Somewhere in Time (The Crosse Harbor Time Travel Trilogy) (4 page)

He shook his head.

"I'm sure I heard someone laughing." Her brow furrowed and she looked at him even more closely. "I need you to try on the breeches."

"I don't do tights." He yanked off the coat and handed it to her.

"They're not tights," she said, a grin tugging at her lush and beautiful mouth. "Spandex is a modern invention."

"They're tights and I don't give a damn if George Washington wore them. I don't."

"You'd probably look great in them."

"Forget it."

"Okay," she said. "You win. I'll wrap the uniform back up and you can be on your way."

"Why don't you keep the uniform," he said. "It's not like I'll have a lot of use for it in Bora Bora."

"I thought you were going to Tahiti."

"First Tahiti, then Bora Bora."

"I can't keep this," she said. "It's a piece of your family history."

"History means nothing to me," he said bluntly.

"If it doesn't matter to you," Emilie shot back, "why did you come here?"

"I needed to know if this was real or a fake. Only a schmuck donates a knock-off to the Smithsonian."

Her jaw dropped open. "You're going to give this away?"

"I tried to give it to you, but you won't take it."

"This is your legacy."

"It already means more to you than it ever will to me."

"If sentiment doesn't carry any weight with you, how about money? It's probably worth a small fortune."

"I'm rich. I won't miss it."

"You can't run forever," she said. "Sooner or later you'll have to slow down long enough to figure out why you're so lonely."

He bent down and kissed her hard and fast on the mouth, a kiss of anger and need and lost possibilities.

"Take care, Em," he said, then walked out the door.

Chapter Two

One moment he was kissing her with more hunger and heat than she'd ever longed for and the next he was walking out of her life as if nothing had happened.

Emilie stared out the window as Zane leaped into his fancy sports car and vanished up the street the way all good fantasies were supposed to do.

She shook her head, trying to banish the memory of his mouth on hers.

Five of the best seconds of her life....

Clearly nothing had changed. Not his reckless attitude or, to her dismay, the way he made her feel. She'd been alive to his touch, filled with a sweet longing that seemed to promise something wonderful that was just beyond reach.

A full moon hung poised in the sky beyond her window, splashing silver on the turbulent waters of Crosse Harbor. She should have known there'd be a full moon tonight. She'd felt crazy, out of control. With any encouragement she would have thrown her arms around his neck and begged him to make love to her right there on the floor in her workroom with the ghosts of the past all around them and only the stars to see.

The way he'd looked at her. The tone of his voice when he said her name. He'd wanted her as much as she'd wanted him. The signs had all been there but she'd let the opportunity slip through her fingers and now she felt empty and very alone.

If it wasn't for the uniform on the worktable, she might have believed she'd imagined the whole encounter. She crossed the room and picked up the jacket, holding it close to her chest. He'd only worn it for a few minutes but his scent, a blend of wind and rain and sea air, was everywhere.

He was everything she didn't want in a man, yet when she saw him striding up the driveway toward the house, she'd known the same sense of reckless excitement she'd experienced the very first time.

She'd been living in Hollywood, working for a movie studio that specialized in big-budget films grounded in historical detail--especially when it came to the authenticity of the costumes.

Zane had been on the set visiting a stuntman pal of his who earned his salary by risking his neck. Zane, of course, was nothing like the stuntman.

Her ex-husband had been more than happy to risk his neck for nothing.

"Zane Grey Rutledge?" she'd said when he told her his name.

He'd shrugged with the casual ease of someone who'd never had to struggle for anything in his life. "My parents had a sense of humor," he'd said. "They were reading
Riders of the Purple Sage
in the labor room the night I was born."

Everything about him had been larger than life, from his movie-star looks to his relentless search for adventure. It had taken her awhile to realize that his endless quest for the next thrill was a mask for a loneliness that went deeper than he'd ever admit.

He'd never been one to talk about the past, but she'd learned about his adventure-loving parents who had placed their five-year-old son in a fancy boarding school then jetted off in search of their latest thrill. When they died on a mountain in Nepal, it took six months before Zane even realized they were gone. Only his grandmother, a Philadelphia Main Line matron, had ever been there for him but by then it was a case of too little, too late.

Emilie had longed to fill the empty parts of his soul with her love but, like a shooting star, he was impossible to catch. He'd spent too many years alone to believe in happy endings.

They had nothing in common. She loved the past. He worshipped the future. He liked fast sports cars and trips to exotic locales, while she liked old quilts and museums. This miraculous wonder of a uniform meant less to him than a pair of sweat socks or a worn-out jockstrap.

But when he held her in his arms, the world fell away until she could almost see forever.

He should have stayed in Malta or Manhattan or wherever it was he called home these days. She didn't need him in her life again, making her long for the impossible.

 
Lately she'd found herself pushing against the boundaries of the lazy town where she'd grown up. The kind-hearted concern of her neighbors grated against her nerves. The cry of the gulls, the smell of salt air, the familiar routines of daily life all seemed alien to her, as if they belonged to someone else.

Just yesterday she'd raised her voice to Mrs. Willis at the market and told John Parker that no, she
didn't
like the way he'd wallpapered her powder room. She could still see the look of astonishment on the faces of those two nice people when she'd stormed out the door of the Stop'n'Shop with her quart of milk and half-dozen eggs.

"Poor Emilie," she'd heard Mrs. Willis say. "A girl so pretty shouldn't be alone."

Amazing how Mrs. Willis understood more about Emilie than Emilie did herself. She craved an adventure, a walk on the wild side of life. A jolt of electricity called excitement before she grew too old to care.

None of which was likely to be found in sleepy Crosse Harbor, New Jersey.

The one thing she hadn't needed, however, was for her ex-husband to come roaring back into her life, reminding her that once upon a time she'd been foolish enough to believe she could find adventure and security both in the same pair of arms.

And maybe you could have, Emilie. Maybe it was right there but you were too blind and impatient and scared to see it.

They said that America was a country built on second acts and she agreed. She was living her second act right now, immersed in work that fed her soul and built her future.

But what about love? Don't you deserve a second chance there too?

She turned, about to head for the kitchen, then stopped in her tracks. She tilted her head to the side, listening. Was that the doorbell? It was almost eight o'clock at night. She had to be hearing things. The doorbell buzzed again, louder this time and more insistent.

She hurried through the house toward the front hall. "Who is it?" she called through the heavy wooden door.

"Zane."

A ridiculous burst of hope exploded inside her chest at the sound of his voice and she immediately pushed it down. He'd come back for the uniform, that was all. He'd changed his mind and wanted to sell it on eBay or barter it for beads on some South Pacific island. This had nothing to do with her.

She swung open the door and her breath caught at the sight of him on the front porch, dark hair gleaming in the glow of the porch light.

She sensed, rather than saw, the change in him but the effect it had on her was profound. Behind his bravado hid the loneliness she'd recognized earlier, and that realization reached inside her heart and wouldn't let go.

"I got as far as the parkway," he said, "then I turned around."

"You came back for your uniform," she said, feeling terrified and thrilled and hopeful.

"No," he said, pushing past her into the dimly-lit foyer. "I came back for you."

She was in his arms in a heartbeat. No questions. No second thoughts.
No promises.
That was where they always went wrong, making promises neither one could keep.

At least not in this world.

Tilting her chin upward with his finger, he lowered his head and claimed the sweetness of her mouth with his. The kiss was gentle at first, a sweet melding of softness and strength, then just as she found herself wanting more, he slipped his tongue into her mouth and a fierce hunger rose up from the center of her soul.

Her hands rested against the hard wall of his chest and she felt the violent thudding of his heart against her palm. How could she have forgotten the feel of him and the smell, this explosion of pure sensation.

He swept her off her feet with one swift and unexpected motion. Instinctively she looped her arms around his neck, dizzy with longing. The amazing planes of his face...the high, almost cruel cheekbones, the proud nose of a warrior-prince. Those deep blue eyes shadowed by lashes as dark as the night. She could get lost in those eyes--

"The door," she whispered against his shoulder.

He kicked the door closed, shutting out the world and enclosing them in their own private universe.

"Where?" he asked, his voice a husky, sensual growl.

"Through the hallway."

#

Her bedroom was the last door on the right.

He would have known it in the dark. The smell of her perfume, faint and evocative, was everywhere. For years he'd told himself he'd imagined that scent but he hadn't. It was as real, as exciting, as the woman in his arms.

He remembered it all. The texture of her mouth. The silky flow of her hair against his cheek. The coiled female strength.

 
The thick feather bed cradled them as they fell together into its softness.

"I can't believe this is happening," she said, touching his face with her fingertips.

"I couldn't leave," he said, running his hand along the proud curve of her hip. "I did my damnedest but I couldn't leave you behind."

"I know," she whispered. "When I saw your car backing out of the driveway--" She shook her head. "I wanted you to come back." More than anything. More than air or sun or safety.

Did he have any idea how overwhelming he was? How beautiful?

He drew his hand across her flat belly, easing his fingertips under the soft fabric of her shirt, across her ribcage, to the lacy band of her bra. In an instant he undid the front hook, parting the wisps of lace then cupping her breasts in the palms of his hands.

She felt his touch everywhere. Slowly he drew the pads of his thumbs across her nipples until they grew hard and taut. She wanted his mouth on her, that hungry and sensual mouth, his lips hot and wet as he sucked on her nipples, drawing them into his mouth.

"That's it," he said, stripping her of her bra and shirt. "Let me hear you. Scream if you want to, Emilie. I want it all...everything you have to give."

A groan of pleasure, pagan and unbridled, broke free. The sound terrified her with its urgency even as it destroyed the last of her inhibitions with its pure, female power. It was all so strange yet so familiar, as if she'd been waiting for his touch to bring her back to life.

He lowered his mouth to her breasts, then slipped inside her heart and absorbed her fantasies. His mouth was hotter than flame against her skin. He captured one nipple between his teeth and she cried out again, not from pain but from a feeling so primitive and fierce that she wondered if she would survive another onslaught of sensation.