I put my contacts back in and climbed into the shower. After a few moments, I heard West at the sink. Sliding the curtain aside, I poked my head out, raising my eyebrows. “This is… strange. There’s my husband, brushing his teeth while I’m showering.”
He watched me through the fogging mirror, grinning with the toothbrush in his mouth. Wearing only boxers, he finished quickly, and I cringed at the deep scratches in his shoulders. “Oh, West. Your back is a mess. I’m so sorry.”
“Are you opposed to me getting in there with you… as long as I plan to be efficient and not touch?”
“You are an excellent planner, Mr. Perry. However, when it comes to us, our plans seem to always fall through.”
He smirked, kicking his boxers off.
I stepped back, letting him have the shower. Wrapping my arms around my chest, I watched the water cascade over his skin, tightening my grip on the backs of my upper arms.
“You look uncomfortable.”
“I never actually… showered… with you before. Not even in North Carolina, the first time. Not with… anyone.”
“Well, the best part of showering with me is…,” he stepped closer, and I held my breath as he wrapped his arms around me, lifting me and turning so that I stood under the hot water stream. “I am not a hot water hog.”
I laughed, water pouring over my lips and touching my tongue. “Well, I’m thankful for that.”
With his arms still around me, I could feel every part of his body against mine. “What are you staring at?”
“What?”
“Did you see the gray?”
“What, your hair? You have no gray hair.”
“It’s on the left side of my head.” He lowered his head so that I could see, and as he did, his mouth touched the nape of my neck. I closed my eyes, shivering.
“You’re… silly… you don’t have one gray hair.”
“Robert E. Lee went into the army with a few flecks, and came back all gray.” His hand slid down my back, and I exhaled quickly as he tugged me closer to him.
Distracted, I opened my eyes and gave him a dubious look. “Lee was in the army for thirty-two years, West.”
“Thirty-two years,” he whispered, his wet lips claiming mine. “I only fought with him for three.”
“You were a confederate?” I demanded. He lifted me slightly, wrapping my leg around his waist.
“Antietam,” his husky voice filled my mind as his mouth closed over my earlobe. I dissolved, clinging to him as he kissed a slow trail down my shoulder.
“Your team lost,” I moaned softly as his fingers slid over my thighs.
He froze, opening his eyes. “Incorrect, Mrs. Perry.”
“What?” I pressed against his hand, my breathing accelerated. “Lincoln won.”
“Inconclusive,” he punched the faucet, turning the water off and carrying me from the shower, dripping wet. He lowered me to the bed.
“Lincoln would never have announced the Emancipation Proclamation if… if he hadn’t… Oh, West,” I arched my back against his lips as he traced them over my hip bone.
“…which Lincoln enforced solely on his military rule, not his presidency. John Quincy Adams proposed abolishing slavery in 1839, twenty-four years earlier.”
“Oh my God, stop talking,” I cried, writhing each time he moved his lips away from my inner thigh to speak.
“Why? I thought you loved my history lessons,” he teased, his mouth moving to my abdomen.
“I want you,” I opened my eyes as he hovered over me, his gaze finding mine.
“Are you sure?”
Before I could answer, he thrust forward, and I sobered against the instant pain. Curling my fingers at the sheet desperately, I cringed. “I can’t believe… I have to go through this… twice,” I winced, trying to back away from the sting.
“Hold on,” he soothed, continuing his path of kisses along my inner arm as he held me, perfectly still. “Are you okay?”
“No,” I pushed against him, and as he turned, I moved over him, straddling. “I also can’t believe I married a confederate soldier.”
He groaned a laugh as I began to move over him. He gripped my hips in his wide palms.
“I fought for America in World War II. Does that redeem me?”
“What branch?”
“Marines.”
“West,” I fell over him, disappearing into the dizzying moment that I remembered so well with him. Pleasuring sensations coursed through my body. He turned us again, moving over me.
“Roam,” he collapsed, propping himself over my chest to allow me room to breathe. “Jesus Christ.”
“Your no-touching plan was a complete failure.”
He grinned. “Are you okay?”
“Of course I am… pesky second virginity… minor annoyance.”
“No, baby. I mean… are you okay,” he touched my forehead gently. “In there.”
I sighed, immediately thinking of Troy.
The memory of his cold eyes crept under my skin, and West groaned, sliding over to lie on his back and gather me into his arms. Breathing heavily, he sighed. “Time.”
“We don’t have as much as we used to.”
“We already have more that we ever did… together.”
“His numbers should have changed. If we move through the fountain, they’ll disappear and then come back. He’ll know exactly where we are.” I pressed my face into his bare chest. “Unless he’s already in 1912.”
“Then we go, Roam. And we fight.”
Chapter Twenty-One
Grant Park swarmed with visitors as the hazy, summer sun reached the highest point of the day. In only a few hours, West had managed to pick up the orders he’d placed as a rush for the 1912 clothing. What money can buy, I thought, lightly drawing my fingertips over the blue, Edwardian-style satin and taffeta dress. A crinkled, metallic gold organza sash below my breasts matched the overlaying skirt braid embroidered with blue, glass beads.
“You’re so beautiful,” West gathered my hair into his hands. “I wish it was your body coming with us.”
“Was Amina pretty?”
He tucked his head to the side, his eyes focused on the ceiling. “Exotic. Tan skin, jet-black hair, petite… but always, those green eyes.”
“Was she… pregnant?”
He pressed his forehead to mine. “Maybe.”
“I know this is hard.” I kissed him, encouraging, my eyes searching his. “I’m here now. Please tell me what happened.”
I waited. He sat down on the unmade bed heavily, pulling me toward him. “I spent three weeks with you. Troy found us. He killed your mother.”
Twisting my wedding ring, I held my breath.
“He lured you away from me, making you think your mother was still alive and in danger. A man named Samuel attacked me as I returned to our home with supplies. I killed him with his own dagger. By the time I made it back to our home… you were gone.”
“Samuel… oh, my God… Logan?”
“Yes.”
I buried my face in my hands, my heart jabbing uncomfortably into my ribs. “How did Troy kill me?”
West met my eyes. “He strangled you.”
I flashed to the castle, my fingers going to my throat at the memory of Troy’s hands on my neck. Squeeze, you demented monster.
Our conversation left me unsettled as I stared at my numbers in the sunlight. West’s heavy bag contained clothing, documents and money. Just as I’d asked, he’d purchased the sword. As I touched the dark sheathe, I knew that I could use the blade as efficiently as I had in the castle. “I can bring this on the ship?”
“First class passengers were indulged.”
He tucked the sword into our bag, and carried a holstered pistol at his hip.
People stared at us as we walked to the fountain, and I assumed they expected us to start trading lines for a play.
“We’re just going through, dressed like this, in broad daylight?”
“Roam, they
’re oblivious. Half of them are buried in their phones. We disappear, and we’re clever street actors. Ooh, ahh, and then nobody will care. That’s the way it is today.”
“Okay,” I shrugged, nodding. “So, we’re also not allowed in the fountain.”
He winked. “Well, I don’t think they’ll have time to arrest us.”
I took a steadying breath. “Don’t let go of me, okay?”
“Never, baby.”
As we walked across the vast, green spread of grass to the bursting, Buckingham fountain, I realized that he was right. Nobody really cares, or they think we’re crazy actors.
“Are you sure?” He wrapped my hand in his, his thumb brushing my palm reassuringly.
“Yes.”
He thrust our arms into the cool water…
And we were gone.
The moment we traveled, I felt West’s grip on my hand increase to a crushing hold. His curse drew my attention in the darkness; I watched the numbers change on his arm as he growled painfully.
“What… why did that happen?” I looked down at my arm. The numbers remained for North Carolina.
“Come on,” he straightened, helping me down from the high, stone wall of the fountain. The night air touched my skin and I shivered, tucking closer to him.
“What’s the date?”
“Tuesday, April ninth. 1912.”
“Why did my numbers travel, and yours change?”
“I don’t know. Let’s get to a safe place,” he turned us down a road, gesturing to an inn along the city street. “I stayed there the last time I traveled. We’re safe there.”
The innkeeper appeared perturbed at our late-night arrival, but the handful of cash from West induced instant hospitality. “Right this way, Mr. and Mrs. Perry,” he led us to a small bedroom up one flight of steps, and I moved through the arched doorway, watching West secure the lock on the door before checking the windows.
“This is the first inn that we come to. Wouldn’t Troy come here, too?”
“I have no idea.” He reached for my arm, extending my elbow and pushing the sleeve of my gown upwards. The numbers were darkened against my tanned skin. “You brought your numbers. I don’t know why. As we move, mine will change. I need to prepare for that.”
I knew this West; survival mode, efficient, unfeeling. Turning, I caught my reflection in the crude mirror over a chest of drawers.
Amina, at least two inches shorter than me, stared back, and I took comfort in my own green gaze. West was right- exotic, beautiful, and striking with her prominent cheekbones and wide eyes. “Do we sleep here tonight?”
“Yes,” he checked the window for the second time before turning to me.
Taking me in, he stepped back, breathing slowly. “It’s been so long… since I held this you.”
“Well, hold away.” I held my arms out, listening to the sound of my own voice. “What is this accent?”
“Arabic,” he smiled slowly, lifting his eyes. “Do you remember how to speak the language?”
“Can you speak Arabic?” I asked, incredulous.
“Yes.”
“How many languages do you speak?”
“Arabic… English… French, Spanish,” he cupped my face in his hands, closing his eyes. “Berber. Dutch. I could go on, but I need to ask you something.”
“What?” I breathed, his touch heating my skin.
“Can I kiss you? Will that make you… uncomfortable?”
“Because I’m Amina?” I laughed, loving the way my tongue rolled off of words on their own accord. “West, you delivered Eva when I was Annie. I’m pretty sure I’m over it.”
“Good.” His mouth found mine, and I fumbled, realizing that Amina’s lips were much bigger, like my own when I cried too hard.
“You taste like… Christmas,” I murmured at the peppermint toothpaste, thankful that he kept his own body when we traveled. “Are we still going on the Titanic?”
He pulled away, sighing. “Yes.”
“I told Troy… once… that I’d have loved to step foot on the Titanic.” I watched West closely at my admission, watching him struggle with his anger. “What?”
“The idea of luring him there… where there is no escape.”
“We’ll get on in Cherbourg, and off in Ireland. We discussed this.” I reached for his hand, and he touched my wedding ring.
“We can’t fail.” I knew he was thinking of Eva.
“Then we go. If he’s going follow us, he’ll connect the dates and try for the Titanic. I just… know it.”
“You know him better than I do. Do you think he’ll come after you, or Eva?”
I remembered Troy’s body next to mine in the giant, ebony bed. My skin crawled at the memory of his mouth on my skin. “He’ll come for me. He’s… obsessed. If he wasn’t, he wouldn’t have followed me, century after century.”
West reached for me, gripping me tightly. “I agree.”
“Then we’re going?” I pulled nervously at the skirt of my dress.
“We’ll leave in the morning. I know where we can get a car.”
“Of course you do, my resourceful husband.”
By noon the following day, we were well on our way to Cherbourg. West drove the 1911 Mercedes town car, entertaining me with the history of Morocco and France. “It was just in March of 1912 when Sultan Abdelhafid, in the Treaty of Fez, gave up the sovereignty.”
“That’s why so many speak French there, now.” I realized. “I can’t believe I didn’t know that.”
He grinned, adjusting the stick shift on the car. “What? My Roam didn’t know something about history?”
“Stop it. There’s a lot I don’t know.”
“Let’s stop for lunch,” he suggested, gesturing to a corner restaurant. “We have a two hour window to board in Cherbourg, and we’re making good time.”
Once seated in the restaurant, I covered my stomach, nausea unsettling. As a waiter brought us drinks, I struggled with strange, emotional tears. “West, I need to ask you something.”
He raised his eyes, waiting.
“When… time passed… when I was in the castle… did you consider going back to Laurel?”
He reached for my tears, shaking his head. “Hey. Are you kidding me?”
“I’m sorry, I don’t know what’s wrong with me.”
“You’re probably pregnant,” he said softly, gesturing to my body. “Amina, I mean. We suspected before she died.”
“Great,” I murmured.
“No, I never once considered being with Laurel again. Or… anyone.” His eyes focused on my hands.
“Anyone who?”
“Morgan admitted that she was having feelings for me.”
I stared at him, finally pursing my lips together and looking down. “You know, she called you Hottie McHistory all through senior year.”
He laughed, shaking his head. “Well, she was angry with herself, and I couldn’t reciprocate, so she… left for a while. I’m so glad that she and Jason are together… in this life.”
“Jason… carried you through the gate, after you were shot,” I sat back, all hopes for eating eliminated as I thought of that first night in the castle.
“You saw that?”
“He made me… watch you leave,” I sniffed. “I got very sick that night… I had a fever, and pneumonia. I was sick for ten days.”
The food arrived, and West gestured to my plate. “Tell me about Princeton.”
His abrupt change in subject was obvious; he wanted me to eat.
I described my dorm room, my roommate, and my instructors as I ate. “Since I’m in the History of Science program, my courses include a lot of biology and medical history.”
“I keep meaning to ask you… what made you choose that program?”
I lowered my fork, raising my eyes to his. “Immortality intrigues me.”
He sat back, dropping his napkin to the table. “Each life makes its own imitation of immortality,” he leaned forward slightly, as if shari
ng a secret. “Stephen King.”
I smiled, nodding. “You know, I am really lucky that you are so incredibly intelligent, handsome, and charming. It would have sucked to spend lifetime after lifetime with an… ugly asshole.”
“First, those words sound ridiculous coming from you,” his shoulders shook as he struggled to contain his laughter. “And secondly, please don’t curse,” he teased.
“I’m sorry,” I giggled, my accent ringing even in my laughter. “Come on, let’s go.”
In the town car once more, we were only four hours from Cherbourg. I slid the taffeta sleeve of my gown up my arm, staring at my numbers.
“Still North Carolina, right?”
“You’d have known if they changed. I can’t hold the pain back like you do.”
“You can, if you focus. I’ve seen you do it.”
“So… just the two of us, on the White Star Line, mingling with the Guggenheims and Strauses.”
“Just one Guggenheim… and his mistress,” West corrected, tucking me against his shoulder.
“And you have tickets?”
“Taken care of. First class.”
“West, I don’t see how we won’t change history by going on the ship.”
“We may… our own, that is. We can’t change other people’s paths or histories. Maybe we’ll see our names on a passenger list when we return, who knows.”
“But…,” I wrapped my left hand in my right, twisting my diamond ring. “The Peterhof Fountains are fine- no explosion, no deaths. We made history, and then changed it, with no repercussions. If we make history by going on this doomed ship, couldn’t we…,”
“If you tell one person about an iceberg, I can’t guarantee that the world we return to… in 2014… will be the same world. That includes our families, Roam.”
His tone, so serious, made me pull away. “I understand.”
“No, I understand your compassion. But we can’t risk changing anything.”
“Okay.”
He drove in silence for a while as I contemplated his words.
The nausea returned, and I shifted uncomfortably, pulling a heavy shawl around my shoulders. Back at the hotel, West had transferred all of our items into a small trunk, leaving the duffle bag we’d brought stuffed under the bed of the inn.
“They’ll let you take that pistol on the ship?” I gestured to the holster at his side.
Rise (Roam Series, Book Three) Page 19