A Knight in Her Arms (A Sexy Time Travel Novella)

by Debora Dennis

  "I do not wish to make you sad."

  "Are you kidding? You're the best blind date I've ever had. Actually, the best date I ever had," she assured him.

  "And you are the most beautiful woman it's been my pleasure to protect."

  She smiled, her heart beating an excited dance at the mere possibility of him staying here, with her. "So, does that mean you might stick around a while longer?"

  The wind picked up a little, creating a swirling curtain of white around them. Snow caught on his eyelashes and she gently swiped them off. He leaned in and passionately claimed her mouth. While his tongue explored and ran along the edges of her teeth, strong hands kneaded her shoulders and held her tightly to his chest. Short, heated breaths puffed between them when they separated. She touched his neck and then delved her fingers into his black hair, now peppered with snowflakes. She licked her lips to savor the last essence of his kiss before he grabbed the back of her head, drew her close and kissed her again.

  Touching the side of her face he said, "As long as you need me, I will be here."

  And what if I need you forever? "But you don't really know how long you can stay, do you? You could walk into the museum and disappear, couldn't you?"

  They finished the carriage ride in silence. Gavin held her tight to him, and even through the heavy mail, she felt his heartbeat. It beat a rhythm of life mingling with her own; he was real, flesh and bone. She wondered what he thought about, his face stoic as he took in the sight of people walking through the park, some rushing through the snowy mist, some reveling in the blissful wonderland it created. His strong arms encased her in his warmth, but a ferocious power lurked behind the softness of his touch. She could easily imagine him wielding his jewel-handled sword and confronting an enemy. Just as easily, she could imagine him making tender love to her on a starry night beside a flaming hearth.

  He was a warrior. Maybe as incredible as it sounded, he really might be a twelfth century knight. And she was a twenty-first century museum curator. Where did their two worlds meet?

  Hand in hand they left the carriage and Hannah hailed another cab. "Museum of Natural History, please." Gavin got in the cab beside her, his mail rubbing against her leg. His eyes held a hint of the humor she'd come to expect over the last twenty-four hours.

  "I do not think it is as simple as that, Hannah."

  She put a hand on his thigh, "I need to see for myself."

  "You are a stubborn woman who does not understand magic and destiny. It is not time for me to go back. I have not protected you from anything. I have not saved you."

  "And you, Sir Gavin of Rogueforth, are an arrogant knight who doesn't understand that women in the twenty-first century are more than capable of taking care of themselves." She gave him a haughty smirk and relaxed against the seat.

  "My destiny is taking care of you, I believe. Which is why I haven't returned. The witch said…"

  "No more talk of the witch! There's only one way to find out." The cab came to a stop in front of the museum. She paid the driver and said a quick, silent prayer they could either avoid her father or by some miracle he'd already left for the day. The last thing she needed would be to confront him with a living, breathing man in armor.

  This was crazy. She should get him back in the cab and go home. Lock him up and keep him all to herself. Why was she tempting fate by bringing him back to the museum? Her skin heatedd thinking about his hands on her, her stomach quivered when his eyes met hers. But what if he wasn't meant to be hers? What if she woke up tomorrow morning and he was gone? She had to know now if she was certifiably nuts or if fate had stepped in and given her a knight of her own to love, honor, and cherish.

  They went through the front door and she ignored the odd looks and the people snapping Gavin's picture on their camera phones. Down the hall and up the stairs, she led him back to the medieval displays. He stopped in front of the display she'd finished yesterday and took her hand in his. "He wears my colors."

  "They look better on you," she said with a hint of sadness in her voice.

  "My destrier is black."

  "Gavin, that's not your horse."

  He dropped her hand. "I would never hold my sword that way," he said stepping into the display and adjusting the stance of the mannequin.

  She had to laugh. Yesterday she'd thought her display was perfect, the knight an example of courage and strength. The real thing now towered over the fake, dwarfing it with his presence of raw power and virility.

  "Get out of there." She motioned with her hand for him to come back to her and out of the display. He jumped down, surprisingly agile for a man wearing fifty pounds of chain mail.

  He reached for her hand and kissed her knuckles. "I do believe I was right. You still need me, Hannah Falcon. As you can see, I am still here."

  "Are you gloating?"

  "A knight never gloats, he merely takes his rewards where he finds them." He pulled her to him and kissed her full on the lips.

  "You flatter me, Sir."

  "Let's go. I need roasted chestnuts, then you, in my arms in that soft bed of yours," he said, taking her by the hand.

  Hannah looked at her display and then into the deep green eyes of Gavin. Her medieval man. She looked over at the bench she'd sat on last night when he'd appeared out of nowhere; still unbelieving he was real. The heat rushing up her neck, the feel of his lips on hers, the skip of her heart when he glanced her way – all the evidence she needed to prove to the man was real and he had indeed captured her heart.

  "How about this for a reward?" She wrapped her arms around his neck and kissed him.

  "Your happiness is my reward."

  Hannah reached into her pocket and withdrew the little gold box. "I think this belongs to you," she said, shoving the gift into his hand. He stood there for a moment, just staring down into her face. His fingers wrapped around the box, holding it tight within his grasp.

  Did he know what was inside? Time seemed to stop as she looked into his misty eyes. From the moment he'd stepped into the display, the two red and black surcoated knights side by side, she'd known the clasp was his. She had no right to keep the gift unless he gave it to her himself. If he stayed here in her time, it was another piece of his past he'd no doubt want to keep close. It was a gift she could give him, something with meaning.

  He lifted the cover of the box and the color drained from his face. "Hannah, no." He fumbled with the cover and it fell to the floor. In his haste to retrieve the cover, the box turned over his hand, the clasp shifted in the cotton and he caught it before it followed the cover to the floor in his bare hand.

  And then he was gone.

  CHAPTER FIVE

  New York, December 20th, Present Day

  Hannah rested her head against the black leather seat of her father's limousine and wiped the stray tear from under one eye. A week ago she hadn't thought she could dread the annual Christmas party more, but she'd been wrong.

  Since Sir Gavin of Rogueforth had disappeared before her eyes four days ago, she'd barely stepped foot in the museum or out of her apartment for that matter. Convinced her mind had conjured up the entire twenty-four hour escapade, she'd ignored everyone's repeated attempts to get her out and about.

  Susan was furious she'd stood up her cousin at the restaurant; her father couldn't imagine how she'd lost a priceless heraldry clasp. How he'd managed to talk her into coming tonight, she still wasn't sure. The lure of seeing and touching another heraldry clasp most certainly had something to do with it. Sure, in her wildest dreams she imagined Sir Vin Beauchamps handing her a clasp and Gavin coming back to her, but she knew it was nothing more than a fanciful dream. She'd obviously made the whole thing up in her head.

  She stepped out of the limo and smoothed her fingers down the black velvet of her dress. Slowly, she walked up the steps to the front door of the museum, her skin tingling with the memory of Gavin holding her hand. Her legs moved on autopilot as her mind wandered to her last moments with him, the feel of
his lips, the warmth of his embrace.

  He had been real, she wasn't crazy.

  A waiter offered her a glass of champagne as she walked through the door. Grabbing the long stemmed glass, she took a sip, hoping the sting at the back of her throat as she swallowed would give her the courage to endure the next few hours.

  "Nice turn out tonight," her father said, taking a glass of champagne from the same tray. "I'm glad you changed your mind."

  "I know how much this party means to you."

  The sea of tuxedos fanned out before her, light classical music and the clink of glasses mixed with the low conversations. The museum always took on a magical feel during these holiday parties. Another drink, a few courtesy responses and she could go.

  "I'd like you to meet Sir Vin Beauchamps. He's not at all what I expected." Her father touched her elbow and led her through the throng of black-tie guests.

  She nodded politely, saying hello to colleagues and guests as she followed him. Her heart raced even though she told herself it wouldn't happen again. Her palm itched to touch a clasp; to close her eyes, and open them to see him standing here once more in all his chain mailed glory. She knew they were headed to her display and her nerves jumped into her throat with each step closer she took.

  I should have stayed home, I really can't do this.

  She looked down at the ground, at the people talking and drinking, anywhere but at the red and black knight. Her father stopped. Her eyes still focused downward, on the black pant legs of the guests surrounding her. Their voices were low, hushed conversations she couldn't care less about.

  From the corner of eye she caught something blue. Boots and blue jeans? Her eyes traveled up the long length of his legs to the perfectly tailored black tuxedo jacket fitted over a pair of impossibly wide shoulders. Her heart jumped. Her breath hitched and her eyes locked on the scar on his face.

  Hannah teetered on her black satin pumps, the room started to spin. Did someone turn up the heat? She'd never fainted before, was this how it felt? His hand reached out and grabbed her elbow. His green eyes flashed and a wicked smile danced upon his sensuous lips.

  She downed what was left of her champagne. "Gavin?" she asked hopefully. She swallowed nervously, "Gavin of Rogueforth?"

  He took her hand in his, kissed her knuckles and her legs wobbled. He winked. "Gavin de Rogueforth Beauchamps, Miss Falcon."

  "How?" She stuttered.

  From his jacket pocket he pulled a small gold box and held it aloft in his palm. "I believe this is yours."

  She shook her head. The last time she'd touched what was in that box, he'd disappeared. "No, it's not mine."

  A waiter walked by and Gavin grabbed a glass of champagne off his tray. The black-tied waiter took her empty flute as she eagerly reached for another. A flush heated her cheeks, confusion and joy ping-ponged through her chest. Gavin touched her chin, raising her eyes to meet his.

  "Fate cannot be denied. With this clasp, Hannah Falcon, I pledge my protection, my sword, my love."

  Her heart skipped. Her fingers hovered over the gold box. "Am I dreaming?"

  "Let's find out."

  The box still in Gavin's palm, she laid her fingers on top and closed her eyes. Ripples of electricity pulsed from her fingers up her arms and cascaded through every inch of her body. Bright lights filled her vision; murmers from the crowd drifted past her ears and her lips pulsed. Warm fingers touched the side of her face. She opened her eyes not sure what to expect.

  The smile she'd hoped for, the eyes she loved, the lips she craved – all were there in front of her. Then his lips were on hers. Tender and demanding. Sensual and searching.

  Real.

  Taking her hand off the box, she touched the back of his neck; felt his pulse beat against her fingertips.

  A knight in her arms forever.

  The End.

  About DEBORA DENNIS

  Hooked on all things romantic for as long as she can remember, Debora Dennis has never stopped believing in the fairy tale dream of a Happily Ever After. Since picking up her first Barbara Cartland novel from the middle school library so many years ago, she’s rarely been without a romance, either in her bag or on her nightstand (and now on her Nook!)

  A firm believer in happy endings, she writes romance sprinkled with spice and adventure.

  Debora and her own hero live in New York and spend their days raising their three kids along with Godzilla the lizard and two spoiled cats named Oreo and Rocky. She can usually be found at her computer early in the morning and late at night with a mug of coffee and a bag of Lindt chocolate truffles keeping her sane.

  Visit Debora Dennis online:

  Website: http://www.deboradennis.com