Hanging With A Time Surfer

by Celine Chatillon

  "Y-you w-want to f-freeze everyone on the p-planet?” she stuttered

  He nodded. “It would be fun to try. In theory, if I had a big enough time dampening field I could freeze the entire planet and some of the nearby inhabited planets that are closely listening in to Earth's chatter in this decade as well just in case they wondered what was happening."

  Shelby shook her head in disbelief. Crazy. Insane. It seemed unbelievable and yet ... The evidence stared her in the face as she gazed into the motionless expressions of her colleagues.

  "Don't worry, Shelby. The rest of the universe is progressing normally along the timeline. No harm done."

  "Progressing normally? No harm done?” She felt like fainting, but her business-side kicked in automatically. Hands on hips, she stared daggers at her lover. “Put your clothes on pronto and then un-freeze everyone. We're going back to my place. We've got some serious issues to discuss."

  Chapter Four

  "Quentin, I ... I don't know where to begin."

  Shelby seldom felt speechless. She had always prided herself on acting calm and collected in any tough business situation. It's what Graham had said was her most attractive feature. Even if she was scared shitless or totally confused, she always managed to project a professional exterior to the world. But discovering that her lover possessed the ability to zap people in and out of time upset her. A lot. Quentin had pushed one of her hot buttons.

  "Who says you have to begin anywhere?” He pulled her into his arms, but she remained rigid, unyielding. He dropped his hands and paced away from her. “All right. What do you want to know? Where I come from and what I'm doing here in this backwater place in time and history?"

  "That's a good place to start.” She sat down on the sofa and coolly crossed her legs. “Are you a part of an alien invasion?"

  He laughed and stopped his pacing. “You've watched way too many B-movies. It doesn't work that way. Aliens don't ever invade Earth—it's the other way around."

  "We invade other planets?"

  "To put it bluntly, yes, we do.” He sat down in the chair opposite her. “Some might call it ‘colonizing’ but other species don't take too kindly for two legged, one-nosed, sweaty human beings stinking up their worlds. There's no pleasing everyone in every time I guess."

  "And this ability to time travel—it's a human invention?"

  Quentin appeared about to speak, but then looked as if he thought better of it. “You could say it's an invention humans make use of extensively. Yes, you could say that much about it."

  "You're being very vague."

  He grinned. “I have to be. By law I shouldn't even be talking to you. By law I shouldn't even attempt to time freeze anyone unless my very existence is in peril. By law I'm supposed to remain in my own timeline and stay entirely out of yours. But how's a guy supposed to find that special someone in all the universe if he can't surf the time waves from time to time?"

  Shelby's heartbeat quickened. Was she Quentin's “special someone"? Was there truly only one special someone for each individual in all of time and space? Was their love affair similar to the one depicted in her all-time favorite romantic time travel movie? Then a disconcerting thought occurred to her—he kept mentioning the law.

  "Quentin, are you an outlaw in your own time?"

  His smirk grew into an unabashed grin, dazzling in its brightness. “You're a quick study, Shelby Schwartz. That's probably why I was led here to meet you. You've got what it takes to be a superb time agent."

  "You were led here? By whom? And what the hell is a ‘time agent'? Someone after your naughty hide?"

  The smile disappeared. “Yes, they're after me. You see I used to be one of them—a card-carrying officer of the Time Regulation Agency. We were hired and trained to surf the time waves to protect people throughout history like you. I don't know how he does it, but sometimes the Big-Guy-Upstairs leads us to where we need to go and to the people we need to meet. I never thought I'd ever come across someone like you, but it's happened."

  "Someone like me?"

  "Yes. You're just like me. It's amazing, but true.” He leaned forward in his chair and softened his tone. “It's unbelievable, but it appears Chosen Ones existed before the fortieth century. I wasn't taught that. Our history books have lied to us."

  "Don't they always?” Soft-focused pictures of Christopher Reeve and Jane Seymour walking hand-in-hand dressed in Edwardian era garb from Somewhere in Time danced about in Shelby's head. She sighed. The romantic imagery was irresistible except for one small problem: Quentin didn't behave like the charming, sweet-natured Christopher Reeve. He acted more like James Dean in Rebel Without a Cause.

  "Wait a moment,” she said, trying to talk out the confusion in her mind. “What in the world have you and I got in common? I know I'm human, but I'm not entirely sure about you. You appear to be human in all the right places, but well...” She blushed. “You could be wearing a very convincing disguise of some kind."

  He waggled his eyebrows suggestively. “Very convincing, I'd say.” He reached for her hand. She pulled back.

  "Hold on, I'm still thinking this through. We're from entirely different time periods. You're an outlaw, and I'm a dull, boring law-abiding citizen. I never break the law—ever."

  "You mean there's no law against having loud, rowdy sex in a place of business?” He shook his head and chuckled. “Our history texts paint a very different picture of this period. Your lot threatened the use of nuclear devices in the name of keeping the peace. A handful of countries selfishly devoured most of the food and energy resources as the others struggled to survive. Shall I go on?"

  Shelby shook her head sadly.

  "All right then. I wouldn't be labeling me an outlaw so quickly. Sure, I'm no longer in the employ of the TRA, but it doesn't mean I don't follow a code of ethics when it comes to intersecting timelines. I made sure the timelines were stable before crossing over. That's not the case for many rogue time agents."

  "Then why did you quit the agency?"

  "Quit? Who said anything about quitting? They fired me and they're trying to eliminate me entirely from history all for saving one child's life. I ask you this—what's so wrong with trying to save an innocent's life?"

  "They're trying to kill you? Oh, Quentin..."

  Shelby jumped up from her chair and sat in his lap, holding him close. “Why would your employer want to punish anyone so severely for saving a life? And you think we're a bunch of barbarians in this century? We don't go around executing people for doing good."

  "That hasn't always been the case in human history. Sometimes one innocent must be sacrificed for the good of the whole."

  "True. Still, it doesn't make it right in your case. What explanation did they give?"

  "None. They refused to explain, and I have no right to challenge their decision. I must not have picked the right child to save from imminent disaster, but I was certain I had followed my instructions to the letter. It's as if someone higher up wanted me to screw up so they could fabricate a reason to erase me."

  "Erase you from time?” She held him closer, cradling his head against her breasts. “I'm so glad you got away from them. I can't imagine you not being here with me. Are you safe here in the past?"

  He stroked her back and held onto her tightly. “Not as safe as I could be. The far, far distant past would be safer. Most time agents don't like to travel too far away from the forty-second century. Primitive living isn't much of an attraction to them.” He gave Shelby's buttocks a squeeze then caressed her face. “They're very addicted to their sex machines."

  "Sex machines? Don't tell me ... They don't enjoy sex the good old-fashioned way in the forty-second century. Babies are created in test tubes."

  "Nah, most still make babies the way God and nature intended—with prior genetic screening procedures firmly in place, mind you—but they've augmented the process of sexual relations a bit” He smiled and squeezed her ass once more, his other hand stroking at the nipple stra
ining through the thin fabric of her shirt. “It's difficult to describe. I'd have to show you. Would you like me to show you?"

  "Hmm, I'd love for you to show me, but isn't it dangerous for you to return to your time?"

  "Yes, it is. In fact, the longer you hang with me, the more dangerous it is for you, too. They might think you're in on my plan to escape justice. They'll want to erase your timeline from history as well.” He gently pulled away from her. “I'm sorry but for your own safety it's probably best that I leave and never return to this time."

  Anguish stabbed her heart. He couldn't leave! She wouldn't let him leave her.

  "I ... I love you, Quentin. I want you to stay here with me. Or I'll go with you. Either way, don't leave me."

  His dark eyes glowed with inner fire and longing. “I want to stay with you, too, Shelby. I don't want to go, but I should ... I must."

  Their lips met and fear vanished as they each drank in the goodness of the other. She pressed her curves against him, relishing his growing desire pressing hard against her belly. The man was an insatiable sex machine himself!

  No matter what, she would stay by Quentin and protect him from the former employers who had wrongly accused him. What could be worse? Dying never knowing a love like theirs or dying to protect the man she really loved?

  Love? Isn't it more like lust? Shelby sighed against his lips. It didn't matter. They slid together from the chair and lay across the plush, white carpet. Quickly they removed the clothing barriers until he slid his cock inside and completed her. As he began a steady stroke, she arched her hips and welcomed him deeper still. Faster and harder he drove into her, the familiar tension mounting quickly between them. She wanted nothing more than to lie in this man's arms forever. This time she vowed not to remain emotionally or physically distant from her lover, thinking money was the answer to all life's problems. She'd protect him with her heart, her life.

  Her cunt tightened about his cock, sending rapturous shudders radiating throughout her body. His ecstatic cries mingled with hers as his orgasm took him by storm. Sated and safe, they collapsed into each other's arms.

  * * * *

  What am I going to do now? Quentin cuddled Shelby's luscious curves against his skin as she lightly dozed in his arms. The longer he stayed here, the longer the two of them stayed together, the more likely the bastards would link them and erase their mutual timelines. And he had promised to take her on a vacation.

  He really meant it when he told Shelby he'd take her on a holiday. His first idea was to take her somewhere that a person of the twenty-first century would enjoy—a trip to a remote tropical island where no one from either of their times would think to look for them. At least, not at first. Eventually, time agents would track him down via the universal locator on his time board. Staying put in one place for too long made it easy for them. He had to keep moving, weaving in and out of time until his trail grew cold and distant even to the most dogged of time hounds.

  Could he subject Shelby to an eternal chase like that? He wanted to be with her, but if he continued to visit the same place in the twenty-first century time after time, they'd discover his connection to her. The only sure way for them to remain together was for her to surf the waves of time beside him ... To be on the run from the law forever and to possibly never see her friends and family again.

  He couldn't do that to her. He missed his own friends and family so much at times that he felt like dying. No, the best thing to do was to leave now without explanation. She'd hate him for a while but eventually her heartache would heal. She'd remain alive and despising him in the past, but he could go on knowing that he'd done what was best for her.

  "I love you, Shelby Schwartz,” Quentin whispered, tenderly kissing her forehead. “Good-bye.” Carefully he extricated himself from the tangle of her arms, placing a small throw pillow under her head. He donned his clothes and reached for his summoning device in his shorts pocket.

  Shit. Gone.

  "Damn,” he cursed under his breath. Where the hell could it be? In their haste to get undressed, it must have fallen out and rolled under the furniture. He fell to his hands and knees to search for it.

  "Quentin? What are you doing?"

  He grinned to cover his guilty feelings and sat back on his heels. “Nothing in particular. I thought I'd get our vacation plans together and surprise you when you awoke. That's all."

  She rose up on an elbow and regarded him through half-closed eyes. “You lose something valuable?"

  "No, not all."

  "Then why did you pick up the edge of the chair just now? Tell me what it is and I'll help you find it."

  Ugh. What could be more heartless than asking the woman he loved to look for a device that would enable him to simply vanish from her life altogether? But he had to do it—he must do it.

  "It's a small electronic device about the size and shape of a business card. I keep my keys attached to it on a jump ring."

  She stood, yawned and stretched, displaying her petite yet curvy form to its best advantage. Her rosy nipples peaked deliciously pert above the smooth plains of her stomach and the golden tuft of hair at the junction of her milky white thighs. The scent of her sex and her floral cologne intoxicated him and made his erection hardened. Damn the time cops! How he ached to fuck her again and again and again...

  "Keys?” She began to search around the couch pillows. “Don't worry it's around here somewhere. I didn't think people from the forty-second century still used keys. What are they keys to? A sports car? A yacht?"

  Hmm, her buttocks jiggling in front of him as she searched the cracks between the cushions tempted him like two scoops of peach ice cream. He bit his lip to keep from eating her for a dessert. “What makes you say I own a yacht?"

  "I don't know ... your surfer dude outfit and the fact that you seem to be a wanderer of sorts makes me think of you living on the open seas like a pirate.” She turned and wrinkled her nose at him. “A very sexy pirate."

  Even if he hadn't confirmed it before, her insight authenticated her status as a Chosen One. Perhaps it would be for the best to take Shelby along with him—for her own protection, of course.

  "Yes, I am a wanderer. Even before I became a fugitive, I enjoyed my job traveling through the strands of time. There's always something new and exciting happening someplace in time."

  "I believe you.” She stood with her hands behind her back. “And you need this ‘key chain’ device in order to operate your time machine?"

  "Correct.” He pulled her into his arms. “Come with me, Shelby. Be my companion as we travel through time. I promise you'll never need a vacation again."

  He kissed her, plunging his tongue between the soft lips, delving her mouth's sweet depths, tasting her passion rising. “One thing about time traveling,” he whispered into her hair as they came up for air. “There's never a dull moment,"

  "Will I ... will I ever be able to return home again?"

  Quentin shook his head. “There's no guarantee. Time travel isn't quite as precise as the science fiction writers of this era envision it. Time waves and crests, flows and eddies, and it's not always possible to return exactly to the same spot in the same time period you left. And with the time cops on my tail, coming back to St. Louis in this century might prove dangerous. I'd place our chance of returning successfully at fifty-fifty."

  She pulled back from him, her eyes as wide and as blue as a summer sky. He sensed she trusted him—absolutely—and wasn't afraid of the odds. “Fair enough. Let's go."

  No regrets, no second-guessing, no luggage? The woman was amazing!

  "You're willing to leave everything you know to come with me?” He smiled and squeezed her tight. “Are you crazy?"

  She laughed. “Of course."

  Standing on tiptoe, she wound her arms about his neck and kissed him. “Can I take a quick shower and say good-bye to my cousin before we go?"

  "Sure, but we can't go without the device. I haven't found it yet."


  "Don't sweat it.” She bent to pick up their strewn clothing. “You'll like Mel and Val. They're a fun couple. He's an odd duck like you are. Let's see ... what time is it?"

  Quentin checked his timepiece that fortunately never left his wrist. “In this century and time zone?” He pressed a couple of side buttons for the read out. “Five thirty-eight point two-zero-zero-three seconds and counting."

  "Odd geek meet odd duck.” She laughed. “Good, the Goth duo should be awake soon after the sun sets. Promise me one thing, though, Quentin."

  "What's that?"

  Slowly she removed the summoning device from her jeans pocket. “Don't tell them what a good pickpocket I am.” She grinned, holding it from his reach. “You really should be more careful with the tools of your trade."

  He grabbed her about the waist before she could react and pulled her laughing, into his arms, pressing his hard on firmly against her belly. “Hmm, You got a safe spot to store this ‘tool’ perhaps?"

  Chapter Five

  "So this must be Quentin, the man who swooped down out of nowhere and stole my little cousin's heart."

  Melynda Kerpanik unwrapped her arms from about her ample chest and stepped out of the doorway. Dressed in her signature bright red tank top, black choker and ripped and faded jeans, with her jet-black hair and red lips Melynda epitomized Goth chic.

  "Come on in and sit a spell. Don't mind the mess—Val is working on a retrospective of his best Arch photographs. Since we're both artists and hang out in our art studios most of the time we forget about cleaning up this place."

  "You sure do.” Shelby kicked a pair of black, lacy thong underwear under the sofa and removed a stack of glossy magazines and several discarded corn chip bags to the side table before she and Quentin could sit down. Why didn't her cousin invest in a good maid service? “Val up yet?"

  "Just about. He's not a total night owl anymore, but when he's out shooting pictures all night...” She shrugged her broad shoulders. “Well, let's say he needs his shut-eye."