlessly what was in that crate.” The wishful gleam in the man’s eye matched the tilt of his head.

Selma glanced their way. Mr. Harrison noted them for the first time.

“Where are my manners?” He recovered quickly and stepped forward for introductions. “We’ve met, haven’t we?” he asked Liz.

“Yes, over a year ago. Winter.”

His eyes peered over his glasses, obviously trying to place her before shifting to Fin and then Jake.

Mr. Harrison lifted his plump finger in the air.

“Candlesticks. Twelfth century.”

“Aye,” Fin murmured by her side.

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The man’s brows drew together, his brain obviously trying to recall something. “I’ve not met you, but I’ve seen you before.”

This was good. Some indication that Mr.

Harrison knew something they did not.

“I remember. Your picture was all over the news when you—” he pointed to Liz “—disappeared.”

Shit.

Liz swallowed, smiled and flipped her hair behind her shoulders. “Oh, God, that was ages ago.

You must have missed the follow-up story.”

Selma laughed and placed an arm around Liz.

“I’ll bet you get that all the time.”

Fin appeared in shock, and Jake lowered his gaze to the floor. Thank God, Selma could play along.

“Only when I go to places I haven’t been in a while. You should have seen my high school reunion.”

Selma went on to talk about pictures on milk cartons. Their banter turned Mr. Harrison’s confused expression to one of complacency.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re all right.”

“Couldn’t be better.”

“Well then, what can I help you with?” Mr.

Harrison directed them to a large conference table toward the back of the shop.

Selma started talking the minute they were all comfortable. “I was hoping you could give me some more information about the trunk.”

“I told you most of what I know. The trunk was bequeathed to you from an old estate. The auction house in London that held it for quite some time sent it to us only days before we contacted you. I’ve often wondered how it is that you’ve been given something so old without any knowledge of its origins.”

Selma skirted a sly look to Liz.

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“Selma discovered a family link,” Liz said.

Mr. Harrison scratched his double chin, his eyes narrowed. “I’d assumed as much, but the trunk dates back centuries and the letter requested you—”

he pointed a finger toward Selma—“by name. How on earth is it possible for your name to be written in a document so many years in the past?”

Selma opened her eyes wide.

“’Tis something we’ve all wondered about,” Fin chimed in.

Liz’s spine shivered. She didn’t think Mr.

Harrison would believe in time travel or ever connect the dots, but to be talking about the trunk as they were opened the possibilities of discovery.

“There have been a lot of Selmas in my family genealogy.”

“Well, that may explain some. Surnames change, however.”

“True.”

“If it’s information about the auction house in London you’d like, I can give you their address and the proprietor’s name.”

“That would be helpful,” Liz told him. She’d have to have the name now to send the trunk in the future… or past… or whatever the hell she was going to do. Auction houses didn’t exist in Fin’s time.

Damn all this paradoxical time travel mumbo-jumbo was resulting in a headache.

Mr. Harrison perched his reading glasses on his nose and turned to his computer. He clicked a few times and sent a file to his printer. Liz leaned over to Fin and whispered under her breath, “He’s printing out the address from his computer.” She’d talked with him and all the MacCoinnichs about computers and the Internet several times.

Fin sat forward in his chair, fascinated with the screen and images on the monitor.

“Is that the store in London?”

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“Auction house. But yes.” Mr. Harrison removed the paper from the printer tray and handed it to Selma.

“Is there a way to see what is inside that store from this?”

“They have a virtual monitor twenty-four-seven that can be viewed any time,” he said with pride.

“Here.” Mr. Harrison switched the monitor so they could view the inside of the London store.

Light from the windows indicated the setting sun in London, but enough light shone through to give clear images of the inside of the auction house.

“We have the same system here. It enables both security and the ability for customers to view items before stepping into our establishment.”

Fin sat closer. “Could you move the camera to the left?”