Through the Maelstrom (11 page)

That observation punched her in the gut and she snapped, "No one's abused me."

"Shamed you then? He leaned back and partially pulled the hilt of the sword up ever so much. “I can run them through for you, if you'd like. I'm told I'm not likely to appear in any criminal databases, whatever those are. Sounds suspicious though."

"Ha ha." She crossed her arms, lowered them, and then clasped them in her lap. He joked so easily about his lies. Her old shame had been brought to the surface by his words, something she had kept buried for years. She found herself speaking before she could think better of it. "I was loner as a teen. A nerd. Some of the football players placed bets on who could rack up the most points sleeping with the girls in the school." She laughed bitterly, and his frown intensified. "Classic dick move that happens throughout the country, I suppose."

He nodded for her to continue.

"Brett Youngerman was our quarterback, and he was every girl's crush back then." She paused and sipped her water as the server returned with two glasses of red wine. Christophe's deepening scowl told her without words he already could see where this story was headed, and his indignation matched her own.

She gave him the short version. "I thought he cared for me. We went on a few dates, and then he wanted to fool around. I was reserved, sure, but having never had a boyfriend before him... I-I let him talk me into it on the pretense that everyone was doing it. We were the posterchildren of the peer-pressure cliché. I didn't enjoy my first time. At all. The next day he wouldn't so much as speak to me, yet everyone else was shooting looks my way like they knew. Like I was this horrible loose woman and he was a saint among men."

Blinking rapidly, she fought off the tears that painful memory brought her. The irrefutable damage it had done to her self-esteem and trust in men. "Everyone did know. Virgins were the highest points to score in their stupid game." And she'd become more closed off than she'd been before. In the back of her mind, all men thought the way Brett had. Everyone else who looked at her were determining if she was a slut or not. It didn't matter that she
knew
the majority of people glancing her way didn't think twice about her. Irrational fears were considered irrational for good reason.

Fast-forward to a day ago, when Christophe had made her feel desirable, before he mistook her for a prostitute and then proceeded to tell her he was from the past. Three hundred years in the past. Perhaps fear was warranted. People took advantage of those who appeared meek. How did she know what was real and what was fantasy when the man had frowned at various words she'd used but looked at her like she was the most beautiful woman on the planet?

Confusing was putting it mildly. She wished she could believe his story. How romantic that would be.

***

H
e would gut the bastard who'd hurt her. Christophe doubted she'd point him in the direction to do so. Men like this Brett coward didn't deserve to breathe the same air as a gentle, beautiful woman, let alone touch them. He pushed his chair back and kneeled beside Serena, grasping her hands as she stared down at him. She seemed a bit stunned by his appearance there.

Christ, no wonder she'd reacted as she had the first night when he'd been so out of sorts with where he was and with all that had changed. Had she relived that awful experience because of his error? All he could do to amend it was prove he wanted her beyond the intimacy they would eventually find in each other's arms. If he was anything at all, Christophe was a patient man. "I cannot right his wrong, but I can promise you this: I was drawn to you the moment you shoved your way into that crowd and placed your hand upon my arm. I am yours." What could he say to even begin to atone for his own actions?

The corner of her lips tilted up and she rasped out a chuckle. "That's so cheesy."

"There we are." He lifted his palm to her cheek and she trembled. "Give us a smile. That's all I wish to see lighting your face. Never sorrow, or pain, or distrust. Though you do say the strangest things sometimes."

She pulled her other palm free of his and clasped her hands in her lap once more. Was she hiding her fidgeting, or did she long to touch him? He wished she would put her hands on him. "You're smooth. I'll give you that," she said.

"Ooh, congratulations on the engagement!" her chaperone shouted from across the room.

Serena's eyes nearly bulged out of their sockets as she held his gaze. "Oh. My. God." She whirled around. "We're
not
engaged! Who shouts that across a restaurant?"

Her friend, Becky Ann he believed her name was, brought a hand to her cheek. "Oops. My bad." She blew a curled strand of blonde hair from her eye and grinned. The dark-haired man she was with appeared ready to sneak away. The few other diners were staring at Serena, who'd gone silent and still after her outburst. She covered her face in her hands and swore colorfully.

He tried, he really did, but in keeping his lips pressed together, a great snort escaped when he inhaled again. Hearing a gentle woman use such language was so absurd on its own, then given the situation...

"Shut up." Serena slowly twisted back in her seat to face him. Her cheeks were flushed, as well as her chest. Suddenly he wasn't laughing anymore as he imagined what else would cause that color to appear there. "It's not funny."

"No." He gulped down wine, barely tasting it and returning to his seat before the evidence of his arousal became apparent. "No, it isn't." When she realized he wasn't going to carry on and tease her, the tension left her shoulders and she slumped. "Tell me about this movie you are taking me to see." He hoped to distract her back to being at ease with him again.

"You've never seen
Pirates of the Caribbean
? Oh, that's right. You're from 'the past.'" She wiggled the first two fingers on each of her hands in the air. "You probably lived it."

"Pirates, eh?"

She giggled. "It was scheduled already. I didn't pick it, but I do own the films on DVD."

Christophe had no idea what she was talking about, but he smiled as she continued to talk to him about movies, which he gathered were like moving photographs that told a story, like a play. It would be interesting to see, if anything. One day, perhaps he would understand all the changes in the world. At the moment, the only thing that mattered was what made her happy. Her smile warmed him.
One day, perhaps she'll talk about me with such affection.

Before long, their food arrived and Christophe was riveted to her tales of some notorious Captain Jack Sparrow he would see in the movie. Aye, if she admired this other pirate, there was hope for him.

S
erena found a set of upright wooden chairs with cushions on the upper deck overlooking where the screen was set up. They were on a step up from the walkway so the railing wouldn't obscure their view, and far enough to the end that there wouldn't be too many people passing in front of them. More passengers were returning from dinner on the island and settling in around them to watch the movie. Christophe scooted his chair closer to hers and sat back, his arm brushing hers. Would he try to hold her hand? Would she let him?

When he didn't make a move to do so, she absolutely wasn't disappointed. Well, mostly. She occupied herself with fussing over whether or not her skirt would ride up and flash everyone.

There was no telling where Becky Ann had sneaked off to, but Serena had a feeling she'd be close by if needed. Just...out of striking range.
Engagement? Really?
She'd gone to dinner with him, "playing along" with the whole time travel shenanigans. She had to admit, though, the way some of her pop culture and modernizations made him scrunch his forehead in contemplation was pretty good acting. Of course, he was an actor. Authenticity and all that. And he was completely method with it, never breaking character.

The lights on deck dimmed, leaving enough illumination in walkways to not be hazardous. He started to say something, but the music in the opening scene pulled his attention to the screen. The title appeared, faded, and then the film revealed the smoke-covered sea and a young girl singing the song made famous by the theme park ride the movie was based on.

Christophe's eyes were wide. He sat up and leaned forward. Serena could not tear her gaze away from him, almost wanting to reach out and clutch his hand to share in the wonderment crossing his features. If he was play acting, he deserved an Oscar for the performance. "This is...amazing!" He turned to her, a huge grin across his handsome features like a child on Christmas morning. "Thank you for sharing it with me."

"Oh, well, the ship decided to show it," she rambled. "I can't really take the cre—"

"Take the compliment, love." This time he did capture her hand in his, twining their fingers together. Warmth flooded through her, but not from embarrassment. She stared at their fingers clasped together, considered pulling her hand free, but didn't. What would it serve to break contact she craved but couldn't find it in her to ask for? Hand holding never hurt anyone, and it was...nice.

When Captain Jack Sparrow arrived on screen to dock at the precise moment his ship sank, Christophe laughed heartily. His unabashed joy made her feel things she couldn't fathom or even name. He couldn't turn away from the spectacle before him, asking her all sorts of questions about the supernatural aspects and commenting on things that were not fully historically accurate.

At some point, they ended up closer together, despite the chair arms separating them. His clothing had been washed and no longer smelled of gunpowder. Now he smelled of man and the coconut-scented soap. She tried desperately not to snuggle into him and remain nonchalant, something becoming increasingly more difficult as the film progressed.

What if he was honestly from the past? How could he adapt to a world far more advanced than he had ever been used to?
He's adapted pretty well so far, mostly.
In that moment, while he was watching the screen instead of her, Serena wanted nothing more than to believe him. To accept a miracle had occurred. To know there was someone out there for her, and all she had to do was believe a silly story. Could she take that leap of faith?

If he was from the past, it would make things more difficult in terms of living. He wouldn't have identification or records or finances. Her savings weren't substantial, and she made enough at her job to support herself, but could she survive with an added mouth to feed? Could she take him in and help him fit in to the twenty-first century?

Yes
. She knew it in her heart she could make it work. Mrs. Baker claimed to know a guy who could help with documentation, and she was willing to help so selflessly. There were so many things that would need to be considered, if it were true, but not immediately.

But it
couldn't
be true. People didn't travel through time. Her heart was in perilous waters, and Christophe could drown it so easily. All he had to do was reject her now that she'd seen how genuine his reactions could be. Now that she'd experienced how his affection soothed her in all the right places even without touching her intimately.

By the time the credits were rolling, Serena feared she spent more time watching him than the movie itself. He said, "This Sparrow is somewhat brilliant. So clever though he seems unlikely to succeed at anything—and then he does."

"That's why they made several more films." She turned sideways, pulling her legs up in the chair, using her free hand to cover her lap so she wasn't vulgar. If he noticed, he'd not drawn attention to it. "Are you really from the past?" Her words were soft, but he heard. "Tell me you aren't going to build me up only to tear me down." She hated the vulnerability in her voice.

But he didn't laugh at her. Christophe released her hand and rubbed his palms comfortingly over her bare shoulders. "I swear to you, love. I'm here so long as you want me to be." His eyes were warm, but intense. She didn't know how to handle it.

Shyly, she tilted her head away, peeking at him through her hair. "Your reactions were far too realistic for a man who'd pretend never to have seen a movie, or had never come across a Jack Sparrow impersonator if pirate cosplay was your way of life."

"Cosplay?" He made a face as if the word tasted funny on his tongue.

"Wearing a full costume, but not participating in a production. Just for fun."

He nodded, understanding. "Does that mean you believe me?" His voice was soft, like he feared her answer.

"I don't know." Serena sighed. "I want to. It's just—"

"Doesn't seem possible," he finished for her, nodding. "I understand."

They sat in silence for some time, turned sideways in their chairs, facing one another, studying the other's features. Around them, people wandered away until, at last, they were alone in a darkened corner of the upper deck. Finally, Christophe asked, "When can we watch the next Jack Sparrow movie?"

Serena giggled, but stopped when he lowered his lips to hers. He hovered there for a breath before claiming her mouth. Were those her hands sliding up his back and clinging to his coarse jacket as he slipped his tongue in for a more intimate taste? He framed her face between his palms, tilting her head back, brushing his fingertips against the sensitive flesh behind her ears that made her shiver involuntarily and gasp against his machinations.

A woman could lose her heart to this man.

***

S
he tasted so sweet, like sugar plums. He wanted to devour her, to lick every inch. Yet too much too fast would push her away from him again when she was starting to believe him and realize what miracle had befallen the two of them. Christophe broke the kiss and leaned back into his own chair, keeping his right arm around his siren, holding her close to his chest. Only the arms of the chairs kept them fully apart. She blinked open her eyes as if in a daze, smiling despite herself, he was sure.

Christophe had been enchanted by the movie. He had seen several plays and operas and took the liberties for what they were: fictional renderings. A movie was like a play...but not on a stage, and captured almost magically to be relived like a visual book. The story had been captivating, but not quite as much as the beautiful creature in his arms. "What a perfect night," he mused. "I could not wish for more." He chuckled and added, "Your chaperone should be let go immediately."