Matt liked it here. The bookstore had quite the homey feel, especially with a fire crackling in the fireplace. But sometimes the distractions made it hard for him to concentrate, and he wished they could meet elsewhere—maybe the department, or, hell, even his own apartment. Somewhere a wild toddler would be less likely to interrupt.
“Dada! Dada!” shrieked a small voice, as a bundle of energy with a mop of brown curls sped past Matt and leapt at Ben. Speak of the devil.
“Washington!” Ben said, his face lighting up as he caught his son.
Matt watched as father and son reconnected after a few hours’ absence. It was disconcerting to see respected professor Benjamin Cooper make googly eyes at a child, contorting his face in ludicrous ways to get a laugh out of the boy.
It’s not that Matt didn’t like children, per se. They were just so ... loud. And messy. And demanding. Good for short amounts of time, perhaps, such as when he saw his nephews, but he was always happy to leave and return to his orderly, organized, quiet life.
“Hi, Matt,” Cat said, as she walked into the room a moment later, a large plastic bag in her hand.
“Hello, Cat.”
Opening the bag, she pulled out a box of Chinese take-out and set it on the table near Ben before reaching in for a second container. “I brought your favorite. Cashew chicken.”
He smiled broadly as he accepted the container from Mrs. Cooper. He could see why Ben had fallen for her. She was a kind, considerate woman. Matt envied their easy familiarity with each other, the love that shone through their every interaction.
Not that he had time for a relationship, much less marriage. Even if he’d been interested. Which he most definitely was not. Not after Wendy. Plus, he was six months out from applying for a tenured professorship, which would grant him a permanent position—and security—at the University. That was his sole focus, as it had been since high school.
“You sure you don’t mind me disrupting your Valentine’s Day?” He and Ben met every Sunday like clockwork, but he’d been surprised and secretly pleased when Ben said they could still meet tonight. Guilt tickled his scalp, however, at the loving look Ben threw his wife.
“No, no, it’s fine,” Cat said, waving him off with a hand. “Ben and I went out last night.”
“Good.”
Matt had just opened the box of rice when a large thud disrupted the room. “What the?” He leapt out of his seat.
Ben stood, as well, exchanging a look with Cat. “I’ll go investigate,” she said.
Ben merely nodded.
Were they insane? Why would Ben want his wife looking into this, instead of him? What if someone had broken in?
“No, wait, I’ll go,” Matt said.
“Bu—”
He held up a hand to quiet her as he strode toward the left side of the room, the side from which the noise had come. As he neared the Romance section, he could swear he heard scuffling, then a low moan. A low, female-sounding moan.
Rounding the corner, he stopped short at the sight of a young woman sitting on the floor, cradling her head. She wore a long white dress, a maxi dress, his sister Taylor would call it, with some sort of short red jacket over it, and she had a bonnet—a bonnet, of all things—on her head.
He frowned. What was going on? Some sort of cosplay gone bad? His brow furrowed as he studied the woman. A second moan knocked him out of his reverie, and he rushed to her side.
“Are you okay?” He’d figure out why and how she’d gotten here later; for now, he needed to ensure she was all right. His EMT training never fully left him, though he hadn’t gone on runs in years. He crouched down next to her and reached for her hand to pull it away from her head. At his touch, the woman yelped and yanked her hand back. She looked up, affording him his first full view of her face.
My God, she’s stunning. A pair of hazel-green eyes peered out of a face that was both delicate and strong at the same time. Her curvaceous lips flattened into a line as her eyes widened. But there was no doubt about it, this was one gorgeous woman.
She shook her head, then glanced wildly about the room, her eyes darting to and fro before settling on him again. The panic in them made him want to reach for her, but at that moment, Cat approached from behind him.
“What’s going—” She broke off as Matt stood and moved to the side so she could see the newcomer. Cat’s hand flew to her mouth before she dropped it and pasted an unnatural-looking smile on her face. “Amara?” she said, taking a step closer to the woman.
The bonnet wielder’s eyes flew open even wider, a feat he wouldn’t have thought possible. She gave a nod. “Miss Schreiber?”
Huh. A British accent. He hadn’t expected that. Maybe it was part of the role.
Cat nodded enthusiastically, crouching down by the woman. “Yes! It’s Mrs. Cooper now, but please call me Cat. I’m so glad you’re here. I know you must be—” She broke off and glanced up at Matt. “I know you must be overwhelmed, Cousin Amara. We have much to talk about. But first,” she gestured toward him, “you must meet Matthew Goodson. This is he.”
Something in the way Cat spoke caught Matt’s attention. Why had she emphasized his name in such a weird way?
Why wasn’t she wigging out that this woman, whom Matt would swear was not here before, was sitting on the floor in the middle of the bookstore? The store had been closed for more than an hour. Had this Amara person been in the room the whole time, and he hadn’t noticed?
It wasn’t entirely implausible. His family teased him that when his face was in a screen, the rest of the world didn’t exist. “And your face is always in a screen,” Taylor claimed. “You’re such a geek, Matty. An adorable geek, but a geek nonetheless. Come up for air sometime!”
“Well—” he started to say, wanting to return to Ben and his food. He wasn’t needed here; the two women knew each other. Though at least one of them wasn’t acting like it. In spite of them being related?
Something was off.
“Hold on.” Cat reached down with one hand to take Amara’s and help her to a standing position.
Dang. I should have done that. Social niceties weren’t always his forte, especially when his mind was focused on something else. Which was often. It was one of the reasons he liked computers. Machines were much more predictable, much easier to understand than people. And they didn’t take offense when he committed a faux pas. He was so good at missing signs and signals other people caught on to that Taylor called him Captain Obvious, because he so obviously wasn’t. More like Captain Oblivious.
“Thank God you’ve got the Goodson good looks to disguise that,” she’d said recently. “Women are always hitting on you if you’d just pay attention.”
In reality, he was well aware of that much, at least. But he wouldn’t admit that to his sister. She’d start pressuring him to find someone, and that was pressure he didn’t need.
Emotions and relationships only complicated things. As he’d learned when his dad left. When Wendy had left.
The young woman unfolded herself gracefully from the floor and stood. “Th-thank you,” she said, nodding toward Cat.
“Mama?” called a voice from across the room. “Everything okay?” Ben’s words followed his son’s. “Yes,” Cat called back. “Exactly as planned.” Planned? What? Cat’s words made no sense.
“If you’ll just give me a minute,” she said, as she ducked back around the bookshelf, leaving Matt facing one very befuddled-looking woman. Amara. Pretty name, that.
He studied her face. Her skin was smooth, a delicate ivory, paler than that of just about anyone he’d ever seen, though perhaps that was because she’d hit her head. Those eyes, those gorgeous eyes, flashed uncertainly to his as she raised her hand to the back of her bonnet. She winced as her fingers pressed into a spot.
“I should check that.” He reached over and pulled off the bonnet, which elicited a gasp from the woman. “Sorry, did that hurt?”
“N-no,” she stammered. Her mouth puckered in an ad
orable little moue. “I’m not accustomed to a gentleman taking such liberties.”
Well, that was some absurd way of talking. And liberties? Removing a silly hat? “I have medical training. But if you’d rather me not check ...”
She closed her eyes for a second and swallowed. “I beg your pardon. I am merely a bit overset at the moment. You may ... you may proceed.”
Moving behind her, he ran his fingers carefully over the back of her head, sparking her second intake of breath in as many moments. “Here?” he said, as his fingers found a small lump. Her hair was a rich honey brown and silky to the touch. She’d secured it in a severe bun, though. If his hair were yanked back that tightly on his head, he’d have a headache, too, lump or not.
She jerked slightly as his fingers probed the bump, but instead of moving her head away, she turned around, her own hand coming up to touch the stubble on his cheek. He’d neglected to shave that morning, but then again, he rarely did on weekends. It only mattered when he was teaching.
What was she doing? Maybe she needed to catch her balance. With her hand on your face? And why hadn’t he dropped his own? It still cradled the back of her head.
They stood there, each with a hand on the other. A strange sizzle surged through him, an energy that sparked both desire and an odd sense of rightness, as if this moment had been meant to happen.
His lip curled at the thought. What the heck was wrong with him? That kind of dopey thinking was his sister’s arena, not his. But why did he have his fingers laced through some stranger’s hair while she stroked his cheek with her thumb? Five minutes ago he’d been discussing security algorithms with Ben. Now he was standing less than a foot away from a woman he’d never seen before, and he was battling the urge to kiss her, right then and there. What was happening?
Step off, Goodson.
As he dropped his hand from her head, she took a step closer, sliding her fingers around his neck and standing on her tiptoes to pull him down to her.
What the hell?
Half of him wanted to back away, to take a moment to make sense of the situation. The other half, the half under this gorgeous woman’s spell, dipped his head closer, lured like a bear to honey. The tiny smattering of freckles across her cheeks danced before him as his face neared hers. And then, as her soft, pink lips touched his, he closed his eyes and thought about nothing beyond the feeling of her sweet mouth.
When was the last time a woman had kissed him as chastely as this? She didn’t open her mouth. There was no meeting of tongues. Yet his pulse quickened and his insides jumped. He lifted his hands and cupped the sides of her head, deepening the kiss as he traced the seam of her lips with his tongue.
She gasped, as if the experience were entirely new to her, then opened her mouth, allowing him entry. He took full advantage, moving his body closer as his lips devoured hers, her taste intoxicatingly pure. He wanted to mold himself against her, wrap himself around her, absorb her very essence.
The little noises emanating from her had him aching for more, but the sound of throat-clearing disrupted him. Matt opened his eyes as he released her lips and reluctantly dropped his hands, though he didn’t move back from her. Her fingers flew to her mouth, her eyes as wide and round as a robin’s egg as she turned around.
Ben stood there, a smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “Sorry to interrupt,” he said, “but your dinner’s getting cold.”
Matt had never wanted to kick somebody so badly in his life. He’d had to break off that kiss on account of food? On the other hand, why on earth had he been kissing this woman, to begin with?
It wasn’t as if he was against casual hook-ups—he certainly preferred them to any attempt at a relationship. This was different, though. Every other time he’d kissed someone, they’d at least had a conversation first. But this strange woman had appeared out of nowhere, garbed in peculiar clothing, dealing with a head injury, and the first thing she’d done upon rising was kiss him? What was going on?
“I, uh—” He walked in front of Amara, then stopped, looking over his shoulder at her.
“It’s okay,” Ben said. “I understand. More than you know.”
Matt frowned, his gaze moving to his advisor. More than you know? What did that mean?
Ben chuckled. “I once kissed a beautiful woman in nearly that very spot.”
Cat strolled around the corner, Wash on her hip. The boy happily munched a piece of broccoli. “I take it Cupid worked his magic again.”
She pointed to the ceiling, and Matt looked up, noticing for the first time the pink Cupid hanging from a rafter, a Kiss Me! sign dangling from its foot. Did that explain it? She’d noticed the cupid, then kissed him?
“Amara.” Cat’s voice broke in on his musings. “I’m sure your journey has been ... exhausting. Would you care for something to eat?”
Matt glanced back at the woman, who was staring at the cupid, looking once again like a frightened rabbit. Where had the seductive siren of a moment ago gone?
And why did he want her back?
Chapter 3
It was all Amara could do to keep from clapping her hand over her mouth, half to hold the surprisingly delicious taste of his lips on hers, half to keep herself from casting up her accounts.
She was here. It had worked. She’d done it. She was in 2012, or somewhere near, she assumed.
She glanced around at the bookshelves. This must be the Treasure Trove, Cat’s bookstore. She’d seen photos of it on Eliza’s phone. That much, at least, was vaguely familiar. Everything else?
Her eyes flew to the ceiling, where disarmingly bright lights shone from numerous glass domes. The books on the shelves were bound in quite colorful covers, and the covers themselves looked paper-thin.
And the clothing people wore. Cat had on form-fitting trousers—trousers, like a man!—of a blue material the likes of which Amara had never seen. Her top was a thin fabric of some sort, with a flag painted on it resembling the American flag Amara’d once seen, only with far more stars and the words Old Navy underneath. Had Cat served at sea? Were women allowed even into the military in this century?
Cat’s husband wore similar trousers, with a shirt of Scottish-looking plaid that buttoned down its entire front.
Then there was the man she’d kissed. This Mr. Goodson. His trousers were of a similar color to the breeches her brothers wore, though looser. Still, they accentuated his backside rather nicely. She fought to pull her eyes away from his derriere—how shocking to be staring there! Then again, the men in her era donned coats that concealed that particular part of their anatomy. Was it any wonder she wanted to look now?
Nevertheless, she forced her gaze up, then almost wished she hadn’t as he turned toward her. He wore a shirt of a similar style to Cat’s, though it was plain white in color, and cut close to his body. She couldn’t help but admire his arms, shockingly bare and distractingly muscular. The leanness of his torso was evident through the thin material, its attractive shape sending unexpected, unwelcomed desire through her. Desire to touch.
“Good God,” she murmured under her breath. It could be worse. She glanced at his thighs. He could be wearing what Eliza had called shorts, displaying naked flesh. Or maybe that would be better.
Her mind spun and her knees weakened as the enormity of all that had just happened hit her. Her insides hummed with energy, whether from the time traveling or the kiss she’d shared with a stranger, she wasn’t sure. Probably both.
This Mr. Goodson was watching her, unsmiling, though his eyes were warm. Why hadn’t he reacted more strongly to her bizarre advances? Likely women often foisted themselves upon him. He was undeniably tempting, and women were far more ... expressive in this era. Or so Eliza had promised. Amara had only kissed him to fulfill Cat’s requirements, though. She didn’t have intentions of pursuing Mr. Goodson in any serious manner. No, she had enough with which to contend, having miraculously leapt two hundred years into the future.
On the other hand, perhaps a mer
e physical association?
The “fun” to which Eliza had referred?
Amara’s cheeks tingled at the scandalous thought, even as she peeked at him again. His dark hair was cropped quite close to his head, with none of the tousled locks her male acquaintances prized. His jaw was squarely cut, reminiscence of her brother, but whereas Deveric’s eyes were green, this man’s were of a blue so light it was nearly ice. Slight hollows in his cheeks emphasized his cheekbones, and his lips looked as if some master sculptor had carved them.
He was beautiful. There was no other term for it. Her eyes returned to his again and again, as if some hidden force bound them. She touched her hand to her forehead, to the ache there. There was a hidden force. Cat’s stories. Cat’s manuscript.
Taking a quick breath, Amara turned her attention to Cat, whose face wore an open, kindly expression. She knew what Amara had gone through, at least a little.
“My apologies,” Amara said, as the silence stretched uncomfortably. “To you, Mr. Goodson. I fear I knocked the sense out of myself just now. Please excuse my untoward actions.”
She must move away from this handsome man lest she succumb to the absurd, pressing temptation to kiss him again. Without waiting for a response, she nodded at Mr. Goodson, whose mouth had fallen open in comical fashion. As she passed him, the scintillating scent of pine tickled her nose.
She loved that smell—it reminded her of home, of the trees surrounding Clarehaven. Did he spend much of his time out of doors? Or was this a perfume? She sniffed the air. It was decidedly clean and fresh, Mr. Goodson’s scent and the smell of food the only other odors she noticed.
“Whodat, Mama?” The child looked at her but quickly ducked his head into his mother’s shoulder.
Cat stroked the boy’s hair. “That’s Cousin Amara.”
“Okay.”
The expression, one Eliza loved to use, made Amara smile.
The Magic of Love Series Page 59