by Dee Davis
"Hang on, sweetheart. I'm going to light a match."
A soft light flared in front of her, illuminating a small circle around him. Nothing had ever looked so beautiful. She threw herself at him, mindful of nothing but her overriding need to feel his arms around her. Surely, now that they were together everything would be all right.
"Hey, easy now." He laughed as she burrowed close, the sound of his voice music to her ears. "I'm not going anywhere."
She winced at the truth in his words. If what she suspected was right, neither of them would ever go anywhere again. The match fizzled out and blackness surrounded them once more. He pulled her closer, wrapping his arms around her.
She buried her face in his chest, his warm breath fanning across her hair, her arms circling his waist. He pulled her onto his lap, cradling her. She sighed and leaned into him, content for the moment just to feel his even breathing.
"Are you all right?" She shifted, tipping her head up toward him.
"I think so. Just a knock on the head. How about you?"
"Same." She felt his hand gently search her skull, stopping when it found the lump.
"That's a pretty good knot."
"It's nothing, really." She smiled in the darkness.
He felt for her face and ran his palm along the line of her cheek, bending his head to find her lips. The kiss was like an explosion, passion fueled by a wild mixture of fear and relief. She clung to him, her body melding with his, her lips opening to his touch, drawing him deeper, closer. Despite her exhaustion, her need for him crescendoed into hot, burning desire.
She pressed against him, willing his body to become one with hers, wanting only to be closer. He ran his hand across her breast and she winced as his fingers came in contact with torn flesh. He pulled back, his voice tightening with concern. "You're hurt."
"I don't think so." She blinked in the sudden flare of light as he lit another match, surprised to see that his hands were shaking. "I feel fine." She tried to settle back against him, her thoughts still centered on her need for him.
"I'll be the judge of that." He pushed her back and held the flame between them. With his other hand, he pulled back the torn material of her blouse. "There's a cut here." He ran a gentle finger along the soft peak and she jerked a little at the contact. He audibly released a breath. "It's all right. It's just a scratch."
"I told you."
"Damn." He pulled away, dropping the stub of the match as it burned his thumb, plunging them into darkness in an instant. He found her hand and linked his fingers with hers, gently pulling her forward until she was once again nestled against him. Somehow, like this, the whole thing seemed less frightening.
She settled closer into the curve of his body and drew in a breath for courage, a vision of Nick filling her brain. "I…I found Nick."
His arm tightened around her as he waited for her to say more.
"He's dead." She shivered at the thought of the lifeless hand.
"Well, I can't say that I'm sorry. What happened?"
"He was…" She swallowed, trying to find the words. "Buried…in the cave-in. All I found was…his hand." The tears started again. She was nothing more than a blubbering baby. "I thought…Oh God, Michael…I thought it was yours."
He pulled her close, rocking her soothingly in his arms. "I'm here, Cara. I'm fine. It's going to be all right, sweetheart, I promise. Somehow, it's going to be all right."
She tried to nod, to rally, to let him know she was okay, but the tears just kept coming. Reaction. That's all it was. Reaction. She'd just let them come and then she'd pull it all together.
But right now, this minute, she just wanted him to hold her. She'd be strong in little while, she solemnly promised herself—in just a little while.
*****
Michael felt Cara stir in her sleep and reached to smooth a wayward curl from her face, stunned to realize just how much she'd come to mean to him. He didn't know when it had happened, but somewhere along the way, she'd become a part of him.
He sighed, pushing his feelings away. Now wasn't the time.
Time.
He groaned at the irony of his thought. Unless he'd missed something, their time was running out. He leaned over the small lantern, adjusting the wick so that it would continue to burn slowly. The little light was the one good thing he'd found in his search of the tunnel.
He turned again to survey the space around him. The light faded to black long before the rubble from the cave-in began, but even though he couldn't see the wall, it taunted him with its impenetrable mass.
There was no way out.
The flame in the lantern flickered and Cara moaned in her sleep. He blew out a breath and ran a hand through his hair, wondering how fate could possibly have allowed them to survive all that they had, only to leave them trapped here until the air ran out.
He cast a glance upwards. It seemed that somebody up there had a vicious sense of humor. He swallowed bitter laughter. And Patrick. What of Patrick? Was he still alive? Clenching a fist, Michael swung at the air.
He had never felt so helpless.
He was the one who was supposed to take care of everyone. Fine job he was doing. His father was dead and Patrick was…well, if not already dead, then certainly on his way to being so.
And Cara… His eyes dropped to her sleeping form. Oh dear God, what had he done to Cara? He'd sent her right into the arms of that sniveling excuse for a human, Vargas. And then he'd only managed to rescue her after the bastard… He felt bile rise in his throat as the scene between Cara and Nick replayed itself in his mind.
At least the son of a bitch was dead, but not because of anything he'd done. Michael sighed. Some protector he'd turned out to be.
"Where'd you get the light?" Her eyes flickered open and she smiled up at him.
"I found it by the wall."
She nodded sleepily. "So what's the prognosis?" She sat up and yawned delicately, stretching her body so that her arms were above her head, her breasts thrusting upwards as she arched back.
His body tightened in response. Hell, all she had to do was move and he was hard. He squatted down beside her, the warmth of her smile easing the pain in his gut. He strove to keep his voice light. "We're stuck here, I'm afraid."
She met his gaze unflinchingly. "Forever?"
He nodded, unable to say the words.
"I see." She nibbled at her lower lip.
"I'm sorry, Cara."
She frowned up at him, the delicate arches of her eyebrows flattening. "For what?"
He shook his head and shrugged. "Everything."
She reached out, laying a gentle hand on his cheek. "This isn't your fault, Michael."
He covered her hand with his, still holding her gaze. "Of course it is. If I hadn't gotten shot then none of this would have happened."
She laughed, the light tinkle echoing through the shadows. "Right. You purposely got shot so that you could travel a hundred years through time and screw up my life. I'm sorry you were shot. I'm sorry your father was killed. But I'm not sorry I found you again."
He studied her face, trying to understand how she could possibly mean what she was saying. She turned her palm, capturing his fingers and pulling his hand to her lips. With a soft slow movement, she kissed it, the gesture sending shivers of desire shooting through him.
With a groan he pulled her into his arms, crushing her to him, wanting nothing more than to pull her deep within him and hold her there, safe and secure. He covered her face with kisses, touching each crevice and plane with his lips, memorizing the feel of her as her heart beat in syncopated rhythm with his.
He ran his hands along the curve of her neck and shoulder, smoothing his fingers across the swell of her breast. She gasped and pushed against his hand, demanding that he take her. He bent his head, circling her nipple with his tongue, waves of passion threatening to upend him.
God, he wanted this woman, wanted her on a level far beyond the physical. It was almost as if she were a newly
discovered part of him, and without her, he would never be whole again. He groaned and lay down against the rubble strewn floor, pulling her with him, nestling her atop the hard length of his body, his tongue exploring the soft hollows of her ear.
He found the zipper of her jeans, and with a gentle tug, he exposed the filmy lace of her underwear. Her mouth found his and her tongue playfully traced the line of his teeth. He gently slid a finger between the soft folds of her skin, feeling the heat of her envelope him. He lightly flicked the tiny nub and felt her bite down on his lip in response.
She sat up, the motion taking his finger deeper, and shrugged out of her shirt, the soft yellow light of the lantern washing her bare breasts in its pale glow. "Make love to me, Michael." She moved against his finger and tightened herself around it, then leaned down, her hair curling around them, her fingers fumbling with the buttons of his shirt. Finally, with a moan, she pressed herself against him, rubbing her nipples against the hair-roughened skin of his chest.
He stroked her, gently rubbing the center of her passion until she moaned his name and pressed her mouth to his, her tongue mimicking the rhythm of his finger. Twining his other hand through her hair, he drank greedily from her lips and then pulled her up, inching her forward, until his tongue replaced his finger, never breaking the rhythm.
She writhed above him, her breath coming in short gasps that made his blood burn for her. She breathed his name and fell against him, her body boneless, her warmth enveloping him.
With a sensuous smile, she slid downward, her hand freeing him from the confines of his jeans, firmly kneading him, stroking, up and down. She moved lower, her lips replacing her hand, the sweet heat of her surrounding him, driving him wild, until he was the one writhing.
With a groan, he pulled away, and they rolled apart, both clumsy in their need, tearing off clothing, making a crude bed of their discards. Finally, skin to skin, he took possession of her mouth again, his tongue thrusting deep, the fire in his belly pulsing out of control.
She sat up, straddling him, and with a shy smile, she leaned forward, placing her hands on his shoulders, her eyes locked on his. With shaking hands, he cupped her buttocks and raised her gently, groaning as she slowly slid down, impaling herself on him. Then, just when he thought he couldn't hold on for another minute, she was moving up again, and he fought to keep from pulling her back into place.
They continued the languorous dance—in and out, up and down—until the pleasure almost became pain. With a cry, he wrapped his hands around her waist, bringing her down around him until he was sheathed to the hilt.
She bent and kissed him then, her breasts dancing against his chest and together they found a rhythm that carried them higher and higher, until the world disappeared. Michael called her name as fragments of light and color twirled around him like a kaleidoscope gone wild. He locked his arms around her, feeling her body quiver around his and knew that this moment was perfect. Absolutely perfect.
*****
Cara opened her eyes, her gaze fixing on the hypnotic dance of the flame in the little lantern. She smiled as the memory of their lovemaking swept her away again, allowing her to lose herself in their passion. She wondered idly if it would always be like this between them.
The thought brought reality crashing in. There wasn't going to be a future. She bit her lip to keep the tears at bay. Michael shifted in his sleep, one leg thrown possessively across her thighs, a hard muscled arm wrapped securely around her waist. His hair fell forward into his eyes and she resisted the urge to straighten it. With a sigh, she closed her eyes, the lantern's golden flame still etched across her vision. How wonderful light was. How comforting.
How wrong.
She sat up, her heart beating faster, her eyes searching the lantern for signs of age. She'd seen this lantern. When she'd rescued Michael. But it had been older, rusted.
And broken.
She touched it. The smooth metal base was practically unblemished by age, the glass of the globe unmarred. She searched the shadows surrounding the soft ring of light. Nothing was visible beyond its glow. She frowned. Before falling asleep, they'd moved back, deeper into the recesses of the tunnel, afraid that the ceiling near the cave-in was too unstable.
Was it possible? Her heart was in her throat, hope poking a timid head into the cavern of her mind.
"Michael?"
He sat up immediately, his face wary.
"Where did you say you found this lantern?"
He relaxed, his expression changing from startled to confused as he tried to follow the gist of her conversation. "By the wall, in the front of the tunnel. Why?"
She ignored his question, too full of her own. "Did you see the cave-in? By lantern light, I mean?"
He shot her a look that clearly said he thought she'd taken leave of her senses. "No, I didn't. I stumbled over the thing and decided to bring it back to where you were sleeping before lighting it. I didn't want to waste a match and I was afraid it might go out while I was walking."
"So you didn't see the cave-in."
"Cara, I just said no. What's this all about?"
"I saw this lantern, Michael, after you'd been shot. It was broken. Remember, I told you." She held her breath, waiting for him to comment, but he only stared at her uncomprehendingly. She released the breath and tried again. "It was old. Really old."
His eyes widened as the import of what she was saying sank in. "A hundred years old?"
She smiled. "I think so. The lantern I saw was the same, I'm sure of it. Only my lantern was rusted and the globe had been shattered."
"So if the lantern is new again then—" He broke off, the beginnings of a smile lighting his face.
"Then, maybe, just maybe, the locket has worked its magic."
The smile faded as he drew his brows together in thought. "But Vargas had the necklace. It must have been buried in the rock slide."
"Maybe it doesn't matter. I mean, if this lantern is any indication, then maybe the locket did its stuff."
His brow cleared and the smile burgeoned in full. "And if the cave-in occurred in your time, then—d"
In her excitement, she interrupted him. "Maybe there wasn't one in your time. Which means that—"
"I might be home."
Her face fell, the moment of elation evaporating as the meaning of his words became clear. If he was home that would mean that she was now a card carrying member of the nineteenth century.
And without the locket, it was a one way ride.
CHAPTER 21
"Cara? Honey, are you all right?"
Cara forced herself to focus on Michael's face, pushing her panic down. Whatever was going to happen was going to happen. She'd learned a long time ago that she had no control over life. And nothing happening now had changed her opinion. She squared her shoulders. Their immediate concern had to be getting Michael to Patrick. "I'm fine." She'd face the enormity of what she was doing later. When she had the luxury. Glancing to the shifting shadows beyond the lamplight, she pulled in a fortifying breath. "Let's get out of here."
Michael squeezed her shoulder, then bent to pick up the lantern, already moving toward the front of the tunnel. She started to follow and then noticed the pack of matches at her feet. 'Waste not want not' and all that. She scooped them up and stuffed them in her pocket, wondering if John Heywood had ever thought about time travel, then quickened her pace, following the pale glow of Michael's lamp.
Rounding the last bend of the tunnel, she skidded to a stop, the sunlight filtering in through the opening a truly awesome thing to behold. It played off the rock walls, making them glisten and glitter. Michael was already heading outside, his mind obviously centered on the task of finding his brother and keeping him alive. She started to follow just as he stepped out into the sunshine.
One second she saw his silhouette outlined by the sun, and the next, he disappeared and everything went dark. Deep impenetrable black. Fear stung her throat as she swallowed a scream. She forced herself to wa
lk forward, hands extended, choking back a sob. Panicking wouldn't help. In only a few short steps, her worst nightmare was confirmed as her hands touched the sharp-edged roughness of the cave-in. Michael was gone. She sank to her knees, trying to think.
She'd watched him walk out of the tunnel. The sunlight had been blinding. One minute he was there, and the next—gone. Safe in his own time. Which meant she was alone in her own time, with no way out. As if to underscore the thought, a flurry of rocks rained down from the ceiling.
"Cara?"
She jerked up. "Michael? I'm here." She could hear his voice from the other side of the rocks. Then, suddenly, he was there and the mine was filled with light again. She flung herself into his arms, content for the moment just to feel his heart beating next to hers.
"What happened?" His voice caressed her ear. "You disappeared."
She sucked in a breath, still trying to calm herself. "I don't know." She paused, trying to force the words out. "One minute you were there and then you were gone."
He massaged her back with one strong hand, the other reaching under her chin, tipping her head up. "You were still in your time."
She closed her eyes and drew in a calming breath, exhaling slowly. "Trapped."
He frowned at the entrance, tantalizing now with its false offer of freedom. "But I got out."
"Into your own time, Michael. Maybe we're destined to stay where we belong." She tried but couldn't keep the hopelessness from her voice. "I can't go through those rocks. I can't go back to your time."
"I won't accept that." His eyes flashed with anger.
She shook her head, shaking off her self-pity. "You may not have a choice."
He frowned considering what she'd said. "There's always a choice, Cara. And I will not leave you here to die."
"So what? You'll stay here and die with me? You'll let Patrick die, too?" She tried but couldn't keep the bitterness out of her voice. Everything she cared about she lost. And now, in some bitter sort of irony, she was going to have to force him to leave her to die.