Losing Time (Lost Time, Book 1): A Time Travel Romantic Suspense Series

by Nicola Claire

  Home seemed so very far away. Not that RATS felt like home to me yet. But it did feel alive. I couldn’t remember when Auckland had last felt that way. When I hadn’t been studying or stressing or trying to keep everyone in line.

  It left me feeling slightly disassociated. Slightly adrift from the laughter and bustle that surrounded.

  Then someone brought out an MP3 player, attached it to speakers, and proceeded to introduce me to the latest songs. Someone else tried to entice me to drink a funky looking, psychedelic coloured, electrolyte replacement until Dean quietly pushed it away from me with a short shake of his head. Someone else brought out a pack of cards. Old school they said. To help me assimilate into their time.

  And that’s how Jack found me. Teaching the Surgeons of RATS how to play strip-poker in their cafeteria, half the staff - who were meant to be back at work - egging me on.

  I was down to my bra and mini. Several of the others were far less covered than that. Sally was singing at the top of her lungs. Ah, that’s where the electrolyte drink went to.

  It was almost as bad as it sounds.

  And then I lost the hand we were playing…and the room erupted.

  I Honestly Don’t Know, Miss Wylde

  Jack

  I shouldn’t have left her alone. Anything could have happened. God alone knows there are a few aggressive people in the Academy. A few who took their position a little too far. Like any learning establishment, there was a tiered system of hierarchy. Not just Surgeon, Intern and Novitiate. Even within those ranks, there was a pecking order. And I’d left Mimi alone to field that battle.

  I was such an arse.

  The halls were unnaturally quiet. As though the place was on lockdown or a big flight was planned. I’d just come from Dispatch, so I knew no one was flying today. Ours was scheduled for tomorrow after we’d had our obligatory downtime between flights. Even RATS obeyed the occasional law. So, where everyone was, was a mystery.

  Until I heard the noise.

  “Strip! Strip! Strip!”

  “What the hell?” I muttered, picking up pace, and then finally running full tilt towards the cafeteria.

  I’m not sure what I thought I’d walk in on. But I had prepared myself for it involving Mimi. Everything seemed to involve Miss Wylde.

  But there was no way I was prepared for what faced me.

  The entire staff seemed to be congregated around the longest cafeteria table, all shouting and pumping fists in the air, as a group of six sat at the table in various states of undress. I noticed the electrolyte, in an off-hand kind of way. I spotted the playing cards; old school, how could I not?

  But my attention, really, wasn’t on any of that.

  It was all for Mimi.

  Who sat at the edge of the table, in the thick of the action, shouting back at all the hecklers…in nothing but a bra and mini skirt.

  “What the hell?” I said again. And strode across the room.

  It took a few seconds for the crowd to notice me, but when they did…

  Silence.

  “I think I’ve proved my point,” Mimi was saying. She didn’t sound drunk. “I really believe this lesson has gone too far.” Bloody right it had. What lesson? “Must I really remove my skirt?”

  Fuck.

  “Nah, just your bra, luv,” Dean Jordan said. His eyes met mine from across the table. Mimi’s back was to me so that she couldn’t see the scowl. But Jordan did.

  He so bloody fucking did.

  He smirked back.

  “I think I’ll go with the skirt,” Mimi announced, standing up from her seat and reaching around behind her waist to the zip. Her fingers weren’t even trembling.

  I crossed my arms over my chest and stood back, seeing how far she’d take this. Jordan snorted, and then covered the sound with an over-the-top cough into his playing hand.

  “This game is better than I expected,” he offered, trying valiantly not to laugh.

  A few people shuffled nervously on their feet; some even snuck out of the room altogether; taking the opportunity while they still had it, I should think. Sally twisted in her seat beside Mimi, perhaps finally registering the tension in the room. Her eyes widened. She gasped. It sounded quite loud in the stillness.

  “It’s just a skirt, Sal,” Mimi said. “I’ve got knickers on, don’t worry.”

  Someone smothered a laugh.

  Jordan looked like he was about to explode from holding his in.

  Enough!

  I took a step closer. My fingers covering Mimi’s at the base of her spine, my lips to her ear as I said, “Would you like a hand, Miss Wylde?”

  Mimi froze.

  Jordan burst out laughing.

  I think I might have growled.

  “Don’t you all have work to do?” I said pleasantly. The room evaporated. “Not you, Jordan,” I ground out.

  Reaching down, I picked up Mimi’s blouse and handed it to her. She wouldn’t meet my eyes. I wasn’t surprised, I was rather angry, right then. My fists kept clenching at my sides. My fingers itching to help her dress.

  This possessiveness was driving me wild.

  I ran a hand through my hair and scratched at my jaw. My fingers found my scar. I worried it absently as my eyes drilled holes into Dean Jordan.

  “Explain,” I said, once Mimi was dressed and seated again.

  “Strip poker, Doctor,” Jordan advised. “Mouse was teachin’ us how to play it.”

  “I see.”

  “It’s quite a laugh,” he added, digging himself a bigger ditch to get buried in. “You should try it.”

  I didn’t say anything.

  “We meant no harm, sir,” Groves supplied, quietly. “A bit of a release, really.”

  “Really.”

  She nodded her head.

  “It was my idea,” Mimi announced, voice steady.

  “I’m sure it was,” I offered. Bloody hell, the woman hadn’t been in any danger at all. Apart from a danger of embarrassing herself. I huffed out a breath of air.

  No. Mimi wouldn’t have embarrassed herself; she would have made herself the sole focus of every male in this facility. An enticing mental picture for them to all enjoy after hours.

  Bloody fucking bollocks!

  “This is not how RATS staff behave,” I pointed out.

  Mimi crossed her arms over her chest, a sure sign that she was firing up the boosters and about to launch us all into space.

  “So far, I’ve noticed a decided lack of manners, strong evidence of malpractice, and a leaning towards a thug mentality. I’d hardly say a game of poker…”

  “Strip poker.”

  “…corrupted anything.”

  We stared at each other.

  Sally cleared her throat. “No offence was meant, Dr Evans.”

  “No offence was taken,” Jordan offered.

  Mimi and I didn’t break eye contact.

  “She fits in well, don’t you think?” Jordan added. “Just like a bonafide Surgeon.”

  “Everyone thinks she’s great,” Groves offered as if that was a consideration when doling out punishment.

  “Everyone who isn’t a prude,” Mimi added.

  “I’m not a prude,” I immediately replied.

  “Could have fooled me,” Mimi argued.

  “You know nothing about me,” I pressed.

  “I know you’re a prude.”

  “I am not a prude, Miss Wylde.”

  “Prove it.” She promptly sat down and started to shuffle the cards.

  I was aware of Jordan and Groves watching on avidly. Heads swinging from Mimi to me and back again. Like a bloody tennis match at Wimbledon. I stared down at Mimi’s bowed head, her fingers and hands moving smoothly and rapidly as the cards slid over her palm and slipped out of sight in the pack. It was mesmerising.

  But hardly appropriate.

  “This is hardly appropriate,” I repeated aloud. Mentally shaking my head at myself.

  “See,” Mimi declared. “Prude.”

&
nbsp; “I’m not doing this, Miss Wylde.”

  “What are you afraid of?” she asked, dealing out the hand. “A bit of nakedness?”

  “I’m a Surgeon.”

  “A Surgeon who’s a prude.”

  “Would you stop saying that!”

  “I will when you stop acting like one.”

  “Bloody hell, woman! You are the most infuriating individual I have ever met.”

  “And you’re the most prudish individual I’ve ever met.”

  “What the hell do they do in your time?” I demanded. “Argue someone to death?”

  Her hands stilled. The cards fell softly to the table.

  Damn it.

  “Go back to work, Mr Jordan,” I said, my eyes on the back of Mimi’s head.

  “You gonna be all right, Mouse?” he asked, before standing. She just nodded her head. “Come find me some time, eh?” Another nod of her head.

  A glare from Jordan to me. But at least he left.

  “Miss Groves,” I started.

  “I’d rather stay, sir.” Now she grows some balls?

  I shook my head.

  “Mimi,” Groves called. “Do you want me to stay?”

  Mimi finally moved, turning to face Groves. The smile she gave the other woman was small, but beautiful. Everything about this frustrating woman was beautiful.

  Damn those bloody fucking dreams.

  “Go, Sally,” she said. “I can handle the good doctor.”

  Yes, that was what I was afraid of.

  “If you’re sure,” Groves said, not sounding convinced.

  “I’m not as mousey as they think,” Mimi offered.

  “No,” Groves agreed. “You’re one of the fiercest people I’ve ever met.” And then she stood and walked from the room.

  Mimi watched her leave, a stunned look on her face. I was sure no one had called her fierce before.

  Did she not see herself as I did? As others did? Fierce when needed. Bold when required. Caring at all times.

  I let a slow breath of air out.

  “Are you going to ground me?” she asked softly.

  “I should do.”

  “But you can’t. You need me.”

  In more ways than one, it would seem.

  “What on Earth made you choose strip poker?” I finally asked, taking a seat at the table beside her.

  “It seemed like a good idea at the time,” she murmured.

  I laughed. It was fairly short lived. She’d almost been bloody naked.

  “Don’t do that again.” My voice was low but hard as steel.

  She turned in her seat to look at me, a puzzled expression on her face. I couldn’t blame her. I had sounded like a bloody Neanderthal.

  “It’s unbecoming,” I found myself saying. Of course, I did. A grimace followed. Her eyebrows rose up her brow, disappearing behind the fall of her hair completely.

  “Really?” she challenged. “And your behaviour right now isn’t?”

  I turned in my seat to face her, our knees almost touching. Still, I leant forward, my body attempting to get closer.

  “There’s nothing wrong with my behaviour,” I argued. “I wasn’t the one stripping.”

  “But you are the one acting like a pig.”

  Christ, she had me there. I opened my mouth to say something; I’m not sure what, but she beat me to it.

  “Chauvinism is so unattractive.”

  “Chauvinism?”

  “No, that’s not right. Egoism maybe?”

  “Egoism?” This just got worse.

  “No, that’s not right either. What’s the word?”

  “I honestly don’t know, Miss Wylde.”

  She smiled at my sarcastic tone, all sweetness and light.

  “Sexism. That’s it.”

  “I have absolutely no problem with your sex.”

  She looked at me from under those long lashes; a temptress that I should resist. No, I had no problem whatsoever with Miss Wylde and sex.

  I’m not sure who moved first. But somehow we aligned ourselves just right. My fingers found her hair. Hers gripped my suit. And our lips collided.

  This Is Happening

  Mimi

  It was still angry. But I liked how he kissed. Anger suited him. Jack was full of rage; it boiled up and out through his kiss; it seared me to the core; it melded me to his body; it lit a fire inside I had no hope of dousing.

  I wasn’t sure what it was about this man that attracted me so much, but I knew it was big. Bigger than me. Bigger than I could handle. Jack Evans was a supernova.

  His lips left mine; I felt their absence immediately. A hot trail scorched a path across my jaw, down the side of my neck. He inhaled deeply, his lips pressed to my skin, his nose buried in the hair at the base of my skull. His fingers tangled in the strands as he devoured me in a way I had never been devoured before.

  A hand slipped under my blouse, heat unfurled in my belly and spread out; everywhere. A hot palm pressed against the underside of my breast, and I arched back; blatantly inviting further contact.

  His deep chuckle broke the spell, even if it did sound sexy. I gasped, as though I hadn’t breathed in hours, and then attempted to push myself away, fists to chest.

  “Don’t,” he murmured against my skin, his hold tightening.

  “Let me go!” I ground out, embarrassed to hear the breathless tone of my voice.

  “Just give me a minute,” he rasped. “I need…I can’t…” There was just no way of telling what he would have said, but I thought I could anyway. I felt exactly the same way.

  I needed more touch.

  I couldn’t pull away.

  It was as if my body had a mind of its own.

  He growled low, his thumb stroking the sensitive skin over my ribcage. Hot breath came out in a huff against the side of my neck, making me shiver.

  “Stop moving,” he murmured. “You’re making it worse.”

  “Making what worse?” I demanded, curving my spine like a wanton hussy.

  “Much worse,” he muttered.

  “What?”

  He sighed but didn’t pull away.

  “The need to fuck you, Miss Wylde.”

  Oh. I wasn’t sure what to say. But my body knew how to move when given such an invitation. My hands suddenly wrapped around his nape, my breasts suddenly pressed themselves against his chest. And I suddenly found myself straddling his lap.

  I squeaked when the press of his erection found a home. His eyes came up to my face, amusement and chagrin both present in that darkened whisky hue.

  “Please tell me this isn’t your first time.”

  “We’re not doing anything,” I blurted. “So it couldn’t be my first time.”

  “If you think this isn’t going where it looks like it’s going, then you’re fooling yourself.”

  “Such a compelling argument to entice me into your bed,” I snapped.

  “I was thinking of yours, actually.”

  Why? Because he’d dreamed it too?

  The thought of the dreams did a better job than I think a bucket of cold water could have. I shifted back on his lap, and he let me. Then I took it one step further and stood up. His hands fell away, resting on his thighs, as he watched me from beneath hooded lids.

  “I don’t understand what’s going on,” I said, in a fit of honesty I immediately regretted.

  He tipped his head back and looked at the ceiling of the cafeteria, letting out a long, slow breath.

  “My apologies,” he murmured to the roof.

  “Why are you apologising?” Did he regret kissing me?

  “Because it seemed warranted.”

  “Just tell me what it is I’m feeling,” I demanded. Hyde was very close to the surface. But then, he always was when I felt self-conscious.

  Jack’s head came down, and turbulent eyes met mine.

  “What do you think you are feeling?” he asked. The man was incapable of giving a straight answer.

  I swallowed past the dryness o
f my throat, fervently denying the desire to run and hide from all of this. Carrie. I had to remember Carrie. She was the only reason why I was here. Whatever was going on between Jack Evans and me was irrelevant. Or superfluous to reality.

  I closed my eyes and shook my head, feeling infinitely tired.

  “Sit down, Miss Wylde,” Jack said softly. That tone. The one that made me obey his every whim.

  I opened my eyes and looked at him, already reaching for a nearby chair.

  “You’ve just had your tongue down my throat and your hand up my shirt, I think we can dispense with formalities.”

  He laughed so hard and abruptly; it was almost a snort. He covered it with a cough into his hand, which he immediately ran through his hair. I smiled to myself. It was good to ruffle him. Good to turn the tables now and then.

  He watched me settle into the chair and then tilted his head to the side, studying me. It was almost as exhilarating as sitting on his lap. That sort of undivided attention did things to the inside of my body. The look of potential that crossed his face made it difficult to breathe.

  “Travelling through Time has side effects,” he suddenly said. I sucked in air. “The more you do it, the more the side effects manifest themselves. But for some, it can be invasive from day one.”

  I didn’t like where this was going.

  He crossed his legs and sat back in the chair as if getting comfortable for a long conversation. I should have been relieved; I’d wanted answers. But all I felt was anxious.

  “It’s the reason why I didn’t want you to know too much,” Jack went on. “The reason why bringing you back to our time was the last resort.” His chest rose and fell with a breath full of meaning. “But you’re here now, and I’m guessing you’ve already had the dreams.”

  He didn’t know that. He couldn’t. I’d only been pressing him because he’d admitted to having dreams of me. But he saw something on my face, and a brief flash of satisfaction crossed his own. Gone in an instant, but I could have sworn I saw it. Replaced with an equable mask.

  “More than one?” I didn't move a muscle. Just stared. “The same scene?” I gave him nothing. “Becoming more real?” Shit. “The haziness is your mind adjusting. The more vivid the dream, the more…accurate the prediction.” He paused, seeming to decide something. Then said, “Mine have become crystal clear.”