Skye
He wanted to claim kiss two.
My hand trembled as I quickly set the mug of coffee on the wooden lip between the cushion and the glass. I thought he’d come to me, but he sat back so he leaned against the opposite wall of the reading nook, his denim-clad legs crossed at the ankle.
“Come here,” he invited, patting the space between the window and his long form. “If I kiss you, I’m going to grope. You’d better be in charge, so I don’t.”
The idea of being in control intrigued me, my mouth roaming his, teasing him at my leisure. I’d never wanted to be in control before. I usually did whatever I had to get the guys to leave me alone. Now, I wanted one to stay, so I could chase after more than a speedy exit.
Leaving my coffee behind, I crawled along the window to settle at his side. A herd of butterflies awoke in my stomach, but they seemed to mix well with the booze. “If I’m in charge, shouldn’t I be claiming the kiss?”
His wide shoulders rose and fell with sexy nonchalance. “If you want. This could be kiss two, the next one two-a.”
I sat back on my heels, unsure what to do next. My hand rose and fell, my fingers wanting to slip into his too-long hair, to trace his sideburns, to cup his strong jaw. I drew in a deep breath and caught the scent of rum mixed with smoke from the fireplace laced with a note of something masculine. Someone could bottle that for me, and I’d be immediately aroused every day.
“You can touch me,” he said. “I’d really like that.”
My hand faltered and fell to my lap. “But you don’t want to touch me?”
“Kiss two is no groping, some tongue. Those were your rules, not mine.”
Oh. Those were my rules. Now, I had to follow them or find a way around them. For a girl who didn’t usually touch people, this was all very confusing. And hard. “And what would we be doing under your rules?”
“Mmm.” His dark lashes fluttered closed as he drew a deep breath. When they slid open, they were dark with desire, his pupils dilated. “I’d want to sink my hands in your hair, bury my nose in it, and just inhale you.”
I tried not to shudder with desire. How could anyone understand how sexy it was for him to talk about not really touching me? For someone who felt too much, it was almost an aphrodisiac. “That’s not groping.”
“No? Oh.” His gaze darted to my mouth as he cupped my cheek, his thumb brushing over my bottom lip. “Then come here.”
As he gently tugged, I eagerly followed, my breathing a little raspy with excitement. As he’d suggested, his hand slipped from my cheek into my hair just below my ear. With deliberate slowness, he shifted so his lips touched neck, his nose nuzzling my skin as he inhaled. “You smell like lavender.”
“I’m surprised you know the name.”
“I spent all summer gardening.” Gentle kisses marked a heated path along my neck. His hand remained in my hair, cupping my head so he could have better access.
As he nipped my earlobe, I sighed at the ripple of pleasure. No guy had ever just kissed my neck, or stroked my cheek, or anything as remotely sexy as this. My toes curled in my socks as I leaned into his lips. “Marek.”
“Hmm? I bet you’re ticklish here.” His tongue flicked just under my ear.
I squirmed and fought a giggle.
“See? I know this stuff. And I bet a soft kiss here will make you quiver.” He nuzzled lower, his mouth finding a sensitive spot on my neck that sent shivers up my spine.
“Marek.” I closed my eyes and softened, willing him to just take control.
“Darat nan,” he whispered.
As his lips claimed mine, his arm wrapped around me, his large hand splayed on my back. Instant arousal flashed over my skin, his gentle seduction dampening my panties. With a tug on my leg, he had me straddle his firm thighs, so I was on top. Before I could protest, he deepened the kiss, his tongue darting between my lips, begging me to part.
I groaned and opened my mouth to his. As I leaned forward for more access, my hands thudded to balance on the wall behind his head. Most kisses I’d had revolved around mouths mashing and a tongue rammed down my throat. God, this man could kiss. His lips changed their slant and pressure, lightening, his tongue withdrawing to tease mine before diving in a little deeper to stroke me fully.
He broke the kiss so his lips could dart to the other side of my neck. In between hot kisses, he murmured, “There are other things I’d do, if my hands being still isn’t considered groping.”
“Oh?”
“I’d put them on your hips.”
“That sounds innocent enough.”
“I’m glad.”
The fingers on one hand skimmed from my hair to trail down my cheek, down my arm, leaving a wake of euphoric shocks along his path to rest on my hip. The other deliberately left my back, his fingers spreading as he dragged them along my ribs. One tip grazed under my breast with the softest pressure, and I resisted dipping down to follow his hand. His mouth shifted to the neckline of my shirt that exposed my collar bone, nibbling the valleys and dips as both hands settled, his thumbs rubbing gentle circles above the waistband of my jeans.
“You know, I don’t think you’re comfortable,” he confided.
“I’m not?” I wasn’t, not when his tongue lapped the bare skin just inches from the top of my breast.
“No,” he whispered as he gave my hips a tiny tug at the exact time he nipped my skin.
I sank, sitting directly on his thighs. A jolt of surprise and pleasure ripped through me, pooling deep inside my core. Oh, the heat. To have that much of me touching him… It had to be wrong to not be repulsed.
I must have looked shocked as I stared down at him, because he smiled encouragingly. “See, that’s not so bad.”
“There’s nothing innocent about how I’m sitting on your lap.” God, I was inches from his dick. Inches. I wanted nothing more than to close the gap.
“Sweetness, there is nothing innocent about me.” His lips curved into a dirty smile, his gaze narrowing on my mouth. One hand left my hip to cup my cheek, guiding my lips back to his.
I expected his mouth to take up where he’d left off, plundering and claiming, but when he closed the gap between us, he slanted his lips across mine with a gentle reverence that made me shudder with desire. Despite his claim of lack of innocence, the gentle nibbling of his mouth, his tongue merely tracing the seam of my lips seemed to celebrate something pure and illusive.
I wasn’t pure.
Cautiously, I let more weight settle onto his legs as I lifted my palms from the wall. Itching to touch him, I ran my fingers through his hair, the strands silky soft. Trailing down to his jaw, I settled my palm along his face, reveling in the slight rasp of stubble on my fingertips. As I was taller at the moment, I found I could direct the kiss, deepening it as I saw fit. I framed his face in both hands and claimed him, my tongue demanding he part his lips and follow my lead.
He groaned, the vibration ringing over every nerve. The grip on my hips tightened, and he tugged me that last decadent inch, the heat of his hard length burning through the seam of my crotch, searing my panties. He followed that with one last yank that shoved my clit against a hard button of his fly.
I almost exploded right then and there, the shock of pleasure curling my toes. I lifted my head from his to drag in a ragged breath. The energy inside me swirled to an anxious pitch, begging for the after I’d never gotten. What would it feel like to kiss him unshielded, unprotected? Bare to whatever energy he had to offer in return?
“Marek! Yo!” a male voice called from the kitchen, a door banging.
Marek blew out a breath, and he drew my forehead down to press against his as he panted. “Shit. It’s Jay.”
I climbed off Marek’s thighs, my legs shaking as I rolled to the side. He ran a hand through his hair, trying to tame what I’d messed up as he rose. He straightened his shirt, covering the distinct bulge of arousal. That had been mine, all for me. Imagine that.
With a soft smile, he dropped a gentle kiss to my lips. “I’ll be back, and I’ll bring fresh coffee.”
“Okay.”
His firm, denim-clad ass was a glorious sight as he walked out the door and down the hall to the kitchen.
I ran a hand through my hair, smoothing the mussed locks as I reached for my coffee mug. I sipped and found it still warm, the liquor tart and spicy.
God, if that was kiss two, kiss three had to involve naked bodies and lots of groping. And hot fucking. And an orgasm. And an after.
Oddly, the energy in me liked him, and the more heated things had grown, the more it had swirled with giddy excitement. Marek definitely knew where my clit was. He’d made that clear without even touching me.
But would he know the second piece of the puzzle, how to send me into that glorious, illusive explosion of energy that I craved?
I hoped so.
Marek
I tried to be grateful that Jay had showed up now. In the bluntest terms, Skye wasn’t ready to fuck me. Oh, I almost had her hot enough, but she had to want it more than she wanted her last breath for the exchange of energy to happen. She wasn’t there. Not yet. And I had no clue if I could get her there before time ran out.
I crossed the hall from the library into the kitchen to find Jay dripping water all over my floor, his jacket soaked, a plastic grocery bag clutched in his hands.
“Jay,” I said in greeting as I checked the coffee pot.
“Your lady friend here already?”
“Yeah, dude, you’re killing me.” I drew in a harsh breath as I found a carafe in the cabinet and plunked it on the counter. My dick still throbbed. But more than that, I ached to just hold her again, to inhale her essence and become lost in our world.
“I’m not killing you. I came to save your old ass.” Jay set the bag on the counter. “Mom sent me with the pie she promised for your dinner.”
“Oh, good. Thank you.” Adele’s pie was the perfect ending for our meal. I’d chosen all of Skye’s favorites, banking on memories of those delicacies to pave the way to my salvation, so to speak.
“And I brought this.” He set a white envelope on the counter.
I picked it up and looked inside. “Condoms?”
“Yeah. I figured you didn’t have any, since you were married before.” He raked a hand through is red hair. “There’s lube, too. It’s good to put inside the condom, so there isn’t as much friction.”
I hadn’t thought about condoms. I was sterile. Technically, she would be as well. I had no clue what lube was, but I’d do a quick search on that. “I’m not going to need these.”
“You sure? You’ve got a good hickey going on the side of your neck.”
“I do?” I touched my neck above my collar, a hot flush creeping up my face.
Jay snickered. “Nah, but now I know you weren’t just looking at books.” He rapped the counter and turned to leave. “Go get some.”
“Thanks,” I muttered as the door slammed shut. A seventeen-year-old kid had just given me condoms. And lube. So I could get laid with my wife who wasn’t my wife in this time.
And what if it didn’t work? When did I throw in the towel and surrender to the fates of time? So far, she hadn’t remembered anything. There’d been no glimmer of recognition except for the vine pattern, and anyone with her level of knowledge about graves would make that association.
But she hadn’t batted an eyelash when I’d brought out the first edition book on Jack the Ripper that had been an anniversary present. And I’d called her “Sweetness” in English and in Uptari—my name for her. She should have remembered that.
She should have remembered how much I loved her.
My throat grew tight as I filled the carafe with fresh coffee and filled two little pots with sugar and creamer. I had a few memories up my sleeve besides dinner. I had the necklace to show her, the last trophy we’d procured before everything went sideways and our life disintegrated. But given she hadn’t remembered anything else…well. If this didn’t work, all I wanted was to fall asleep in her arms and…if the Fates were good, I’d die that way.
I didn’t think that was too much to ask. Not when I’d given everything.
Skye
I snacked on crackers and cheese, waiting until Marek returned from the kitchen.
“I’m back,” he announced with a tired smile from the door, holding a tray with a carafe and fresh mugs. After he set them down on the table, he crossed the room to pull a white envelope from his pocket and toss it on his desk.
“Everything okay?” I asked as I brushed the crumbs from my hands.
“Yeah. Jay stopped by with his mom’s pie for our dessert. I’m a good cook, but I can’t duplicate her apple pie.”
“So you did make dinner?” Damn it, I loved Adele’s pie. She brought it in to the bookstore now and then, and it made me wish I had a mom to bake me stuff like that.
But I shouldn’t stay any longer. Now that I’d had a moment to cool off, the usual red flags and warning signs flashed fast enough to give the strongest of women a migraine. Marek Young was the most dangerous of guys. He had the power to make me melt.
“You’ll stay, right?” His hands shoved into his pockets, and the way he rolled his shoulders gave him a vulnerable air without any of the danger.
Damn it.
“Yes, of course.” Fool.
“Good.” Damn him and that lopsided grin he shot my way. He set to work pouring coffee for us, stirring milk into both mugs. “So…you want to see something secret?”
“Is it legal? Because ‘something secret’ in my past world involved drugs or something stolen.”
He jerked his head and stared at me for a long moment as if trying to see whether I was serious or joking. With a frown, he set my coffee in front of me, then slid me a spoon and the sugar. “That’s sad.”
“Yes.” Being a weird kid sucked. Being a ward of the state had made it worse.
He waited a moment for me to elaborate, and when I didn’t, he gave me a nod and went to a chest of drawers built into the wall. “Okay, well, no drugs. And technically, it’s mine.”
“‘Technically yours’? That’s a new one.” I shifted in my chair, craning my neck to see better as he opened a drawer and withdrew a thin, wooden box.
“Possession is nine-tenths of the law.” He brought it back and set it on the table, his long fingers opening the lid and withdrawing a velvet bag. After a moment of fighting with the drawstring, he pulled out an ornate, emerald pendant on a thick chain. “My secret is the Rai necklace.”
“No!” I leaned forward in surprise, feasting my gaze on the treasure that our not-so-friendly resident pirate had lost.
The hefty, round emerald weighed about twenty carats. At some point, it had been reset in a bezel setting with twelve diamonds around the face of the pendant like numbers on a clock. The deep-green stone had few flaws and sparkled with an unearthly vibrancy that mesmerized me. No way could this be real.
I glanced at him with awe to find him staring at me, only his gaze held something akin to what I felt for the necklace. I had to be imagining that. No one would look that way at me when they were in the same room with a priceless gem.
Ever the skeptic, I asked, “Are you sure it’s the Rai necklace? That was supposedly lost with Lofty Blue’s other treasures.”
“I’m sure.” He picked it up by the ornate, gold chain and placed it in my hand. “It has the engraved symbol for Hathor on the emerald’s face. As you know, green is not the goddess’ color.”
“She’s usually associated with red, correct?” I inspected the perfect stone, tracing the engraving. If this was the real thing, the stone alone was over two thousand years old and priceless.
“Yes, exactly. The Egyptians thought emeralds had special powers, such as the ability to keep evil spirits away and cure disease. This particular emerald was supposedly a gift from a lover to Rai, the daughter of a great royal wife who was betrothed to her half-brother.”
“It sucked to be royal, didn’t it?” As I flipped the stone over to inspect the bottom of the setting, I asked, “Didn’t Rai die of poisoning?”
He nodded. “You know a lot about this treasure.”
“Yeah, well, I live in a town obsessed by everything Lofty.” That wasn’t the full truth. For some reason, the lore surrounding this particular treasure had always fascinated me. And being excellent at research, I’d learned all I could.
When he smiled with pride, I got a warm and fuzzy feeling. “And I’m sure you know Hathor cursed the stone after.”
“Sure.” I shrugged. “But lots of Egyptian items have curses. That’s how they hoped to keep robbers out of tombs.”
His smile widened. Was it bad of me to want to kiss him again? “Ah, but this curse was different and wasn’t death-centric like other curses placed for kings. With this curse, the possessor of the necklace would find opposition within all aspects of their life.”
The hair on the back of my neck prickled. Not one to tempt a curse, I carefully set the necklace down on the velvet bag. “Opposition? How does that work.”
“Meaning anything that could go wrong, would. The Pharaoh’s wife had only daughters, locusts destroyed his crops, and his pyramid crumbled in an earthquake, wiping out his slave population. And then, his great royal wife turned on him and poisoned him, too, burying him in a pauper’s tomb with the emerald, ending the curse until it was dug up by thieves. Anyone who has touched this necklace has known ruin and finally, death.”
I thought about that. It was rumored Lofty had encountered the necklace on one of his last quests for bounty. His life had turned into a shamble before he finally died in a tragic accident. “Do you believe in the curse?”
“Yes.”
I glared at him with mock anger. “And you let me touch it? Damn, that’s cold.”
He laughed. “I didn’t think you’d be the type to believe in curses.”
“No, I don’t believe in that sort of nonsense.” I had too much real-life experience with horrible people to blame a situation on hexes and voodoo. But given what I knew about Lofton Burke’s dismal last few years as a pirate, I could see why someone would want to blame a necklace instead of occupational hazard.
I reasoned, “They say Burke died while trying to hide the necklace in the cliffs, which is a dangerous location on a good day. A lot of people have searched for his treasure, but none have found it, obviously. Many more died, though. So given all that danger…how did you end up with it if it’s ‘technically yours’?” I put air quotes around that last bit.
“It’s a long story, but it was acquired a long time ago and kept a secret.” From the way he rubbed his neck, I guessed there had to be more to his story than that.
Oh, Marek. Most people would believe you. Not me, though.
I glanced at the emerald again. It was too damned beautiful to keep in a bag. As the one who’d probably be arranging Marek’s book tour, an idea came to mind. “So you going to bring the necklace to your book signing event when we have one? I mean, you might want to hire a guard, but the people would love it.”
“No.”
His succinct response surprised me. “Why not? Imagine the crowd you’d draw.”
He glanced out the window to the storm, sighing as he shrugged. He shoved his hands in his pockets as he faced me. “This is going to sound…trite…but I couldn’t give a shit if I sell a single book. I wrote it to leave a record for the future, to mark my place in time. I’m filthy rich, Skye. I don’t need more money. But the trite part about my life is learning that money doesn’t buy what you want the most.”
God, I’d give anything to be as nosy and direct as Grace—she’d ask what he wanted so bad. But sadness crept into the lines around his mouth. What he wanted so badly had something to do with his wife.
I dropped my gaze to the sparkling stone. “If you don’t want to display it, what will you do with it?”
“Fates willing, I’m going to take it back.”
“Back?” My gaze snapped to his. Did he need his head examined? “Back, like to where Burke had it secreted away? Because there are dangerous cliffs and deep water and currents involved in that sort of thing. People have died on those cliffs.”
“Yes, I realize that.” His jaw clenched in a stubborn way, one that warned me he was going on this adventure no matter what.
I don’t know why that look terrified me, but it did. “Okay. I have many questions about this, and I’m going to try to be polite, because I don’t know you that well. But seeing your tongue was just down my throat, I think I have license to ask.”
He crossed his arms over his chest and gave me a terse shrug.
“Why?” I tossed up my hands to punctuate my questions. “Where is back? How do you even know where the secret ‘cave’ or whatever is? Doesn’t the whole danger aspect bother you? And why hide it away when this could be in a museum so people could enjoy it?”
“This necklace has ruined my life. Our lives.”
Our lives? The hair on the back of my neck rose and prickled.
But he began to pace the floor as he continued, “Damn, Skye. Bringing that thing into my life has destroyed everything I have ever loved or wanted. I don’t care about the danger. If I die, so be it. But if I survive, it will be with a much better life than I have now.” He muttered something under his breath in some language I didn’t know, but oddly…I did.
I bit my lip as I stared at him in all his glorious, angry energy that should have me terrified for my safety. Instead, I found myself aroused and fixated on two things—the frantic sadness laced under the anger and his slip of tongue. “You said, ‘Our lives.’”
He stopped pacing to stare at me. “What?”
“What did you mean by ‘our lives’? And you muttered something in some language after.”
“English isn’t my first,” he admitted, raking a hand through his dark hair and making a bigger mess than before. “I basically said ‘shit.’”
That wasn’t at all what he’d said. I had no clue how I knew that.
I raised my chin. “Well, English isn’t my first, either.”
We stared at each other in an uncomfortable silence that my brain took advantage of with its musings. “When you were kissing me, you called me something.”
“Yeah.”
“What did you call me?”
He swallowed, his Adam’s apple bobbing as his dark-blue eyes darkened in a way I hadn’t seen yet. “Darat nan. It translates loosely to ‘sweetness.’”
That was the truth. I don’t know how I knew that, but I did. And I’d heard that phrase before. Somewhere.
I gulped, too. Maybe I wasn’t a basket case. Maybe the flashes here in this house had something to do with my past, something associated with this house. Maybe even…Marek.
My lust for information warred with my lack of trust. Lust won. “I don’t talk about my past with many people because the past is the past. But I was abandoned by…well, a man, and the social worker said he’d come from some group. They couldn’t keep me. They had arranged for me to be adopted, and that fell through.” I sucked in a shaky breath. Was Marek the connection I had been looking for all along? “Do you know anything about that?”
He froze, and if he could have gotten any paler, he’d be translucent. “Skye.” He swallowed again, his jaw tight for a moment as if he contemplated what to say next. “Do you remember me?”
“No. I was two. You’d have been— what? Five? Six?”
He grabbed the back of the chair, and his knuckles turned as white as the memory I’d had. Only this was in real time. “What do you remember?”
“It’s hazy and blurry.” I waved a hand in dismissal of the most painful memory of my life. “I remember a tall man with a long coat and dark hair, but I can’t see his face. He speaks to me in a language I don’t know now…but I knew it then. And I start crying as the social worker takes me. He calls me what you called me. Darat nan.” Damn it, I didn’t want to cry, but my eyes burned as I blinked back tears. “That’s it.”
Loosening his grip on the chair, he sighed as turned away. I quickly dashed the dampness away with the back of my sleeve as he rounded the table.
I stiffened as his arms wrapped around my shoulders, so my cheek leaned on his stomach. I hadn’t expected him to touch me. As I inhaled his masculine, woodsy scent, I relaxed. He shifted, his abs rippling slightly. I sighed as dirty thoughts surfaced—now of all times when I should be wanting to scramble from his arms to the safety of somewhere else. I couldn’t be thinking about exploring that hardness against my cheek. And I should be angry at him, damn it.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, dropping a kiss to the top of my head. “I don’t have a lot to add at this time except…yeah, we do share a past.”
“We do?” I craned my neck, following the path of buttons to stare at the length of his neck, the bottom of his chin, the line of his firm jaw. “You have to tell me—”
“I’m not sharing anything. Not right now… I can’t.” His voice broke.
My heart ached for him and whatever pain these people had caused him, too. I understood that. That dream had haunted me for my whole life—the blurry man’s larger hand releasing mine as I screamed for him. But from Marek’s faint accent… I wondered if he’d grown up with them, and if that had left its own set of scars for him to bear.
I had few people I talked to about my past. And now…I had a new connection with Marek, one that I also shared with no one else. I couldn’t hate him for that.
Lulled by the stroking of his hands in my hair, I asked, “How did you know it was me?”
“You still have the same name.” He buried his face in my hair and inhaled. “And Fates, how could anyone forget you, Skye? You’re a force of nature. Always have been.”
He wasn’t the first person to tell me that. My “force of nature” had been more of a problem than a gift, though. We shared a moment of silence as the grandfather clock in the corner chimed the half-hour.
Of course, my mind couldn’t let this go. I had to push for more answers, or I’d go insane. Grace would want details. “When you started emailing me for work, did you know who I was and that we had a potential connection?” I craned my neck to see him better.
How weird to watch his Adam’s apple bob from this angle. “Yes.”
“And you didn’t say anything?”
He clutched me tighter to him. “What was I supposed to say? ‘Oh, hey, I think I know you from when you were little.’ You don’t think that’s a little creepy?”
“Maybe,” I said into his shirt. “Okay, yes. You’re right. That would have been creepier. I don’t even remember you.”
He kissed the top of my head again. “I have to go put dinner in the oven. We’ll discuss this more another day. Okay? But I can’t do this today.”
“Okay.” I already missed the warmth of his body against mine as he pulled away. “But…when?”
“So pushy.” He gave me a sad smile and a sigh from the doorway. “It will be probably end up being sooner than you think.”
Marek
I crossed the hall into the kitchen and quietly closed the door behind me, leaning against it as I let out a long, agonized breath.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I softly banged my head against the door, punctuating the English swears that had no futuristic equivalent. I wanted to scream and cry. Instead, I stared at the ceiling with growing dread.
While I’d hoped she remembered me, I never thought her memory would be me, leaving her behind with a stranger. How did I explain the twists of time and occupational hazards of a time traveler? That fractures happened, lives were destroyed, and somehow, we’d become a statistic in a futuristic book that we’d never read.
This was why I blamed the curse. So much easier than taking responsibility for the events that led up to that last, fateful jump through time to…here.
Pulling it together, I went to the fridge and retrieved the cast iron pan to put in the oven. I’d made ratatouille, her favorite. Only she didn’t like thyme, so I’d left that out. She liked it with breaded chicken on the side, and I added another tray to the oven to warm. I would slice up some nice, crusty bread. These were her favorites, and I hoped these would help remind her of the good things I’d done.
I had no clue how I’d dig myself out of this. Or even if I wanted to at this point. If I survived to tomorrow, I’d go chuck the necklace off the point and call it a day. And hopefully, that would be enough so Skye could go on with her life—curse-free.