"There were complications during the operation, and infection afterward. They told me it was unlikely I would ever bear another child."
She felt the sound he made, a wordless murmur of understanding and comfort, and it soothed her.
It was hours after they'd taken her baby away before Nick appeared at her bedside. He'd been drinking. Paige could smell both Scotch and a sweet, pungent perfume when he leaned over and pressed his lips to her forehead. She'd looked up at his wicked, handsome face, his curly black hair, and he might have been a stranger. Any feelings she'd had for him had died with the death of her baby.
"We divorced." Paige remembered the appalling emptiness of her body, the agony of mourning the baby. She'd felt at times that she was losing her mind, and that was when she'd started using textbooks to distract her, to draw her thoughts away from the mental picture of her naked blue baby, forcing herself to memorize whatever was between the pages of whatever textbook she happened to pick up. Always a good student, she'd become an exceptional one. The textbooks gradually became medical tomes, and when the time came she was able to qualify easily for the faculty of medicine.
"I was probably wrong, but I had a feeling that if she'd had better medical care, she might have lived," Paige confided softly. "So I became an obstetrician."
The medical training was gruesomely difficult. Chauvinism was alive and well in the faculty of medicine. She'd learned to survive, to be tough, to ignore the blatant sexism. She'd graduated with the offer of a residency at Grace Hospital, renowned for its obstetrical care.
"I met Sam during my residency, and we were friends from the start. We set up a practice together, and eventually opened our own clinic."
A log shifted in the fireplace. The coal oil in the lantern had burned low, and now the soft light flickered and went out.
Paige moved her leg, planning to get up and tend to the lamp, but Myles's arm around her shoulders held her firm.
His deep voice was quiet and slow, his lips so close to her ear she could feel his breath.
"You said something earlier, Paige. You said, 'I've only fallen in love once before.' What did you mean by that? Before what?"
Her mouth fell open in horror, and she was grateful for the darkness of the room, because her face felt as though the sparks in the fireplace had set fire to her skin.
"Paige?"
He wasn't going to let it pass, she knew that. She knew him. Under the quiet southern gentleman exterior was tempered steel, a stubborn nature that more than matched her own.
God, why had she let her mouth run off with her like that? Talk about a Freudian slip...
Well, she was no coy Victorian damsel, he was well aware of that by now. And if he was too thick to figure it out on his own, she'd damned well spell it out for him. She took a deep breath and swallowed.
"I meant that I've somehow managed to fall in love with you, Myles Baldwin." My God, she'd actually said it. She gulped and tried once again to get up.
She had to move away from him; she was sure he could feel the thundering of her heart. She had a lump in her chest that seemed to be moving into her throat, threatening to choke her.
But he held her against him, effortlessly preventing her from moving. A long, shuddering sigh went through him.
"I thought perhaps that might be what you meant, Miss Randolph." There was a slight tremor in his voice. Then he was turning her toward him, lifting her across him so she was cradled in his arms, her breasts tight against his chest, her bottom resting in his lap.
"I hoped that's what you meant, dearest Paige. Because I think I've been in love with you from the first moment I saw you."
Before she could fully absorb the words, his mouth came down on hers, his lips at first soft against her own, almost gentle.
Soon, though, the gentleness changed to urgency. Paige felt as though the heat from the fire had entered her pores. She was melting inside, a wave of volcanic lava flowing downward, slow and sweet, in response to his mouth, his tongue, his strong hands stroking her body.
"I want you, Paige." His voice was hoarse, urgent. "Day and night, you're all I think about. You're driving me mad." His fingers trembled at her neck, fumbling at the dozens of buttons that held her blouse closed. Impatient, she raised her hand and deftly undid the closures for him, forgetting for a moment that she was still wearing the long underwear she'd put on that morning.
He made short work of those larger buttons, however, stripping cotton shirtwaist and flannel long johns away from her shoulders and off her arms, revealing her lacy bra.
He gave an exclamation of surprise, cupping her aching breasts in his palms, studying the bra a moment before his lips trailed down her throat, his tongue testing the pulse at the nape, then tracing a path to first one nipple and then the other.
She gasped as his mouth closed over her, sending burning heat and dampness through the delicate lace and shooting downward to her core.
A growl of frustration came from his throat as he tried to find the closure to her bra.
"What the hell is this infernal contraption," he cursed, and she laughed, a shaky laugh, showing him the hidden front closure and then allowing the scrap of lace to slide slowly, provocatively, down her arms and off.
Then his lips were tugging at her breast in earnest, expertly teasing, nipping, and soothing, his teeth making her gasp with pleasure, his tongue sending those delicious licks of flame shooting down her body. His hands were adept at finding the fastening of her skirt, and in one impatient motion he stripped off her petticoats and underwear, leaving her bare. "Not fair," she whispered. "I'm naked and you're not."
Swiftly, he lifted her off of him and stood up, his clothing joining hers in a pile on the floor. He eased her back on the settee, kneeling beside it, caressing her with those long fingered hands.
Her breath caught in wonder as the firelight played over his aroused, naked body. He was a magnificent man, long limbed, broad shouldered, slender hipped, his chest matted with curls that gleamed golden in the flickering light of the fire. His gray eyes glowed, filled with admiration as he studied her naked body, taking his time, tracing her shape with a gaze so intense it sent shivers of delight coursing through her.
A smile played across his lips. "I have a good imagination, but it fell far short of the real thing this time," he breathed. "You are ravishing, my love."
And then his lips followed the path his eyes had traveled a moment earlier, tracing a burning path across her breasts, down her abdomen, his strong hands gently rearranging her, urging her legs apart.
She gasped as his tongue touched, teased. Her eyes closed as silver ripples of delight coursed through her. Her hands clutched at his hair as the ripples became waves she could barely endure.
His mouth was hot and sweet, and his tongue—God, his tongue ...
Her body convulsed, and a cry erupted from her throat as heat centered, exploded, consumed her in a wash of ecstasy.
"Paige, come here to me."
His voice sounded strangled. Impatient now, panting with need, he spread the afghan and lifted her in one swooping motion down to the carpet. She cried out again as he entered her and immediately began to move, a cry of joy, of triumph, of thanksgiving. She was exactly where she longed to be, in his arms, pinioned by his long, strong body.
There was nothing gentle about this joining. He drove into her with savage abandon, his body and her own soon wet with sweat.
She wrapped herself around him, arms and legs locking him in place, her body trembling uncontrollably as the waves began again, building slowly at first, and then, with his guttural cry resounding through every pore, her own shuddering climax slammed through her, fading slowly into a delicious, warm stillness, a lethargic peace so encompassing she wondered if she could ever move again.
He collapsed on the carpet at her side, his hair roughened legs still entwined with hers, his arms holding her, his eyes closed. He tipped his head and nuzzled her jaw in lazy contentment.
"You smell like roses."
"Ummm." Her voice was languid, lazy. "I bought rose water. I used to have this rose based perfume I loved, and I miss it."
They were quiet, and then she said, "You're very good at this, you know." Her breathing was slowly returning to normal, but aftershocks of pleasure were still shooting through her nerve endings. "You've obviously had much more practice at it than I have." The thought of him with other women sent a distinct twinge of jealousy through her.
"I devoutly hope so." He adjusted his body so her head rested more comfortably on his shoulder. "Women are not expected to have a wealth of experience at such things."
"Decent unmarried women of this era, you mean."
She felt him nod. "Decent unmarried women, I mean."
Curiosity was getting the best of her. "So I suppose you practiced a lot with the other kind, the women considered not so decent?"
His voice was thick and sleepy. "A gentleman doesn't discuss such things with a lady."
She made a rude noise. "The last thing I want to be is a lady. From what I can see, ladies in this day and age don't have a whole lot of fun."
"They don't wear this kind of underwear, either." She could tell he was smiling. "If that's a fair sampling of the undergarments from your time, I'd say the world must have progressed rather nicely."
Paige thought over what he'd just said. She propped herself on an elbow so she could see him. His eyes were closed, and she noticed that he had incredibly long, golden tipped eyelashes.
She trailed a finger down his face, loving the high cheekbones, carved hollows, and strong jaw, the slight roughness of his skin where his beard had grown since he'd shaved that morning.
"You believe me now, don't you, Myles? That I came here from the future?" She wasn't certain why it should be so, but it meant everything to her, to have him believe her.
He opened his eyes and looked up at her, his contentment obvious, his love for her just as obvious. "Yes, my dear, I do. I think I've believed you for some time now, even though I was skeptical." He closed his eyes again. "But ever since I saw you in those damn trousers of yours, I knew that all the things you said were real and true."
She frowned, puzzled. "My jeans? But I don't understand why my jeans'd convince you when there's so much other stuff I've told you about that I couldn't possibly have made up, about medical science, and microwaves and dishwashers and—well, just everything."
He grasped her shoulders and rolled her over onto his body so she was resting full length on top of him, and he took her head in his hands, threading his fingers through her wild curls, locking her green gaze with eyes that shone silver in the firelight.
"You were totally comfortable in those outrageous pants, Paige. You didn't even remember you were wearing them until I pointed it out."
She still didn't understand. "Of course I was comfortable. Why shouldn't I be? I used to wear them all the time, they were my favorite casual clothing."
He smiled, and she thought it was a sad smile.
"Exactly. When I got over the shock of seeing you in them and thought it over, I realized that you must have worn them often before, to be so at ease in them, and you couldn't possibly have done that unless you were from some other era, just as you kept insisting you were. Women here just don't wear denim trousers."
"Saved by the seat of my pants," she sighed, making a joke of it all because she was perilously close to tears.
His hands cupped her buttocks, and she could feel him growing hard against her belly. "I absolutely forbid you to wear those pants around anyone but me," he growled. "I've had nightmares about you and those damnable garments. Give me your word, Paige."
She grinned against his chest, rubbing her cheek against the soft mat of hair, feeling desire uncurl like a sleepy cat inside her stomach.
"What do I get if I promise?"
He made an impatient sound and captured her mouth in a kiss that became urgent. He moved against her in a way she couldn't misinterpret.
"Okay," she gasped. "You win. You have my word." She lifted her hips and took him inside her, familiar and yet so new and strange, resting her hands on his chest, tipping her head back, closing her eyes, rocking in age old rhythm as their hunger built to unbearable heights.
She heard him growl, "I love you, Paige," and she wanted to reply, but passion had stolen away her ability to form words.
So she showed him, with her body and her soul, crying out a moment before him, falling forward on his chest exhausted, filled with profound peace. There was the strangest sensation inside of her, one it took a while to decipher.
Gradually, she realized that for the first time in years—perhaps for the first time in her entire adult life—she wasn't lonely anymore.
Now and Then: Chapter Twelve
"That fire's going to go out unless I put more wood on it. And I have to get back to the fort."
They'd lain entwined on the carpet, half asleep, while the flames died to embers and a chill crept into the room.
Myles stirred now, getting to his feet and then lifting her to the settee, wrapping the afghan around her when she shivered. He pulled on his long underwear, socks, and pants, and then stoked the fire.
"I wish you could stay," she sighed. It would be heaven to wake up beside him in the morning, to lie cuddled close and warm in his arms.
He laid a small log on the glowing embers and waited until it caught before he turned to smile at her. "I do too, darling, but the entire fort and then the whole town would know that I came riding in from your house during the small hours of the morning." A frown creased his brow. "We're going to have to be discreet, Paige. That is, of course, if you want to attract patients and become known as a respectable woman's doctor in this town. Being known as my mistress would affect me very little, and you a great deal."
It went against every instinct, but she knew he was right.
Treating Helen Gillespie had shown her how much she wanted to practice her profession, and she was all too aware of the rigid moral code of the times.
When he was dressed, Myles swept her up in his arms and carried her along the hallway to her bedroom. He found her nightshirt—his nightshirt—and put it on her.
"Who made this for you?" She'd always wondered.
"My mother." His voice was tender. "She was beautiful, just as you are."
"But I can't sew anything except incisions."
He laughed, tucking her under the sheets and quilts as if she were a child. The kiss he gave her was anything but fatherly, however. "Sleep well, my lady. I'll be back to see you soon."
Exhausted from lovemaking as well as the long ride the day before, Paige was still in bed when Rob Cameron arrived at her door the next forenoon.
Only half awake, she leapt up when the knocking began, scrabbling for a robe to put on over her nightgown. The bedroom was warm, Myles had lit the small heater before he left, and stoked the other fires as well.
Unable to find a robe, Paige wrapped a huge shawl around her shoulders and staggered to the door, feeling as if she were drugged.
"Rob. Good morning." Half blinded by the brilliance of the sunshine, she squinted at the stocky policeman. "Lord, what time is it?"
"My apologies, Paige." His already ruddy face had flushed brick red at the sight of her nightgown. "I'm sorry to get ye out of bed. I was sure ye'd be up and about by now. I came by because I thought ye might fancy a bit of fresh meat. I shot a deer out on patrol yesterday." He held up a canvas wrapped parcel. "I'll just put it in the cold locker and be on me way."
He looked so disappointed, like a small boy promised a treat and then deprived of it, that Paige felt guilty.
"No, no. Don't hurry away, Rob. Just give me a few moments to wash and dress and put a pot of coffee on, and then you can come in and share breakfast with me." Hell. She closed the door and scowled. She didn't feel like company this morning. She wanted to laze her way through her chores and review last night, scene by delicious, X-rated scene.
&nbs
p; Which reminded her. She dashed in to check the parlor for odd bits of clothing, grabbing up her bra and panties, her long underwear and petticoat, strewn across the rug.
Half an hour later, Rob sat at her kitchen table, a steaming mug of coffee cupped in his broad, chapped hands.
"I'm getting pretty good at making porridge," she bragged, scooping two generous helpings into bowls. "In fact, I'm not doing too badly at making soup and biscuits, either, thanks to you."
She smiled across at him, thinking how much she valued his friendship. "You're a good teacher, Rob." She set the bowls on the table and slid into her chair. "You're a good friend."
Abruptly, Rob set his cup down, and Paige noticed that his hands were trembling. Sweat stood out on his forehead, and he smoothed his mustache with two fingers. Then he got to his feet, shoulders back, standing at attention, hands curled into tight fists at his sides. His face had turned as scarlet as his tunic, his freckles invisible in the strong wash of color.
Paige stared at him, astonished. "Good grief. What the heck's the matter, Rob? Is it the porridge?"
He took three quick steps and dropped to one knee at her side.
"Paige, I've fallen in love with ye. Would ye do me the great honor of becoming me wife?"
The words tumbled over one another, Rob's Scots accent more pronounced than she'd ever heard it, his broad, earnest face contorted as though he were in pain.
She was speechless for long, endless moments. His ruddy face was only a foot from her own. She stared at him, unable to think of a single thing to say.
Rob cleared his throat. "I realize this is most improper, Paige. I've wanted to find the right moment to ask ye, but somehow it never seems to come."
Paige was wishing frantically that she'd stayed in bed. She wasn't up to this this morning, of all mornings. But the sight of Rob's earnest, open face turned her thoughts from her own discomfort to what he must be feeling. She reached out a hesitant hand and touched his cheek. It was burning hot, as though he had a fever. "Oh, dear Rob. Oh, my God. Rob please, get up, sit back down at the table, let's—let's talk about this, okay?"
Now and Forever: Time Travel Romance Superbundle Page 18