by Lauren Smith
Rebecca nodded. “Yeah, you’d really love the washing machine for clothes then.” He didn’t seem to hear her sarcasm.
“No wonder you need no servants. How extraordinary!” He was really deep into his role as a man lost in time. She had to admit it was very convincing. Which only made the matter more disconcerting.
Devon looked down at his body which was still caked with a faint layer of dust, not too much but enough that it seemed to bother him.
“Would it be too much trouble to prevail upon you for a bathing tub?” he asked.
“A bathing tub? Oh! Right,” she laughed nervously. “How about a shower.”
He looked toward the windows, frowning. “You bathe in the rain? But…well, I suppose if it’s what people of the future do, then I will give it a go.”
“No,” she laughed a little, feeling definitely crazy that she was going to have to show him a shower and explain it.
“Come with me.” She lead him upstairs to her bathroom and fetched a couple of towels, setting them on the counter. She also grabbed a spare toothbrush and put it on the counter next to a tube of toothpaste.
“Okay, so this is the shower.” She pulled back the shower curtain and pointed to the tub and the nozzle. “You stand beneath the shower head and you turn on the water. The letter H will give you hotter water and C will give you colder water. And be sure to pull up the lever here on bath spout or it won’t work. Got it?”
He wrinkled his nose, still frowning. “I can manage,” he finally said.
“Good. I’ll be outside, just holler if you need me.”
“Thank you.” He closed the door and she listened to the sound of him undressing through the thin door. She’d seen him naked, but the thought of him standing beneath the shower, water spraying down his body made her flush with heat. The man was built like a god and it was a little hard not to fantasize about him.
The sound of the water coming out was followed by a sudden bellowing shout.
“Devon!” She opened the door and burst inside the bathroom. Devon was crouched against the back wall of the shower, sputtering as his face was being blasted by the shower head.
“Bloody cold as ice!” he gasped, shivering.
“Shit!” Rebecca hastily adjusted the temperature and reached up, angling the shower head down so it hit his chest and feet.
“You alright?” she asked, doing her best not to look down at his naked body.
He was still shivering and rubbing at his arms but he nodded. “Thank you, I was taken unawares by the temperature. It’s colder that even I am used to.”
“Colder?” she asked.
“Yes,” he chuckled, meeting her gaze, unashamed of his nakedness. “We used to have footmen heat up buckets of water and fill copper tubs. It took ages and by the time the tub was full the water was somewhat tepid, but never frigid like this.” He then scowled at the shower head.
“Well you can adjust it if you need to. Make it a little hotter or colder. I’ll leave you some clothes in the hall and you can come down when you’re done.”
Devon nodded and she reached out, pulling the curtain closed on him and the view of his gorgeous body.
She waited a moment longer outside the bathroom, and when she was certain he was alright, she fetched a new set of boxers for him to sleep in. Then she went back downstairs and tried to watch some TV while she waited for him. Fifteen minutes later, he came back down the stairs, his wet hair and skin damp but clean. He looked better, far better than he had all night.
“Thank you Rebecca, I very much needed that.” He held out the wet towels and she ran them over the washing machine and came back to the living room. He was staring at the TV, arms crossed over his bare chest as he watched a re-run a procedural Navy drama called NCIS.
“The wonders of the age…” he murmured to himself and then turned to her.
Rebecca couldn’t resist smiling. That was much more of a natural male reaction to a TV.
“Right… So, why don’t you try and get some sleep on the couch, and I’ll wake you in the morning, okay?”
She had no intention of telling him that she was going to take him to a doctor first thing tomorrow. That would send him running off into the night half-naked. He might get hurt. As much as she didn’t need this new complication in her life right now, she hated the thought of him running away even more.
It was going to be a long night.
4
Despite how bone-weary he felt, Devon couldn’t sleep. There was a strange distant humming that came from outside. He’d gotten up more than once to listen to the eerie sound and wondered what it was. Rebecca had come down the first time, worried when she’d heard the front door open. She wore a puffy robe with little pink hearts on it and stared at him bleary-eyed.
“Everything okay?” she asked, stifling a yawn with one hand.
“That sound…like a distant hive of bees. What is it?” He’d opened the door a little wider, hoping she too could hear it.
She came to join him at the doorway and peered out into the night, listening. He studied her face, struck again by her beauty, the pleasant array of her features, and the way her hair spilled around her shoulders. He gave himself a shake to stop thinking of her in that manner; otherwise, he’d have to deal with his arousal all night without relief. Aphrodite would enjoy watching him suffer, and he refused to give her the satisfaction.
“It’s just the cars over on the highway,” she’d finally said.
When he’d continued to stare in the distance, she’d sighed and gone back upstairs to bed. Evan had kept Devon company when he returned to the couch, his furry head resting on Devon’s stomach for over an hour before he finally settled down on the floor with a heavy canine sigh.
So this was truly the future. A new millennium. A world full of frightening wonders. Like the carriage without a horse, the dishwasher that needed no servants, the lights that required no candles… He was not a man who would readily admit to fear, but he was terrified of these things that he couldn’t understand. He had been a man of reason before he’d been imprisoned in stone. He’d known enough about science to think that the things he was seeing now in this home, in this world, weren’t possible.
Or were they? These devices, he’d deduced, must use a form of electrical energy, and Alessandro Volta’s experiments on how to store such energy were widely discussed. Yet it seemed impossible that the tiny obsidian “phone” could hold a voltaic pile within it. Could it be some type of magic?
Perhaps magic was simply a new form of science, one that mankind had unlocked while he’d been imprisoned? He would have to ask Aphrodite, if he could ever bring himself to speak to her again.
Restless, he rose from the couch and walked back into the kitchen. He looked over the tall white metal structure that hummed softly, and he approached it. It was some kind of pantry storage from what he could tell. He curled his fingers around the silver handle and tugged. It didn’t budge. He saw no lock or latch keeping it shut. He pulled harder, and it came open suddenly, the contents inside the box rattling a little. Light blossomed from an unseen source, and he stared inside in fascination as a wave of cool air brushed against him.
He turned his attention to the contents of the box. Eggs, juice, milk…he could read what everything was, but he was confused by the strange packages they came in. His stomach gave another rumble, and he picked up an oddly wrapped item.
“Ball Park Bun Size Franks…” He stared at what looked like sausage meat, but he wasn’t sure. He put the item back. He wasn’t hungry enough to eat anything unless he was certain what it was.
There were drawers made of glass, but they weren’t heavy, nor did they feel fragile when he opened them. In fact, they didn’t feel like glass at all, though he’d be hard pressed to describe what it did feel like. These drawers contained items he did recognize. Lettuce, tomatoes, onions, and other vegetables. The drawer below that contained more wrapped packages, but he could read the labels. Ham, turkey, cheese�
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Devon snatched those up and carried them to the counter. A loaf of bread lay near the humming box, and he searched through the cabinets before he found a plate and a knife. Much to his surprise, however, the bread had already been sliced, and with expert precision, as was the meat and cheese. It seemed the only thing he required the knife for was spreading a bit of butter.
After a sandwich and a tall glass of milk, he stumbled back to the couch in exhaustion and curled up beneath the blankets. Evan’s tail wagged, hitting the side of the couch with a rhythmic thump until the dog laid his head back down on the floor. Sleep finally claimed Devon, but he was plagued with endless dreams of mazes in gardens where he couldn’t escape the sound of a goddess’s laughter.
When he woke it was much later in the day, and light reflected off the surface of the object that Rebecca had called the TV, blinding him when he first opened his eyes. He was startled to find that at some point Evan had crawled onto the couch with him and was now lying across Devon’s body.
The dog raised his head, panting as he watched Devon with his dark-brown eyes.
“Morning, dog.” He ruffled Evan’s hair, and the dog licked his hand.
“About time you woke up.” Rebecca’s voice made him sit up sharply, causing the dog to jump to the floor and trot over to his mistress. Devon glanced around and found her sitting at a table in the kitchen, coffee mug in hand.
Groaning, Devon sat up further. “What hour is it?”
Rebecca checked her watch. “Noon. Now that you’re awake, we need to get you some clothes. Clothes that fit.”
He glanced down at the tight underclothes. “Agreed. These will not do. Men of my standing never wear inexpressibles.” He stood up, and she did the same.
“What are inexpressibles?” she asked.
“Scandalously tight leggings that leave little to the imagination.”
“Oh,” she said with a laugh, her cheeks a delightful pink shade now as she stared at him in his state of undress. “I have some clothes that will probably work to get us to the store, but my guess is they’ll be tight.” She went upstairs and came back down, handing him a pair of pants made of a strange blue material and a shirt of a softer fabric. She’d called them jeans and a T-shirt. The jeans were most comparable to a pair of buckskins, and they required no braces, but he felt strangely naked wearing the black shirt. It was tight enough to be glued to his body.
“I cannot go out wearing only an undershirt,” he said, smoothing a hand down his stomach.
Rebecca stared at his stomach, swallowed hard, and then looked up at him. “I’m sorry, what?” she asked.
“This shirt,” he repeated. “Surely this can’t be all men wear? No waistcoat? No jacket? I feel it’s too tight and small. Even if it did fit me better, I would feel bloody naked.”
“Oh…yeah, no, it’s fine. T-shirts are less bulky than whatever you’re used to, but don’t worry, you’re fine now…I mean it’s fine now…to wear…that shirt, I mean.” She coughed and turned away to grab her little bag that looked like a lady’s reticule and a set of keys. His lips quirked into a sly grin. Despite the modern age she lived in, Rebecca could be easily teased when it came to men and their lack of clothing. He would remember this for later…when he had time to find all the ways in which to give her pleasure.
“Come on.” She opened the door and headed out. Devon reluctantly followed her. They were going to take the car. He hated the car. The shoes he had put on were a little too small, but he told himself it wouldn’t be long before he got a proper pair that fit.
“I take it you have a modiste you visit regularly?” he asked as they climbed into the vehicle.
Rebecca leaned over to help him buckle a strap across his chest, which only reinforced his belief that this contraption was unsafe. “A what?”
The scent of her hair was sweet like fruit and flowers. He couldn’t help but picture gripping this woman by the hair at the nape of her neck and kissing her until she was wet and moaning for him. She pulled away after a little click by his hip, and then she started the machine.
“What’s a modiste?” she asked again.
“A modiste is a woman who makes clothes, a tailor of sorts. Young ladies always went to a modiste’s shop to have their clothes made…” His voice trailed off, realizing that this too must have changed.
“Oh. We don’t really have those anymore. I mean, I know some people still get their clothes tailored, but pretty much everyone just goes to the mall.”
“The mall?” Devon mouthed the word, and it tasted foul in his mouth. It sounded common somehow. He didn’t like the idea of doing what everyone else did. He was a rich man… Well, he had been.
“It’s not so bad. We’ll get in and get out really fast,” she promised.
“Humph.” He frowned, watching the parade of endless vehicles around them as they drove to this “mall.” It was going to be a bloody long day.
Rebecca stared at the changing room door, waiting breathlessly to see if the clothes she’d picked for Devon worked out. She had to admit that dressing him was kind of fun, once she had convinced him that waistcoats and cravats were no longer considered everyday clothing.
He had a perfect body, like an underwear model. When he’d started to strip out of his clothes and failed to shut the door, three store attendants had lingered a little too long in the area, pretending to fold the same set of clothes over and over again. Rebecca had put a stop to it by hastily shutting the door herself. If ever a man had been invented by God to be catnip for women, it was Devon. With that gorgeous body and that sinfully wonderful accent, no woman would stand a chance. She wouldn’t stand a chance if she wasn’t careful.
Hold it together Rebecca. You can’t go crushing on a guy who thinks he’s from two hundred years ago. He needs help and don’t forget, he probably stole the statue for which you’re likely to get fired when your boss finds out.
“Ready?” she called out. He’d been in there for a long damn time.
“Er…I believe so,” he replied and then opened the door. “You will have to tell me whether I’m presentable or not.”
Her British hottie stood before her barefoot and in jeans that hugged his body just right, showing off his muscles but giving him room to move. He wore a white button-up shirt that clung to him but also wasn’t too tight.
He ran a hand through his hair and glanced around nervously. “Well? Would you say I look presentable?”
There was a collective sigh behind Rebecca, and she turned to see the three female attendants staring at Devon with stars in their eyes. Not that she blamed them. Devon looked like a woman’s wet dream. Just a hint of a bad boy by the way his shirt was unbuttoned at the top, and the way he filled out his jeans…
Damn.
She pictured him pinning her against the dressing room wall while fucking her into next Tuesday and watching their bodies in the mirror beneath the florescent lights. No one she’d ever dated had made her feel that hot and out of control.
She clenched her thighs, hating that she wanted this mentally unstable stranger so badly.
“Miss Clark?” Devon queried again. “Is this outfit suitable?”
“Yes, it is. And please, you need to call me Rebecca.” Damn, her voice was too breathless.
He lifted a tie up. “I’m not sure what to do with this. I assume it’s some sort of cravat, but…”
“Here, let me help.” She came into the dressing room, and when she noticed the women still staring at him, she closed the door behind her. Her sudden awareness of Devon and being so close to him made her head spin. She flipped his shirt collar up and laid the tie around his neck. He kept his hands at his sides as he stared down at her hands, watching them perform the elaborate dance of loops and tugs that would create a Windsor knot. It was a good thing she’d grown up with a brother who had never bothered to learn how to do his own.
Devon raised his hands and put them on her waist. Her skin flushed with a responding heat.
&nbs
p; “You’re very good to me, Rebecca,” he said. “To take me here, provide me with clothes…” One hand on her hip moved slowly around her body to touch the small of her back. Little sparks of heat burst outward from his touch.
“It’s the right thing to do,” she replied, her voice shaky as she tried to ignore the overwhelming wave of desire that spread through her body. God, she’d forgotten how good it felt to be close to a man, to feel his hands on her, even in a seemingly innocent touch. And Devon? He made her feel better than any man she’d ever been with. How was that possible? Just being there with her, talking to her, respecting her and thanking her for helping him? He’d been doing it all day and she never grew tired of his polite murmurs of thank you each time she taught him something new. A girl could get pretty spoiled with a man like that.
“Allow me to repay you.” He lifted his other hand to brush a lock of hair back from her face. “You shouldn’t hide your hair in a chignon,” he said. Before she could stop him, he reached up and pulled the pencil out of her bun. Her hair tumbled down in messy waves around her shoulders.
“Oh! But—”
Her protest died on her lips as he ran his fingers through her hair, combing out the tangles.
He gripped her shoulders and turned her to face the mirror. “There, take a look.”
She looked…gorgeous. The waves she’d always been afraid to let fall made her suddenly look sexy and wild in a way she’d never thought possible, especially with Devon there behind her watching her in the mirror.
“You should stop hiding your beauty. A man cannot resist a woman like that,” he whispered in her ear. She stared at their reflection. He was looking directly at her, not the mirror.
“Really?” She shouldn’t have said that. It was a dangerous question because he could change his mind, say he wasn’t interested in her. She wasn’t prepared for that sort of rejection.
“Oh yes.” The words were a low rumbling purr as he leaned down and cupped her face in his hands. She shivered and tried to back up but hit the wall of the changing room. He bit his lip as though trying to hide a smile, which only made him sexier.