Swept Through Time - Time Travel Romance Box Set

by Tamara Gill

  “Aye...” He stacked the last of the strewn papers.

  “Then you also have to have heard about the new species of frog, found right here at home. You’d think she’d be smilin’, what with all the splashing out she’ll soon be doing.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “You don’t smell sloshed on beer,” she said, “but to not know something so obvious...” She shook her head. “Once Lucy Gordon presents that new species of frog, she’ll be bloody well set.”

  “But she does not have the frog.”

  “Belt up!” The purple-haired wench glared. “’Course she has the frog. Why else would she be speakin’ at the conference? If she didn’t have the little creature after making such a fuss, we’d all laugh her arse right out of the country.”

  Wolfe growled and, evidently knowing what was good for her, the purple-haired wench gathered her papers, then scurried off.

  Mission now clear, Wolfe turned to the direction from whence he had come. The time for feeling sorry for himself had ended. Lucy Gordon needed help. It was high time he stop acting the part of petulant child and start acting the role of a true and noble prince.

  Whether Lucy loved him or not, he loved her.

  And she would have her frog.

  ***

  “Um, hello,” Lucy said, reaching for the sweating glass of ice water beside her on the podium, wishing she were anywhere in the world besides standing in front of these five hundred beady-eyed scientists, who were probably much like her father in not giving a damn about anything but their careers. Everything about the evening was the same as the last conference she’d ruined, only instead of tofu lasagna, dinner had been eggplant parmigiana and the flowers on the dais birds of paradise rather than gardenias. Other than that, the rustling papers were the same, the smattering of discreet coughs. The terror lodged in her throat. The erratic pounding of her heart.

  Well, this time, there was one slight difference.

  Somewhere in the middle of the night, reaching out for the man who would never be there, she had finally realized one thing—and that was that for her, there was a lot more from life she hoped to gain than professional glory. Or even her father’s respect.

  Who knew? If Wolfe hadn’t seen her report, detailing plans for locking him in an antiseptic-smelling lab for further study, maybe she’d be with him now? Maybe they’d be lounging beside the fire back in her cozy cottage, sharing a popcorn fight or Scrabble game, or just cuddling with each other. How long had he known about her plans for him? Had it made a difference in the way he’d felt? Before knowing, could he have imagined the remainder of his life spent with penniless her? Or had what they’d shared never been more than a game?

  Straightening the stack of papers before her, she somehow managed, “As many of you may already know, the presentation I’d planned to be making on a new species of frog I discovered named the Prince of Gwyneddor, won’t be going as smoothly as I’d hoped. I’d planned to be wowing you with his glory but, instead, here I am,” she said with a tight twitter, “on the verge of apologizing yet again for yet another scientific blunder. But—”

  A wave of furtive whispers and outright rude laughter further twisted the dagger of embarrassment in her gut.

  Still, she raised her chin high.

  So, she’d made a little mistake? Big deal. For just one more night in Wolfe’s arms, she’d oh-so-willingly make a thousand mistakes more.

  “Some of you may think me not fit to be in your lofty club,” she said, voice raised above the still buzzing crowd. “But you’re wrong. This time, I really did have a unique species but I lost him. True,” she said with a wry grin, “he was brash, crude and egotistical. Given time, I could’ve changed him. But because of stupid things like pride, and wanting to impress all of you and my dad, I let him get away. Because of all of you and your stupid, snotty elitism, I even looked down on myself for being a teacher. But you know what?” She laughed. “No matter what you say about me behind my back, to my face, my students tell me in a hundred different ways that what I do makes a difference. Maybe not to the entire world, but to them. And since to me, they are my entire world, then—”

  “Lucy Gordon! Stop!” A man bolted through the ballroom doors, starting the whispers anew.

  Wolfe?

  Hand to her forehead, shading her eyes from the stage lights’ glare, Lucy didn’t dare hope her eyes confirmed what her heart already knew. The command had come from Wolfe. Wolfe, who was storming his way down the side aisle, looking better than he had even in her many dreams.

  His hair had been shorn—short and spiked and rakishly sexy. His impeccably tailored black suit made him look every bit the part of a modern-day royal. Never had she seen him more handsome. Her chest ached with the crushing realization that no matter what egotistical outrage he next spouted, she loved him.

  She might not like him but, God help her, she loved him.

  He vaulted onto the stage, straightening his suit coat before scowling at the gaping crowd. Upon reaching her, he raised her left hand to his lips, never dropping her gaze. “Hallo, Lucy Gordon.”

  “Hello.” His touch, his achingly familiar dark gaze toppled her heart—her still-broken heart! “What are you doing here?”

  Gracing her with a formal bow, he said, “Like a true prince, I’ve come to rescue a lady in distress.”

  “But—”

  Fingers to her quivering lips, he said, “Stop your conciliatory speech. I am yours.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “I mean, I surrender. I saw your face in the newspaper. To wash away the sadness in your eyes, I would gladly give ten thousand of my lives were they mine to give. Alas, all I have to offer is one. And so it is with swallowed pride, I offer myself unto you, Lucy Gordon. In but a day’s time, I will again be a frog. And all you have wished for will be yours.”

  When he fell to one knee before her, she was crying so hard that she could barely see him when she drew him back to his full height. “I-I told you I never again wanted to see you on your knees, Wolfe. And you’re not going to be a frog because, just like I told you that night at the cottage, I love you. The curse truly is broken.”

  “Are you sure?” Dawning hope laced with understanding brightened his dark gaze. “Because if you are not...all of this,” he said, sweeping his arm to take in the blinding stage lights and whispering crowd and her glaring father. “...Can still be yours.”

  She shook her head. “Without you, it wouldn’t mean a thing. But the fact that you were willing to trade your very life for my happiness...” Her throat was too full of her love for him to go on.

  Crushing her in a hug, he said, “I have missed you, Lucy Gordon. The smell of your hair and breath. The sound of your laughter and happy tears. For over a millennium, I believed women to be subservient to men, but seeing how empty I felt in just one week not by your side, I finally see what the sorceress must have been trying to teach me. That men and women are not only equal but necessary to one other. You fill me in such ways as I have never been filled before. I am so sorry if my last words at the cottage hurt you. Here—now—I vow to never again cause you pain.”

  “Lucy?” her father said. “While this latest fiasco of yours is entertaining, you do still have an apology to deliver.”

  “Okay.” Her gaze still locked with Wolfe’s, she said, “Here goes... I’m sorry, Dad, but something better than a stuffy old career in biology just hopped along.” A week earlier, Lucy wouldn’t have dreamed of offending her father or this prestigious crowd, but that had been before realizing the true source of her dreams—not finding fame, but love.

  ***

  Later, Lucy fell onto the posh hotel bed, dragging Wolfe by his tie along with her.

  Roses. The room smelled of dozens and dozens of roses: red, yellow, white, lavender, and all for her, reminding her fairy tales did come true.

  The elegant suite with its gilded furniture and soft ivory everything else. The priceless penthouse view of glorious n
ighttime London. Most especially of all, her very own Prince Charming, who just happened to go by the name of Wolfe.

  “Happy?” he asked, lying on his side, stroking her hair.

  Snuggling closer, she nodded. “All in one day, you’ve delivered my every dream. Thank you.”

  Tugging one of her curls, he shrugged. “You gave me life. And in doing so, you sacrificed your professional dreams.”

  “You’re wrong. Those were old dreams. Shallow dreams.”

  “What of earning your father’s respect?”

  Now it was her turn to shrug. “Right now, I’m so high on our future, I could give a flip what he thinks. I don’t know, maybe in forty or fifty years, when the newness of us wears off, I’ll sometimes think of him and wish for more, but I figure if I ever need anyone to talk to about him, you’ll always be there.”

  “Aye.”

  “I love you, Wolfe. Even if I could have my father’s unconditional respect or professional fame, I’d trade both for one more night with you.”

  “Mmm,” he teased, his smile sexy-slow. “Then let us make it a long one. Here. In this bed. You—naked in my arms.”

  “Okay. Any other requests?”

  “Pop-corn—strung in a chain across your breasts.”

  “Anything else?” she asked, breath hitching when he unfastened the top two buttons of her white blouse.

  “Peanut butter. Lots and lots of peanut butter decorating your belly for me to lick off.”

  “Hungry, are you?”

  “Starving...” Rolling atop her, bracing his elbows on the bed while smoothing mischievous hair back from her eyes, he said, “You are so lovely. Sometimes, just looking at you, I get a pang in my chest.”

  “And this is supposed to be a good thing?” she teased.

  “Aye,” he kissed the tip of her nose. “For it reminds me how much you mean to me, and how much I still have to learn.”

  “About what?”

  “You. Me. This new world.”

  “Pace yourself,” she said. “We have the rest of our lives to figure all of it out.”

  “In that case,” he emitted a sexy growl while nuzzling the side of her neck. “We will surely have time for this.” When she giggled, he parted the collar of her blouse, baring her throat to his hot, open-mouthed kisses that turned her quivery with anticipation.

  One by one, he unfastened her all-too-many buttons, easing himself off of her, then parting the halves of her shirt, skimming his rough hand over her smooth abdomen and up to her breasts. Pausing over the lacy cups of her bra, he said, “Thought I told you no more undergarments?”

  “Ever?”

  “Aye.”

  “Even during a formal event like the conference, I’m supposed to let it all hang free just in case some sex-starved medieval warrior strolls onstage?”

  “There had better not be any man you would even think of lying with besides me, Lucy Gordon.”

  “Oh, of course,” she said with a grinning nod. “That’s what I meant.”

  He’d long ago removed his suit coat, and now loosened then yanked off his tie. “Damned nuisance these things.”

  “But you sure looked handsome wearing it. I like your hair, too.” She skimmed her fingers over his shorn mane, torn as to which of his looks she’d most preferred. Rock solid on the notion that she wholly and completely loved all of him, no matter how he wore his hair or clothes.

  “As much as you like this?” His dark gaze locked with hers as he swept his hand up, up her skirt.

  She closed her eyes and gasped when his fingers found her wicked surprise. The one she’d never dared dream he’d discover.

  “I see you have learned to follow at least some of my orders.”

  “O-only some,” she said with a startled smile when he touched those roving fingers of his to her humming need.

  “Tis only some that are of importance...” After a heated kiss, he added, “At the moment, you, never again wearing undergarments ranks at the top of my list.”

  “F-fabulous...” Wriggling on top of him, her breasts mounded against his chest, she loved the way that much lower, while the great prince claimed to be in control, her touch had him once again rock hard. “Tell me more about your list.”

  Hand at the back of her head, he pressed her still closer for a fierce claiming kiss.

  When they’d both had their fill of kissing, she sat up. Skirt scrunched high, she spread her legs, pushing herself up only to ease down, swallowing him whole.

  He dug his fingers into her thighs and she rode him, showing him who was truly issuing orders—their passion.

  He tried rising up to take control but she just arched her head back, easing her lips into the confident smile of a woman well on her way to staging a sexual coup!

  “Bloody hell, wench,” he said on a groan. “What have you done?”

  “Claimed you.”

  “But I have already claimed you.”

  “Wrong,” she said, pleasure-filled frissons rocking her when he thrust particularly deep. Eyes closed, she tossed back her head, nipples rock hard and swollen, aching for her love’s touch. “T-this latest battle is fascinating,” she said, “b-but do you think you could concentrate on the matter at hand?” To ensure there was no confusion as to her request, she removed her blouse and bra, then delivered his hands to her breasts, planting his palms square across the hungry buds. “They need you.”

  “Aye, milady. And I need them.” He stole her breath by teasing the tips of her nipples with the pads of his thumbs.

  Riding faster, deeper, harder, she lost all track of time and place. The only thing she knew was that for the first time in her life she felt wholly cherished. And beautiful. If she wasn’t soon granted release, she’d surely melt of anticipated pleasure!

  Hands on her hips, as the prince rose up, he pressed her down, filling her mind, body and soul with his magnificent thrusts.

  “Yes...” she mewed, hands on his, touching her own hands to her aching breasts.

  Tearing from the intensity of the arduous emotional climb, she rode on, pounding him into her, granting him access to not just her body but her soul. Starving, desperate, quivering for all he had to give and more, she cried out when white-hot light momentarily struck her blind, and then white-hot pleasure struck her speechless as well, while his seed filled her womb.

  She had so much to say to this amazing man but, at the moment, all she could do was sit perilously still, fingers laced with his, feeling him, loving him still deep inside. Hoping, praying he was still every bit as virile as he’d been a thousand years before. For though he hadn’t asked her to marry him, she knew he soon would. One other thing she knew, was that she wanted to be heavy with his child. She wanted to feel part of him growing deep within her, her breasts full with nourishing milk from which their sons and daughters would draw strength.

  She wanted to then see her brood grow strong together under the loving gaze of their father, whom she knew from his many kindly changes toward her and especially from his story that night at the Hoof and Toe, that he had finally, awesomely changed for the better.

  “I love you,” she said while he eased himself upright, wrapping his great arms around her in a hug.

  “Aye,” he said, brushing fallen hair back from her eyes. “I love you, too.”

  ***

  Late that night, Lucy stood at their suite’s window, staring at the full moon’s sparkle on the winding Thames. Hand to her womb, she wondered what were the odds of her already carrying the prince’s child?

  Probably slim, seeing how she was no longer a high school virgin and actually wanting a baby, but still, she thought with a secret smile—it never hurt to hope.

  After all, wasn’t it hope that had brought Wolfe to her in the first place?

  Turning back to the bed, to the sight of her beloved, sound asleep, his newly cropped hair dark against the white pillow, she went to him, pressing a kiss to his cheek before easing between the cool sheets beside him.


  Judging by the heat already humming between her legs at just grazing her naked backside to his groin, she doubted they’d find sleep for long, but until then, she needed to rest up for the delicious night ahead.

  Wolfe stirred, tossing his arm over his wee one’s ripe hips. Hand possessively curved over her belly, he cinched her close. After a millennium of escaping nighttime predators, it took but a breath to wake him. But here, nesting beside the woman he had searched a thousand years to find, he was not awake out of a need to defend, but to love.

  ***

  After even more heady lovemaking, then falling asleep in her prince’s safe, strong arms, Lucy woke to bright sun streaming through open drapes.

  In the mood for being pampered and lazy, she stretched. Would Wolfe prefer waffles or eggs from room service? Deciding the simplest course would be asking him, she turned to her beloved only to cover her mouth in horror.

  Where Wolfe had once lain beside her, now sat a frog.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX

  “No...” Lucy calmly said through a wall of pending tears. She shook her head for extra vehemence. “It’s not him. Could never be him...”

  Ever-so-gently, she scooped the frog into her palm, vision blurred as agonizing pain mixed with stubborn refusal to see the black diamonds on his purple ventral and those long, long lashes that had prompted their first kiss.

  Try again, her broken heart implored.

  Kiss him again.

  It’ll work.

  It has to work.

  But she did kiss him again—and again and again, but nothing happened.

  Trembling all over, knees too weak to stand, Lucy crumpled onto the bed, cradling him to her chest, rocking while crying.

  Days earlier, her worst fear had been Wolfe playing her for a fool, she’d then mourned his leaving, but nothing could’ve prepared her for this—knowing she literally held him in the palm of her hand but was powerless to save him. It was insane.

  “I love you, Wolfe. I swear to God, I love you.” Yet obviously, she hadn’t loved him enough, or this wouldn’t have happened. Her love hadn’t been strong enough to save him.