by Rylee Swann
“But I...” She refused to let his stern expression shut her up. “I was only going to check where the room was.”
He motioned for her to get the car moving, ignoring her explanation.
A new song started playing on the radio. She sighed, roused herself, and put a smile on her face. “Oh, this is a great song. I love David Bowie. This is, um...”
“‘Let’s Dance.’”
He knew this music well. It had been the impetus for choosing 1983 as his home base year on Earth. He figured it was as good a reason as any. He’d done a fair amount of time traveling once his training had been completed several years ago, and of all the eras, the music drew him to this one.
Rayna put the car in gear and drove around to the back of the hotel. “We’re in lucky number seven, ground floor near the indoor pool. I specifically asked for that.”
She glanced at him like a kid seeking praise for a job well done and was undeterred when she got no reaction. “It’s closed now, meaning no lifeguard on duty, but I’ll bet that won’t stop you.” She chuckled quietly to herself. “Oh yeah, you owe me fifty dollars. The room was seventy-five and I figured I could kick in twenty-five.”
He stifled a laugh. She’d somehow gotten under his skin; he didn’t understand how or why but he thought he might take the time to find out.
A black door with a large gold number indicated room seven, and she pulled the car bumper-first into the parking space in front of it. Turning the engine off, she faced him with a frown of concern. “Will you need help?”
“I can manage.” He sat forward, sucking in a breath, and opened his door. As he got out, a wave of dizziness overcame him, and he hunched over the open door until it passed. Maybe he did need help, but he would never ask for it.
“Here, you can put a hand on my shoulder if you want,” Rayna said, moving to stand beside him. “I’ll get the door.”
Shawn took a deep breath—well, as deep as he could as a wave of pain sliced through him—entirely unhappy with the situation. But he did as she suggested, gripping her shoulder hard as he worked to rise to his full height of five feet ten inches. Rayna patted his back, shut the car door, and together they walked the few steps to the hotel room door. Once they were inside, Shawn continued on to the inside hallway door leading out of the room.
Rayna marveled at the tacky interior design. “Oh, my god, it looks like art deco had a nervous breakdown in here.”
He turned back to her, the hint of a smile on his lips quickly evaporating. “Stay here or go. It’s no longer my concern.”
As if he hadn’t spoken, she sat down on the bed, eying him with a thoughtful expression. “Does this swimming thing have anything to do with you being a time traveler?”
He wrapped his hand around the doorknob, surprise raising his eyebrows. “It has to do with the planet I come from.”
Enjoying her reaction of open mouth and impossibly wide eyes, he walked out, shutting the door behind him. In the hall, his nose caught the tang of chlorine, leading him left. He found the indoor pool at the end of the hall, curtains drawn over large glass walls, door locked.
From a side pocket of his pouch that he still carried slung over his shoulder, he removed a lock pick. In his career as an assassin and thief, he’d learned to keep one handy at all times. Taking a knee in front of the door, he shut his eyes for a moment, wishing the new wave of pain would subside. Wishful thinking, more like it. What he needed lay just beyond a simple barrier.
Simple, so he thought. It would have been if not for the dizziness that blurred his vision and made his hands shake. He didn’t know which was more urgent, the pressing need to throw up or to lie down and sleep. Neither were options he could let himself consider. His strong sense of self-preservation ruled out anything but getting through this door. What felt like hours later but was in reality only minutes, the lock clicked over. He didn’t believe in a deity to pray to, but he was thankful, nonetheless.
Slipping inside, he beheld his salvation.
Long and rectangular in shape, the swimming pool shimmered and sparkled as if speaking to Shawn. He stripped out of his clothing, going to stand at the edge of the deep end. A number “10” painted in black at his feet told him the depth. The only illumination in the room came from two red-bulbed exit signs. They cast an eerie sheen on the surface, making the water appear bloody.
He dove, breaking the surface almost silently, with barely a splash. He let his momentum carry him to the far end as electricity coursed through his body. Pain sloughed off him like so much extra baggage and his life force strengthened. This was womb.
Home.
Salvation.
Life.
He turned like a dolphin and propelled forward again, his arms at his sides, body undulating slightly as needed. Two laps, then three. Then six, each faster than the last. He had yet to come up for air, didn’t need to; he got all the oxygen he needed from the water. The water healed him. Not completely—water wasn’t a miracle salve—but without it he would die as surely as without food. Even thought he was only half Parosian, he still had to spend a lot of time in water. Like a fish, although he hated the analogy. Parosians were most certainly not fish. Salt water was preferred but in a pinch any body of water where he could submerge for a while would do. After a few more laps, he slowed down and sank to the bottom of the deep end, turning lazy circles until he settled. Shutting his eyes, he rested.
Much too soon, his eyes popped open at the unmistakable sound of the door clicking open, the pneumatic whoosh of it slowly closing. He stayed at the bottom, watchful, annoyed by the interruption. Would he have to kill the intruder to maintain his own safety? Such was the criminal life he’d chosen. He had the strength to do so again, although the effort would sap what little reserve he’d attained in this too short of a time. He couldn’t be seen in the murky depths of the darkened room, but the unlocked door was a dead giveaway, as was his clothing, strewn carelessly near the ten-foot marker.
Tentative footfalls moved above in his direction, and his muscles coiled taut, the predator in him readying to strike. Then, the face of his potential adversary appeared in a red-hued haze as she tried to peer into the water.
Rayna.
He should have known.
He reacted without thinking, leaping up out of the water, arms outstretched. Water cascaded off him, a cacophony of sound as it splashed onto the surface. Rayna screamed in absolute surprise. He grabbed her by the ankles and pulled her under with him, then let her go and swam off a short distance as she tumbled and flailed. He bobbed on the surface, only head and shoulders visible, ready to help her if she needed it. He would consider his assistance a fair trade. She’d helped to save his life after all.
She regained her footing, or rather, her swimmer’s legs, and dog-paddled toward the shallow end, gasping and sputtering. She looked good wet, clothing clinging to her supple form, hair disheveled with strands across her face and the rest floating in a sensual stream behind her. She stopped when her feet could touch the bottom. He’d been pacing her move for move and now stood in waist-deep water as it ran in a steady stream down his hair, face, and chest.
Rayna gasped upon spotting him, and muttered under her breath, but he caught the word. “Adonis.”
“Poseidon would be more accurate.” He lifted one corner of his mouth momentarily before returning it to a hard, thin line.
She splashed with her arms, walking backwards, away from him. “I…I should go…”
“You just got here.” He took a few steps closer to her, maintaining the same distance as she backed away.
“Yeah, uh…this was a mistake.” She glanced back to see how far the steps leading out of the pool at the shallow end were and winced.
“So, finally afraid of me? What about that crush?” he half taunted.
“Kinda more worried that you think what you said as you left the hotel room is true.” Trying to pick up her pace, she splashed wildly but got nowhere. Biting her lip, she reached out
to grab the side of the pool.
Shawn laughed, but the harsh sound held no humor. “That I’m an alien? Now do you see how ridiculous this notion you have is that I’m a time traveler?”
“J-just keep back, okay? I’m just gonna go…”
Before she could take another step, Shawn submerged and propelled forward, coming up a hairsbreadth in front of her. Standing in a fluid motion, hair plastered to his head and dripping into his eyes, he placed his hands on either side of her on the ledge, trapping her against the pool wall. She slowly lifted her eyes to meet his. Her mouth parted, fear—maybe lust—clouding her gaze.
“Tell me, Ray…why did you come here if you thought I was crazy?” He spoke in a low murmur, sounding almost like the water that lapped gently against them. Vibrations in the water—echoes of Rayna’s heartbeat—came to him as he examined her upturned face. They enveloped him with her heart’s insistent beat as her pulse quickened.
“I…umm…” She motioned toward his wound, not quite visible beneath the surface of the water. “Why are you suddenly so strong again? Like you weren’t shot at all?”
“Ah, I see. You thought you were safe because I’d been shot. Ray…”
She swallowed hard, her eyes darting around like a frightened deer.
“You were never safe. You’ve studied me. You know what I’m capable of.”
She ducked down, trying to slip under his arms, but he blocked her. His arms acted like the bars of a prison cell.
“Stop it,” she said. “You’re being so mean.”
He narrowed his gaze on her. “Stop being foolish. Do what you really want to do instead of all this useless flailing about.”
“What I want…?” She bit her lip and hesitantly reached out her hand to lay it on his stomach, over the bandaged bullet wound. “You could barely stand when we got here. How is this possible?”
His wound had already healed significantly during the time he’d been in the water, but it still hurt. He endured the pain in silence as her fingers tested and probed.
He’d told her so much already. Divulged secrets he’d never uttered to anyone. She’d have to be satisfied with this one remaining a mystery, for the time being. His thoughts had turned to how the water dripped from her nose and in pleasing rivulets down her cheeks. How her shirt clung to her body.
Lowering his head to hers until their lips almost touched, he said, “What else do you really want?”
She rewarded him by pressing her soft lips against his, moving forward until the curve of her breasts met his abdomen. For a moment, Shawn kissed her back, answering her tentative touch with forceful pressure. As she settled into the kiss, her mouth parting, he suddenly pulled away from her. He moved out to the middle of the pool, enjoying her discomfort.
She opened her eyes, little fisted hands splashing down into the water. “What are you doing?”
The dismay in her voice reverberated off the walls, coming to him from multiple directions.
He almost responded in kind by slapping the water, used to this type of nonverbal communication. Instead, he shrugged, relaxing and blowing a little pool water from his mouth as he floated.
Her eyes narrowed as she gazed at him. “No, don’t you dare give me this ‘I don’t know’ attitude. You know. Everything you do is calculated.”
“No,” he said in a church whisper. “Nothing about this…about you is calculated.”
It was true, he hated to admit to himself. Since arriving on Earth, he’d been with many women, enjoyed each one’s company and the pleasure without any emotion attached. When the deed was done, he went on his way again without a backward glance or thought. He always made sure a woman knew what she was getting into—a one-night or weekend stand with no strings attached. As far as he was concerned, there was nothing more to the sex act. Love didn’t exist and had only a confusing dictionary definition to him.
Now, for the first time, a woman baffled him. He knew her for less than an evening but wanted to keep her near, and he didn’t understand any of it.
“So, what do we do now?” Rayna asked, the beginnings of a smile playing on her lips.
The smile frustrated Shawn. It seemed the wrong response to the situation. He shrugged again and rolled onto his back, floating lazily but still keeping an eye on her.
“Why are you so infuriating?” she asked.
“Is that really the question you want to ask?”
Rayna opened her mouth to speak, but Shawn preempted her with a wave of his hand.
“Be careful what you say next. A hastily blurted question will get you nowhere.”
He dove under as Rayna snapped her mouth shut, and he surfaced again to stand at his full height, his eyes locked on hers. Toying with this woman had elements of enjoyment, but he realized with a start that he wanted to know what she would ask. To find out what was uppermost on her mind and, even more surprising, knowing that he would likely answer.
She didn’t back down from his gaze, her own a mixture of interest and annoyance. “My god, you’re insufferable. What are you?”
The question was urgent, important, but could be answered in a multitude of ways. He chose one that would lend itself to more outraged claims of insufferable. “I am Shawnee.”
“What?” she spit out, her annoyance mounting.
“We already established that I’m Native American. I’m of the Shawnee Nation.”
“Wait, are you messing with me? Your name is Shawn and you’re Shawnee?” She shook her head in disbelief.
“Yes.” He hesitated briefly, uncomfortable with talking about his painful past. “My mother has a sense of humor.”
Rayna blinked at him. “So your mother is still alive?”
“Will be. She too is Shawnee, although some claim her sense of humor did not pass down to me.” He shrugged and flipped onto his back again. “I’m not sure I agree.”
Rayna’s mouth opened and closed a couple of times like a fish out of water, which Shawn thought ironic, but he was more interested in whether she’d catch on to the hint of “will be” he’d just given her.
After a moment, Rayna stilled and appraised him from head to foot as he floated. “Do you want to tell me everything?”
He stood, considering her for a moment. “Do you want to know everything?”
“Yes,” she said without hesitation. “Will you tell me everything?”
To his astonishment, he said, “Yes.”
Rayna’s answering smile lit up her face, but it caught the reflection of the exit signs, giving her a red-hued ominous appearance.
For a moment, Shawn wondered if her fake blood-stained cheeks could be an omen but shrugged it off. He’d seen enough examples of how the past, present, and future worked synergistically to not believe in such things. Yet, the sight nagged at him. His Shawnee ancestors were a superstitious people and believed in much less portents than this to foretell the future. He didn’t know this particular future. He wanted to believe she had nothing to do with him being shot but he couldn’t let down his guard until he knew for sure.
“Just know that what I’m going to tell you are things you shouldn’t know. That until or if I trust you, I won’t be giving you any further opportunities to escape,” he said. Her smile faltered, and he pressed on. “You’re putting your life in my hands. I won’t ask you for an explanation if I think you’ve broken my trust. Understand?”
Her smile disappeared, casting her face further into a darkened bloody mask. Only a hint of optimism remained in her eyes. “Yeah, but—”
“There are no buts.” He spoke in a low guttural tone geared to instill the right amount of fear in her. “I’m better now and no longer need your help. So, I’ll say what I wouldn’t say before. Make one wrong move, and I will end your life.”
4
Rayna Newman thought this must be a dream. One that alternated between pleasant and nightmarish.
Shawn Paros had come into her life—until now only conceivable in her fantasies—and almost as quick
ly threatened it. She knew better than to take his threats lightly.
After they left the pool and came back to their hotel room, she escaped into the bathroom as soon as Shawn let go of her arm. Shutting and locking the door, she placed her hands flat on the counter in front of the mirror. She stared at her reflection. Peered into her frightened eyes, her body trembling, her lip quivering.
She shook her head. She wasn’t going to fool herself. Yes, she was scared for her life, but damn, Shawn Paros was hot. Sexy, in such a bad-boy way. The way he spoke, moved, gazed into her eyes set her body on fire.
She pointed a finger at her reflection. “What is wrong with you?” she hissed. “Got a death wish or something?”
She hurried out of her wet clothing and pulled on a long, fluffy white robe, compliments of the motel. Taking a hand towel, she did what she could to dry her hair. Damp would have to suffice. Hanging the towel back on the rack, she noticed a beige hotel phone attached to the wall. She gnawed on her lip, casting a furtive glance to the door, then back to the phone. She’d never needed to talk to her father more than at this moment. He’d be able to help her sort out her feelings about wanting to help Shawn rather than trying to escape him. She always could talk to her father about most anything. He’d tell her she wasn’t crazy. Or, if she was, what to do about it.
Steeling her courage, she picked up the phone receiver and put it to her ear. Before she had a chance to dial, the sound emitting from the receiver dashed her hopes—a busy signal. With a frustrated sigh, she put the receiver back in its cradle as a hard rapping at the bathroom door startled a yelp out of her.
“Hurry up,” Shawn growled.
“I...um...I’ll be right out.”
Bending down to where her clothing lay in a soaked heap, she picked up each article, shook them out, and hung them up to dry. She didn’t know what would happen next, but the odds were good that they wouldn’t be staying here for too long, and traveling in wet clothes was far from optimal.
Facing the door, she swallowed hard. Making sure the robe was tied tight and not exposing any of her skin, she opened the door and stepped back into the room.