Heat pooled in my stomach and moved slowly through my body. I lowered my voice, lifting my eyes to his. “You’re a good teacher, Mr. Perry.”
His mouth slowed over my sensitive wrist, sending jolts of electricity through my body to light every surface.
I turned my face into his neck, trying to find the right words to explain what was happening when he touched me. “My soul remembers you, West. My mind tries to stop these… feelings… but I have this soul that just won’t shut up.”
He turned toward me. “You don’t have a soul. You are a soul. You have a body.”
I drowned in his eyes. The blue depths were bottomless.
I twisted my lips in thought. “That is a quote from C.S. Lewis,” I replied, lifting an eyebrow at him. “Do you have anything original?”
He smirked, threading his fingers through mine. “I’ll get back to you on that.”
I sighed, tightening my grip on his fingers. “I have one for you. The past is obdurate. Stephen King.” The words hung in the air between us, and he narrowed his eyes, looking toward the aisle. “The past refuses to be changed, West. I am afraid that once we get to whatever time we’re going to, the inevitable outcome will chase us around. You know, like kitchen knives in the Final Destination movies.”
He laughed at that, the first genuine laugh I’d heard from him in a while. “You’ve got a way with words, baby.”
“I’m serious.”
“Neither one of us know what will happen. Maybe nothing will happen. At first, I just wanted you to have a normal life. To go to college, grow up, and be with Logan… if that was what you wanted. But now that we know Logan is an Alter, I refuse to step back and let him have you. You’re mine, Roam, and you’ve always been mine.”
“Yours?” I repeated, naturally provoked by his possessive words. “I don’t belong to anyone but myself… eternal soul or no eternal soul.”
He stared me down, his grip locking on my hands. “Your fate is mine, and mine is yours. It’s all prophetic, and only we can change it. I wanted to change it. I was trying to change it. But I’m not anymore. The possibility of losing you again scares me, Roam, but not as much as never having you… or never being with you again. Everything changed when I kissed you on the basement floor.”
Trembling, I steadied my breath as I met his gaze. “You want me? Even though… no good can come of us?”
He leaned closer, his lips touching mine as he spoke. “You have no idea how much good can come of us,” he hushed, sending waves of desire to steal my breath.
Chapter Nineteen
For the remainder of the flight to the Jacksonville airport, my mind worked nonstop. I wavered between fantasizing about West and beating myself up over Logan. The guilt that would take over made me sick to my stomach, and I would force myself to stop thinking about how much I was betraying him.
I thought of my sister and my dad, wondering if Logan had called them yet. Everything that I had worked so hard for during my entire school career would end up being pointless if I didn’t continue on to college. Or if the world ended, I rationalized, following West through the airport.
The cottage was in the small coastal town of Emerald Isle. As we drove past Camp Lejeune, I thought of Logan and our argument days before.
What will he dream of tonight? I needed to know more about our lives.
The one-story cottage was white, nestled in the dunes just footsteps from the shore. North Carolina’s air was thick and warm, and I could taste sea salt when I breathed. Everything about the atmosphere radiated serenity and peace, but inside my mind, I couldn’t be further from either.
What am I doing? When I stopped holding West’s hand or letting him touch me for long enough time, my head began to clear, and I let the guilt sink in. I loved Logan. I would always love Logan.
Is he dreaming about killing me?
“I’ll get your bookbag.” West’s voice broke the balmy trance I’d entered as he lifted the back hatch of the rented Jeep Grand Cherokee.
“Thanks,” I managed, absently wrapping my ear buds around my iPod. The wind slapped my long hair against my neck and face, and I struggled to untangle the strands.
At the front of the house, he turned the key, pushing the door open with his own bag. “After you,” he murmured, his breath warm on my hair.
“You said there are two bedrooms?” I called, glancing around. We walked directly into a galley kitchen, the butcher block countertops holding an assortment of plastic cooking utensils in brown and white crockery. A vintage gas stove and 1950’s style refrigerator marked the only appliances in sight. A small window above the sink, framed by a simple set of white, eyelet curtains, allowed a clear view of what appeared to be a planked walkway and a dune.
“Here’s one,” he said from behind me. I stopped and turned around, puzzled.
“What? Oh… I thought that was a closet.”
“No.” His tone had completely changed, and I couldn’t understand why he suddenly sounded almost sad.
“Are you okay?” I asked, reaching for his arm. He shifted away, and pulled my hand back, my fingers wringing together nervously.
He lowered his backpack to a thin cot that was about half the size of a twin bed. “I’ll take this room. It’s the smallest.”
“Oh.” I looked around the miniscule space that was about the size of a walk-in closet. The entire cottage appeared to have uneven, hard wood floors that were whitewashed more than a decade ago. A pedestal planter served as a bedside table and housed a few dead bugs. I guessed that the mattress was newer, but still hesitated to use it.
“I’ll show you the rest,” he clipped, turning to move past me. The unusually narrow doorway caught us both clumsily.
Pressed against him, my chest hollowed. I was suddenly so uncomfortable, nervous by his standoffish behavior. “Sorry,” I mumbled, skirting around him in the doorway. He went left, I went left. He went right and I followed.
Finally, he firmly gripped my upper arms, lifting me to turn me so that I landed on my feet in the hallway.
I tried for a smile. “West, I can take this room. You’re so much bigger than me, and it wouldn’t be fair-”
“It’s fine.” He cut me off and ushered me down the hallway, leading me through the kitchen into a small living room. A loveseat fit snugly in the compact space, almost charming in blue-and-white gingham print. A new, flat-screen television, about twenty-five inches, occupied the wall that the loveseat faced. The walls were white and blank, less the gaping holes from the artwork past.
“Are you sure?”
“I can sleep anywhere,” he drawled. “You’re used to that big, fluffy bed.”
Admonished, I dropped my iPod to the loveseat and glared at him, crossing my arms. “I’m smaller than you. I was trying to be nice.”
He sighed, shifting my bag in his arms. “I’m sorry. Okay, through here,” he replied, gesturing to a room in the back of the house that faced the shore.
Walking into the bedroom, my senses were assaulted with awareness. I struggled with the feeling of déjà vu, finally understanding the phenomenon for the first time.
“This is the room… from my dream.”
“Yes.”
I turned to him, my face at the level of his broad chest. Lifting my eyes, I met his smoldering gaze.
He dropped my bag to the floor without looking away.
“Can we… walk by the shore? I’ve never been to the ocean,” I pleaded quietly, my heart racing.
His lips, kissing my stomach…
“Sure.” With his eyes still locked in mine, he nodded toward the door in the master bedroom. “We can go out through here.”
I turned, and he followed me out to the deck. We climbed the steps over the dune, and at the bottom of the wooden staircase I kicked my flip-flops off and left them in the sand. We walked together, the beach nearly deserted in the area where we were.
After a moment he sat down, his arms resting across his bent knees. The sun was just
beginning to set, and I lowered next to him, sliding my fingers through the grains of sand. The surface was warm, but just below was cool, and the combination was soothing.
He took my hand, his eyes still on the ocean. I returned the comforting grasp, gently touching his skin and tracing my fingers over his numbers. After a moment his breath hitched, and he stopped me, threading his fingers through mine.
We listened to the ocean lap against the shore in pensive silence. Tiny clams in pastel colors washed up repeatedly, stealing moments to dig to safety before the next wave came in. I dragged my breath, collecting the courage to tell him the words that he needed to hear.
Finally, I found my voice. “This place holds so many memories for you, West. I can tell that you’re sad.”
He sighed slowly, wrapping his arm around me and tucking me against his side. “Of all of the lives that we shared, the one here… in 1955… God, I loved you.”
I felt his pain in each of his words. I tried to imagine loving someone and losing him, only to have to wait for him to be born again.
And hoping that you’d love him again.
I wanted to know. I wanted to know everything about the woman that I was then, the woman that West was so much in love with as he kissed her pregnant belly. I wanted to know who I was.
I wanted what she had.
“I know that I loved you too. I could feel it… when I dreamed,” I promised. “When you kissed me, and I…”
He slipped his hand behind my hair, pulling my temple to his mouth for a long, emotional kiss.
I closed my eyes tightly, swallowing hard at the lump in my throat.
“You don’t have to comfort me, baby. It’s been almost sixty years.” He reached for my bare leg, brushing a patch of sand away from my skin. “And I have you now. You’re right here.”
I turned quickly to him, lifting my eyes to his bravely.
Finally, I forced the words to my throat, keeping my eyes fixed on the ocean and refusing to look his way. “West, I am trying to be logical, and separate science from… from magic… but I am having such a hard time fighting this lust that I feel for you. I mean, that’s got to be what this is, right? It’s so… so all-consuming. I just can’t stop thinking of you touching me. In really intimate places.”
“Places?” West repeated, a small smile tugging at the corner of his mouth.
I flushed a million shades of red when I heard my words out loud, twisting my fingers as I looked down at my lap. “I mean, in the bedroom, not intimate places on my body… well maybe… what I mean is, even when I’m irritated with you, it’s so confusing, and I…”
“Roam.”
I turned to him, and he caught my chin in his fingers, turning my face to his so that I couldn’t look away.
I closed my eyes and waited for his kiss.
He leaned in and slowly lowered his lips to my neck, and I shivered. His tongue nipped the side of my collar bone, and I melted, all the blood rushing from my brain.
“West,” I breathed, letting him turn over me and lower me to the sand.
“If you keep talking like that, I won’t make it through the week without taking you into that bedroom and doing exactly what you’ve been dreaming about.”
I lifted my heavy-lidded gaze to his, biting my lip to keep from reaching for his kiss.
“I won’t make it through the night… if you don’t,” I whispered, my brazen words unfamiliar to my own ears.
He stilled, his eyes fixed on mine. “Do you mean that?”
“Yes,” I admitted, more to myself than to him.
“And you won’t regret this?”
I thought of Logan’s words in Cleveland after I’d offered myself to him on his birthday. I refuse to be a regret in your life. “I…”
The cell phone in his pocket chimed several times. He reached for it and sighed, glancing at the number before pressing it to his ear. “Logan.”
“Is he okay?” I asked, jumping to my feet anxiously. He held his finger up, indicating that I should wait, and after a moment, he nodded.
“Okay. Yes. Call when you get there. Yes. I will.”
He hung up, and my mouth dropped. “I wanted to talk to him! I-”
“We have to get in the house,” he snapped, grabbing me by the arm and nearly dragging me through the sand. I had to run to keep up with him.
“Why? What’s wrong?”
“He’s about to board for Moscow,” he said, slamming and locking the door behind us. He gestured to the bed. “Roam, lie down.”
“What?” I cried, panic seizing legs as I froze in place.
Right now? He’s going to make love to me right this moment?
“Roam, listen to me! Lie down!” he shouted. I scrambled to the bed, nervous tears filling in my eyes.
“West?”
“Stay there!” he roared, dropping to the bed and stretching over me. I tried to back against the headboard, but he caught me, holding my wrists over my head.
In seconds, my arm began to tingle, just over the numbers.
“No… West!”
I tried to grab my arm, the fire racing through my veins. Screaming, I writhed at the invisible needles in my arm, my mind blurring with stinging pain as the numbers began to change. When he released my arms, I clawed at my skin, and he caught my offending hand, slamming my wrist to the bed beside my face.
“Don’t, Roam, you’ll tear your skin…”
Screams erupted from my core as I struggled to free my arm. This time I stayed fully conscious, my mind completely aware of the invisible, excruciating acid searing my skin. West’s mouth was pressed to my ear and he was whispering, but all I could hear were my own screams.
Finally, the pain began to subside, and he released my arm. I sat up, looking down at the coordinates.
“Okay?” he asked. I nodded uncertainly, still staring at the numbers.
“Russia?” I asked, gesturing to the black, tattooed stamp of unfamiliar coordinates.
“Yes.”
“Logan,” I sighed, dropping back against the pillow exhaustedly.
“You need to remember to breathe when they come, Roam,” he chastised, brushing his hand over my brow. “It’ll get easier, baby.”
“You keep saying that. I don’t think it ever will for me.”
“You’re stronger than you think you are,” he told me. “I’m sorry if I scared you. I just didn’t want you to hurt yourself, or to draw attention if you screamed on the beach.”
I nodded, physically exhausted from the entire ordeal. “I understand. I wasn’t sure… what you were doing. I thought, after the conversation we’d just had on the beach, that you were...”
He must have realized what I was saying, and he met my eyes sternly. “Roam, when I come to you, it will be because you asked me to. And I’m going to take my time with you.”
I nodded, flushing beneath his burning gaze.
He smiled. “Come on. We need to get some groceries, and something to eat tonight. No more lusty talks by the beach, Miss Camden. You’re distracting me.”
I gaped at him, shaking my head. “I… I was just trying to tell you…”
“Hey. I’m playing with you,” he assured me, catching my hands in his and lifting me up. “You have to move on after the numbers change. Don’t dwell on it,” he added.
I took a deep breath, unconvinced. I would never get used to that pain.
We spent the rest of the afternoon gathering groceries and supplies from the local Walmart. As I walked around the store, I panicked every time a man with Troy’s height or build would come into view. West pushed the cart and shopped with purpose, occasionally stopping to ask me about my eating preferences.
“I don’t care for fish,” I told him as we passed the fresh seafood collection.
“What kind of fish?” he asked.
I wrinkled my nose. “Any fish, fried or otherwise.”
“Hmm.” He sent me a surprised, wayward glance before moving on to the meat selection. “That’s
new.”
Hands on my hips, I narrowed my eyes. “Are you going to constantly compare me to Julie, or all of my other lives? Because, let me tell you, I’m getting kind of jealous.”
He lifted his eyes to mine, obviously taken aback. “Really?”
“I saw my… Julie’s… figure. I don’t have anything up here to compare,” I said, gesturing awkwardly to the upper-half of my body. “And I’m just plain.”
He stopped the cart suddenly, and I almost fell over it. When I turned, he had taken a step toward me, wrapping his arm around me and tugging me to him.
I flattened my palms on his chest, letting his piercing blue eyes command mine. “You are anything but plain, Roam Camden.”
I thought that he was going to kiss me, but he released me suddenly, and I felt appropriately chastised. I realized, at that moment, that he’d taken his teacher tone with me.
I cleared my throat. “Well if you keep comparing me, I’m going to feel inadequate. And you’re so… so…” I stammered, heat edging over my neck and up my face.
“Hot, I know, you told me,” he teased, grinning. “Right before we fixed your eyes.”
“Well, yes, so don’t compare me to the past. Or to… to Laurel.”
His expression darkened when I said her name. “What else do you eat?” he asked, changing the subject.
Oh… a nerve. I wondered about Laurel and what she looked like, but I knew that it was not the time to ask him. “Anything but fish.”
“Right.”
We shopped for the staples we’d need for a week. A rental company provided the linens for the beds, and I made sure to grab the toiletries that he’d unpacked.
In the parking lot, I stopped, anxiously gripping his hand. “What about 1977? If we went there, you could try to save Laurel! You’d have to wait some years, but…” My stomach did a somersault, and I almost fell to my knees. “My mother. Oh, God, West, I could write her a note, telling her to go to the doctor because-”
“Stop.” He pulled me to him, gripping my shoulders with his strong hands. His eyes met with mine firmly. “Don’t spend any more time thinking about that. What we’re trying to do is dangerous enough, and we’re not sure it will even work. We are who we are because of a prophecy, Roam. We can’t change anything else. We can’t gamble, fix the lottery, or save dead… or dying… people. As you said, the past refuses to be changed. Saving Laurel, or your mother, might completely negate what we have set out to accomplish.”
Roam (Roam Series, Book One) Page 16