Wherever You Are

by Sharon Cullen

  “There was an old sword,” he managed to say. “On Barun’s desk. Encased in glass. I broke the glass with my fist and grabbed the sword.” He had only moments to act. The sword was ancient, the blade dull. Morgan stabbed him but Barun twisted at the last moment and Morgan only sliced his shoulder. Barun yelled for his men. Morgan slipped through the door and disappeared. “It was easy after that. If there was one thing I knew, it was ships. I avoided the manhunt by changing hiding places. We were still anchored offshore. After dark, I swam to land. Within two months I was back in Boston, knocking on Isabelle’s front door.”

  Juliana was both awed and amazed at what Morgan had survived and what it took to survive in this time. Her feelings for Morgan…changed. Yet she couldn’t figure out how.

  The weight of true love is measured not in distance nor in time, but in deed. Look ye into this mirror and find what ye seek. Step through and discover yer heart’s desire.

  A flash of memory made her go still. Steep steps. Furniture covered in sheets. Boxes. Old chests. A tall mirror.

  An attic? Was that what she was seeing? Somehow the verse seemed to be tied to the mirror. How? Why? It had been taller than her. Wider than her arm span. Bigger than any mirror she had seen before. There had been a carving of a woman. She’d been sad and Juliana remembered wondering what made her sad. Then… Nothing. Her memories stopped there.

  A mirror. How could a mirror help her get home? And what good was that memory in the middle of an ocean where she highly doubted she’d find a mirror?

  Morgan shifted and Juliana tucked the image and her questions away.

  “Tell me about the lance,” she said. “The one Barun wants back.”

  He explained the supposed significance of the Holy Lance. Could something that dated back to Christ’s time still exist? If she believed she traveled through time, which she emphatically did, then it was not such a stretch to believe in the Holy Lance.

  “Maybe it is holy,” she said. “It saved you.”

  “I don’t want the damn lance, Juliana. I just want to be free of Barun.”

  She touched Morgan’s cheek. Her heart ached for this man who suffered so much and who for once deserved peace in his life. “I know,” she whispered.

  There was a wildness inside him, a desperation that seemed to confuse him. He wanted to push her away, had tried with his stories of killing and plundering but she saw through the act. Inside this dangerous man was a human being who cried out for love and understanding and somehow she knew she was the one to give him that love. Maybe that’s why she was here. To help Morgan. To teach him that even though he’d done some horrible things, he was still good at heart.

  Morgan moved to her side of the tender and pulled her to him, rolling until they lay chest to chest, thigh to thigh, nose to nose. She felt every contour, every dip and valley of his body.

  It felt good. Way good. Too good.

  He pinned her in place with his strong arms as if he were afraid she was going somewhere when moments ago he’d tried his best to push her away.

  She buried her hands in his silky, soft hair spread out beneath him like a veil. How many times had she wondered what it would feel like to bury her hands like this? She’d never been a woman who liked a guy with long hair but that was slowly changing. How was she to go back to her time, to the soft men who ruled corporate America?

  “I want you to know something,” he said.

  “Yes?”

  “I don’t regret kissing you yesterday.”

  Her hands stilled. “I meant to thank you.” It truly had started out as a kiss of appreciation. A slight buss on the cheek was all she’d meant to do. But it all too quickly turned into more, startling her in its intensity. She saw the shock in Morgan’s eyes as well. Something passed between them during that quick kiss. Something others would probably refer to as chemistry. “We’re from different worlds, Juliana.”

  “I know.” Oh, how she knew. More than he could possibly understand.

  “I’m not the man you think I am.” He ran his hands through her hair, tucking it behind her ear. “I’m not the man for you.”

  She pressed her lips together, sealing in her protest. He was wrong. He was the man for her. And he was right. They were from different worlds.

  “I’m sorry,” he whispered. “More than you’ll ever know.”

  “We have now and sometimes now is all that matters. Sometimes the present is all we get in life. I learned that from Zach. I also learned not to waste what I’ve been given.”

  Her hips moved, not at all listening to the rational part of her telling her this was a bad idea. But damn it, she wanted this because tomorrow may never come and if it did, she may not be here, in this place and time and if there was one thing she knew, it was that she didn’t want any regrets when it came to Morgan.

  His eyes darkened and his breathing paused. The rigid outline of his erection pushed into her heated her skin and fired her nerve endings. Yes, this was right.

  His hands slid down her body and settled on her hips. Above her the rigging softly clanked, below her the animals moved about in the hold. The stiff, brine-scented breeze brushed through her hair. But none of that mattered. What mattered was the man beneath her, the need clearly evident in the dark pupils of his eyes and the stiff erection pressing into her pelvis.

  Morgan lifted his head and brushed his lips against hers, a feather-soft touch that wasn’t really a touch at all but a sensation that made her shiver in awareness. With his lips he touched her cheek, her jaw, the shell of her ear. She’d never been more aware of her body with such little contact.

  “Ah, Juliana.” His voice was more a release of breath with little sound to it. He blew lightly on her neck and she shivered, falling more and more under his spell.

  She smiled and smoothed his hair away from his face. His gaze, when it met hers, was serious. “Don’t,” she said softly. “Not now. Not tonight.”

  “This is such a bad idea.”

  She pressed her finger to his lips. “Not now,” she repeated. “Make love to me. Please.”

  He blew out a breath. “What you do to me. How can I deny you after all of this?”

  She rolled off him and pulled him on top of her. He was a big man, much bigger than her. If he didn’t want to be on top he wouldn’t, but he came easily, nestling his erection between her thighs, pressing it into the aching center of her. She bit her lip in a bid to keep silent. They were hidden in the smaller boat but that didn’t mean someone walking by couldn’t hear them.

  “Touch me,” she whispered.

  “Ah, God.” With a groan he leaned his forehead against hers and closed his eyes. She was nothing but a ball of need, all nerve endings and sensation.

  He put his hand on her breast. “Yes.” She arched her back in a silent plea for more. His thumb rubbed her nipple, causing it to pebble beneath his hand. He lifted her shirt and dipped his head down, pulling the erect nub between his lips and suckling. With a stifled cry she held his head to her breast. Oh, yes. Yes, yes, yes. This was right. This was perfect.

  His hips convulsed, pumped. He rubbed his erection against her. It was too much. Too much sensation, too much need built up inside her. Her hips moved in counterpoint to his. Inside the boat the silence was broken only by their labored breathing. Restlessly she moved her hands from his head to his hips, holding him in place. Small sounds escaped her each time he bore down on her.

  Her toes curled, her body stiffened. She threw back her head and a keening cry erupted from her as her orgasm hit. Morgan tore his mouth from her breast and smothered her cry with his lips, drinking it into him. Before her body stopped convulsing he was tearing at her breeches, shoving them down her legs and off her feet. Then came his breeches, landing beside hers.

  He entered her in one smooth stroke. She was so wet there was no barrier. Bracing himself on his hands he looked down at her and buried himself until he could go no farther. Her muscles were still spasming, milking him. He gasped and clo
sed his eyes. The muscles in his neck stood out and he froze. After a few moments, when her body stopped quivering, he opened his eyes. They were deep, fathomless. He began to move, slowly pulling out, slowly pushing back in. So slow. So. Slow.

  He grinned but it was fleeting, a flash of white teeth, gone before she was sure.

  “My Juliana,” he whispered.

  “Yes.” Yes. His Juliana. She liked the sound of that.

  His tempo increased, his breathing deepened. Surprisingly she felt her body coil, preparing for another orgasm. She gasped and before she could prepare herself she came again, grinding her hips into his. Morgan arched his back, made a strangled sound and came inside her. His cock pulsed. Her muscles clamped down on him.

  “Oh God, oh, God, oh, God,” she repeated over and over.

  Morgan’s arms gave out and he fell on top of her, not even bothering to keep his weight off her. She wrapped her arms around his waist and held on, her breath coming too fast. His even faster.

  After a few moments, he lifted his head and looked down at her. There was a wealth of emotion in his eyes but not regret. Good.

  He rolled off her and gathered her to his side where she snuggled into him. She didn’t want to merely crawl inside Morgan’s skin, she wanted to become his pulse points, the blood that flowed through his heart and made him alive.

  They watched the black sky turn shades of navy blue and deep purple, then lavender and dark rose. As much as she wanted to stay in the lifeboat for the rest of the morning, reality returned.

  Someone walked past their hiding place whistling a sea shanty. Another called out. A few laughed. But inside their little world there was silence. Juliana refused to think of what the next week would bring. She’d overheard a few sailors say they would make London within the next ten days provided the weather held. She wouldn’t think of that now. Not yet. Not when she was in Morgan’s arms.

  But her thoughts rarely cooperated and this time was no different.

  “You’re going after Barun, aren’t you?” she asked.

  A small pause. “Yes.”

  What about me, she wanted to ask. Where do I fit into all of this? Because suddenly her future loomed before her. “How?”

  “How what?” he asked.

  “How are you going to go after him? How are you going to find him?”

  “I have something he wants.”

  “The lance?”

  “Yes.”

  The knot of fear in her belly that never really went away tightened. What if Morgan left her in London alone? What if Barun found her? She groped for Morgan’s hand, found it and squeezed.

  “What’s wrong?” he asked softly.

  “I don’t know anyone in London.”

  “Ah, I see.” There was a moment of silence. “You can’t come with me, Juliana. Barun will be looking for me.”

  She didn’t know which was worse, her fear of leaving Morgan, or her fear of encountering Barun again. If she stayed with Morgan, she’d definitely see Barun. If she stayed in London, she’d be alone. And Barun may still find her.

  “Why not?” she asked.

  “Why not, what?”

  “Why can’t I stay with you?”

  Morgan’s sigh was deep and his fingers twitched in hers. “Because a ship is no place for a lady. Because I can’t offer you what you’re seeking.”

  Chapter Thirteen

  There was nothing for a woman to do on a sailing ship in the eighteenth century. Juliana’s attempts to help were thwarted by the crew until Morgan told her to stop trying. She was well aware that a woman on a ship was considered bad luck and she was also well aware she’d brought these men an inordinate amount of bad luck, so she kept to herself. And to the crew’s credit, they left her be. Morgan said it was because they worked for Isabelle and were more receptive to women than most but Juliana saw him glowering at the few who wandered too close.

  His reaction was in direct opposition to how he treated her. Not that he treated her badly. He spoke to her when spoken to. He was cordial and considerate. He always thought of her first and made sure she was comfortable and well fed but it never went beyond that. After their lovemaking she’d hoped for… Well, if she were honest she’d hoped for more but she’d been sorely disappointed.

  She knew what he was doing. He was pushing her away because he felt he didn’t deserve what she had to offer. He thought he wasn’t worthy. She thought differently. The problem was she didn’t know how to convince him otherwise. Every time she tried he shook his head and walked away. And because she had to view him from afar, she began to see the man he really was.

  He was a fair captain. He didn’t ask anything of his crew he wasn’t willing to do himself. She watched, breathless as he climbed the rigging and scurried along the top of the yards with no safety harness or net to let the sails out. He helped caulk the deck by hammering oakum into the fibers. He patiently taught the new recruits how to splice rope. He laughed with the men, ate with them on occasion and sang their sea shanties as they went about their work. She saw the respect in the crew’s eyes when he was near and the concern when he was unhappy with someone’s work.

  And as she observed she felt herself falling more and more in love with him. There were so many sides to this man—the respected leader, the competent sailor and the gentle lover—she wished he saw that as well.

  He twisted her emotions into knots. Confused, bewildered and befuddled her until she couldn’t think straight.

  She wasn’t naïve. She knew her days on the ship were numbered. They were approaching London far too quickly for her peace of mind and when they arrived she would have to find a way to return home. But that wouldn’t be for several days yet so she pushed the thoughts away.

  More than once she wished for a notebook and pen to write down everything—descriptions of the men, the smell of the sea, the feel of the deck as it rolled beneath her. The observations of a modern woman living in the past. Except for the part about Sanjit Barun, she didn’t want to forget a minute of this experience. She always felt there was a book inside her waiting to get out and this would be the perfect one. Who but her would know it was real?

  She also had an almost desperate need to put Morgan on paper. If she couldn’t have him in reality, she would have him in fiction. But paper and a writing implement were hard to come by. In fact, the only paper she saw was the ship’s log on Morgan’s desk, but the log was sacred and untouchable so she forced herself to commit everything to memory.

  As she strolled the deck, she spotted Morgan aft port raising a scope toward the horizon. She hesitated, leery of approaching because she’d been rebuffed so many times, yet she continued in her attempts. There was something inside her, some need that prodded her on, told her not to give up on Morgan.

  His hair was loose and blew around his shoulders. He smelled of the ocean and sun and man and she knew he was why she was in no hurry to think about returning home. Morgan. A man she shouldn’t have feelings for but did. A man who shouldn’t exist in her world but did. A man who made her feel things she long thought herself incapable of with another man. But did.

  She gazed toward the horizon and tried to see what he’d been looking at. There was nothing but a small speck where the churning gray sea met the blues and lavenders of the sky. “Is that a ship?” she asked.

  “Yes.”

  Juliana narrowed her eyes to get a better look but the ship didn’t appear any different. It was more the churning feeling in her stomach that told her something was wrong.

  She licked her lips and asked the question she didn’t want to ask. “Barun?”

  A slight pause. Enough that she knew the answer before he voiced it. “Yes.”

  She tried to breathe through the fear that suddenly reared. The nightmares had nearly stopped and she’d managed to push the memories of her time spent in Barun’s care to the far reaches of her mind where they sometimes remained. Maybe she’d been too hopeful thinking she was safe on Morgan’s ship, or maybe she’
d been fooling herself. Either way reality was staring her in the face in the form of a two-masted ship.

  “You said you blew holes in his ship.”

  “We merely crippled the ship, Juliana, not incapacitated it.”

  “You knew he’d follow us, didn’t you?”

  “It’s what I would do.” He paused and as if sensing her thoughts said, “I won’t let him near you. I promise.”

  “What if you can’t help it?”

  “I promise you, Juliana, he won’t come near you.”

  He could promise all he wanted but Morgan was only human. He had his own fears when it came to Barun, and Barun had already won two battles against him. She turned to look at him. “What if he gets you first?”

  His gaze slid away. He had no answer, or if he did it wasn’t something he was willing to share which scared her even more. What did Barun do with escaped slaves? It couldn’t be worse than what he’d already done, could it?

  “You can’t promise to keep me safe,” she said softly. The words hurt but she had to be realistic. This wasn’t some romance book where the hero swooped in and saved the day. That ship and the man sailing it were very real and very deadly. And Juliana knew, without a shred of doubt, she would do anything to keep from falling into Sanjit Barun’s hands again. Anything.

  “Promise me something.”

  He turned his wary gaze to her. He didn’t want to hear what she had to say. It was written in his eyes and in the tense set of his shoulders. And maybe he already knew. Maybe he already came to the same conclusion.

  “Promise if he does capture me, you won’t let him take me. Promise…” She swallowed the lump in her throat. “I couldn’t stand it if I was forced to go with him again. I want you to kill me if he takes me.”

  “No.”

  “Morgan, please.”

  He shook his head and took a step back. “Never. I will never let him touch you again. You have to trust me in this, Juliana. I would…” He swallowed. She could barely look at him his eyes were so tortured.