by Rebecca York
He reached for the covers he’d tossed to the end of the bed and pulled them up, snuggling down beside Quinn. It was such an ordinary thing to do. Yet it hardly felt ordinary to him.
It was a moment he had never expected to experience ever again. And he ached to go on with his life. If he could. With Quinn at his side. Yet he knew there were issues he had thrust aside. He had been focused on himself. Then focused on the magic of being with Quinn.
But he had stayed on earth, hovering around the place where he was buried, because he had a job to do. And now he had the opportunity to do it.
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
Caleb woke and turned his head toward the window. Light drifted in from around the edges of the shade, and from its quality he judged that it was late afternoon.
When he reached for Quinn and found the bed empty, he felt a spurt of panic—until he heard sounds that were vaguely familiar. She must be in the kitchen fixing food.
The full bladder feeling assaulted him again, and he got up and used the facilities. When he caught a glance of his face in the mirror, he clenched his teeth. How long would it take for him not to feel a little shock every time he looked at himself?
Back in the bedroom, he pulled on the pants he’d worn and padded barefoot down the hall toward the kitchen.
She was standing beside the sink, also barefoot, wearing jeans and a T-shirt, running water on a flat white package. She looked up, her expression uncertain as she saw him standing in the doorway.
“Quinn.”
He walked quickly across the tile floor and took her in his arms, clasping her to him, and she melted against him.
He absorbed that miracle as he bent to stroke his lips against her hair, her cheek.
When she tipped her head up, their mouths met in a hungrykiss. He was still having trouble coping with reality, but the kiss grounded him.
He knew he wanted her right then. He also sensed that his body needed food.
She eased away. “Let me fix you . . . dinner.”
He stared at the white package in the sink. “It’s in there?”
“Yes. They had steak in the freezer. I’m thawing some.”
He was back trying to cope with the totally unfamiliar. “They freeze meat?”
“Yes.”
“Deliberately?”
“That keeps it fresh for a long time. You can buy some frozen foods at the supermarket. But people freeze some things at home, too.”
“Supermarket?”
“A big grocery store. They have everything from canned and frozen food to fresh vegetables and fruit that might be shipped in from California or Florida or even South America,if it’s not the right season here.”
He tried to square that with what he remembered. “I used to walk down to a little store in the next block.”
“What could you buy there?”
“All the foods. When I was a kid, we also had a garden out back of our house. Mom and the kids worked it.”
“Not your dad?”
“He didn’t eat many vegetables, so he wouldn’t do that kind of work.”
“What was his job?”
“He was a scrap metal dealer.” He cleared his throat. “So the corner store is gone.”
“They have something like them—convenience stores— now. With milk and bread and junk food.”
“Junk food?”
“It tastes good. It has a lot of calories but not a lot of nutrition.”
“Like what?”
“Chips.”
He wrinkled his nose. “Cow chips?”
She laughed. “Potato chips. Corn chips.”
He liked the sound of that laugh. And the way she looked with her hair tousled.
She started to say something, then looked like she’d changed her mind.
“What?”
“I was wondering if you eat meat raw?”
“Yeah.”
“But probably not so cold. I’ll warm it under the broiler.” Her face took on a faraway look.
“What?”
“Back in my world, my old job was running kitchen equipment.”
“So you know a lot about this.”
She lifted one shoulder. “No. I ran the oven with psychic powers.”
He goggled at her. “How?”
“I was trained to do it. In my world lots of people have powers that haven’t developed here.”
“There’s a lot I don’t know about you.”
“Yes.” She swallowed. “Do my psychic abilities turn you off?”
“Of course not!” When she kept staring at him, he added, “Maybe they will come in handy.”
She seemed to relax a little. “Well, cooking is easier this way.”
He watched her turn a dial on the stove before getting out a flat pan with ridges in the bottom. She set the meat in the pan. By the time she was finished, a narrow tube at the top of the oven was starting to glow red.
He pointed to it. “What’s that?”
“The heating element. It’s very hot. Don’t touch it.”
She sprinkled some salt and pepper on the meat, then slid the pan underneath the red glowing tube. She waited for a couple of minutes, then pulled the pan out again and cut the steak, leaving some of it in the pan and putting it back under the red glow.
She lay the bigger portion on a plate and handed it to him.
He stared down at the red and white surface with anticipation.His first meal in seventy-five years.
As he brought it to the table, where she’d already laid out a knife and fork, his stomach growled. But when he cut a piece of the meat and started to chew, it tasted all wrong in his mouth.
She caught his expression. “What?”
He snatched up a paper napkin and spit the meat into it, then wadded it into a ball. A kernel of alarm had wedged in his gut. “I would have eaten it like this. But it doesn’t taste right . . . now.”
While he took a gulp from one of the water glasses on the table, she picked up the plate. “I can cook it some more.”
“Yeah.”
She put the meat back with the other piece and shoved the pan under the heating element again. He watched it sizzle.
He took a deep breath of the aroma filling the kitchen. “It smells wonderful.”
“Yes. Most people eat it cooked.”
She turned back to the counter and slathered something from a jar onto two pieces of bread, then handed him one.
“Fresh bread? You didn’t have time to make it, did you?”
“From the freezer, too.”
When he took a bite, the wonderful taste of fruit and sugar filled his mouth.
“What is this?”
“Blackberry jam.”
“I didn’t used to like anything sweet.”
“I guess . . .” She let the sentence trail off.
“You guess what?” he asked sharply.
She raised her head and gave him a direct look. “I guess the man they buried had different tastes from you.”
“Yeah,” he muttered. He didn’t like that surprise. He’d expected to reclaim his life as he remembered it. But things weren’t working out exactly the way he’d figured they would.
“They had boxes of cereal.”
“Puffed wheat? I remember that.”
“Cocoa Puffs.”
“Puffed wheat with . . . chocolate?”
“I think so.”
He grimaced, then swept his hand toward his lower body. “What are these kind of pants I’m wearing?”
“Sweatpants.”
“They’re comfortable.”
“Yes.”
THE conversation died away again, and Quinn turned back to the stove. She hadn’t known what to expect. She suspectedit was the same for Caleb. Or, he’d had expectations and they weren’t panning out.
Glad of the cooking lessons Rinna had given her, Quinn grabbed the pan with two pot holders and set it on the stove-top.Then she used a big fork to transfer the meat to the plates, which she brough
t to the table.
She watched Caleb cut a piece and lift it to his mouth with the fork. And this time she could tell from his expressionthat it tasted good.
When he caught her watching him, she bent to her own plate and cut some steak.
“It’s wonderful,” he said.
“I’m glad.”
They ate in silence for several moments.
“Tell me the things that surprised you the most about this . . . universe,” he said.
She pondered the answer. “I could say . . . airplanes.”
“We had them.”
She remembered the small craft she’d seen at the Air and Space Museum. “These are big. Some of them hold five hundred people.”
“You’re kidding, right? How do they get off the ground?”
“They have jet engines. And don’t ask me how those work.” She cut a piece of meat, chewed, and swallowed. “In everyday life, I guess electricity is what surprises me the most.”
“I know about that. For lights.”
“It runs the stove. And the washing machine. And the microwave.”
“What’s a microwave?”
She laughed and gestured toward a rectangular box with a window that hung between the cabinets over the stove. “I don’t have the technical knowledge to tell you how it works, either. But it’s another way to cook food. Well, I guess it works best when you’re just rewarming stuff from the refrigerator.”
“Like an icebox?”
“Yes. But you don’t use ice. There are cold coils that work by electricity.”
“Oh.”
She cleared her throat, wondering what subjects were okay to bring up. “I see you stuffed your clothes in the trash can.”
“Yeah.”
“We can run them through the washer and dryer. Then they will be completely clean.”
“My mother had a washer . . . with a wringer.”
Now it was her turn to ask, “What’s that?”
“You washed the clothes, then put them through these rollers to get the water out.”
“Electricity does it now. Well, it runs a dryer with hot air and a blower,” she said.
When they finished eating, he stood and picked up both plates, set the water glasses on top of them and carried them to the sink. That surprised her. But maybe he was showing that he could help a woman in the kitchen.
With his back to her, he said, “I saw the car those guys were driving. It was like nothing I’ve ever seen before. Sleek.”
“You still don’t remember who they are?” Quinn asked before she could stop herself.
His shoulders stiffened. “No. And don’t keep asking me. I’ll tell you if I come up with any insights.”
“Okay,” she murmured, wishing the memories were accessibleto him. Probably he did, too.
His voice softened. “I don’t like it any better than you do.”
She wanted to tell him she knew where to go for help. But she was pretty sure he didn’t want to hear her suggestion. And before she could speak, he strode back to her, lifted her out of her chair and pressed her body against his.
He was aroused. And as he lowered his mouth to hers, she sensed a savage urgency running through him.
It sparked her own need. Still, she wasn’t prepared for his direct approach. As they stood beside the kitchen table, he grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it up and over her head, then worked the snap at the top of her jeans and loweredthe zipper. His hands slipped inside—over her hips, dragging the jeans down and leaving them in a pool at her feet.
She helped him by kicking them off. And while she did that, he tore off his sweatpants, then gathered her body to his, naked skin to naked skin.
He bent to ravage her mouth while his hands stroked down her back, cupping her bottom and pulling her against his cock.
She clung to his broad shoulders, then dragged in a breath when he eased away.
The smoldering look in his face was enough to make her legs weak.
Then he turned her in his arms, pulling her back against his front. He had held her in that position out in the forest. That earlier encounter was a pale imitation of this one.
His hands cupped her breasts, taking their weight in his hands as he used his thumbs to play over the erect centers.
“Lord that feels good,” he gasped out.
“Yes!”
She reached back to press her palms against his hard thighs as he used his lips and tongue and teeth on her neck and then her ear while his hands played with her body.
He traced the curve of her waist, dipped into her navel.
She caught her breath as he took her nipples between his thumbs and forefingers, tightening and twisting and sending a hot current of arousal downward through her body.
“Please.”
“What do you want?”
“You know.”
“I want to hear you say it.”
“Touch me between my legs,” she cried.
“Like this?” One hand traveled downward, into the swollen folds of her sex, drawing a circle around her clit, then sliding lower so that he could ease two fingers into her vagina.
She moved her hips, pressing against his hand, craving firmer pressure, and he gave it to her.
“I want you now,” he growled.
She raised her head, looking toward the bedroom.
“No. Now. Like this.” He bent her at the waist so that her arms came down on the tabletop and her bottom was stickinginto the air.
“What are you doing?” she gasped.
“This.” He stroked her ass, gliding down between her cheeks to find her vagina again, this time with his cock.
He opened his mouth against her shoulder as he entered her from that position, burying himself deep inside her and reaching around to cup her breasts in his hands, his fingers playing over her nipples as he thrust into her from behind.
Then one hand pressed over her clit, working his magic there as he pumped in and out of her.
She stiffened her legs and braced herself against the tabletop, caught in the moment. Caught in the grip of the need he had aroused.
She came in a quaking explosion of pleasure, followed seconds later by his shout of satisfaction.
Dazed, Quinn turned her head and stared up at Caleb. She had never experienced anything like that in her life. The urgency.The white-hot need. The swift coupling—with her leaning over the kitchen table.
“You were planning that when you cleared the dishes away,” she whispered.
He gave her a knowing look. “Did you want me to sweep them off—and break them?”
“No.”
He withdrew from her and turned her around, pulling her to a sitting position, holding her against his sweat-slick chest.
“You belong to me,” he said, the words very clear and distinct.
“Yes.”
A modern woman from this universe might have bristled at the bold statement. But she was from a different place. She felt the truth of his words, all the way to the marrow of her bones. She had never belonged to anyone in her life— not of her own free will. Well, she had been in love a long time ago. As a teenager. But that had been different. A girl’s love for a boy. And she had been a slave, which certainly impliedownership. But that was also different. The feeling of belonging came from within herself—and from within Caleb. When she had met him, anything real between them had been impossible. Now the world had opened up with limitless possibilities.
She wrapped her arms around him, holding on tight, simplycraving the contact. She had longed for a man of her own. And now she had forged a link with Caleb. But in her life, she had learned that nothing is easy. And that was so true now.
Questions burned behind her lips. She wanted to understandhim, connect with him on every possible level. And she didn’t know what to ask him first. He had been a ghost, and that had given him special powers. Had he lost them when he had become a man? She suspected that was probably true, but she also thought he might not wa
nt to talk about that.
So she started with something easy. “How old were you when you . . . ?”
“Twenty-six.”
“You were young.”
He tipped his head to the side. “How old are you?”
“Twenty-six.”
He laughed. “An old lady!”
They smiled into each other’s eyes, but she knew they had to think about practical problems.
“We have to find out who tried to kill . . . you. I mean the man they buried in the woods.”
His voice took on a confidence that surprised her. “It’s not me. Not now.”
“They won’t know the difference.” She felt her lower lip tremble, but she managed to say, “You look like him.”
“Not for long.”
“What do you mean?”
“My hair should be dark. And my eyes. Maybe they will change.”
She stared up at him. “How?”
“I don’t know! Maybe the real me will show through.”
She heard the doubt in his voice. He wanted it to be true. But it might not be possible. Maybe it was just some fantasy he’d conjured up to make himself feel better.
“But we don’t have to stay around here waiting for them. We can get away from this part of the country. Move to a place where they won’t find us.”
She licked her lips. “There’s a lot you have to think about, wherever you live.”
“Like what?”
“How did you make a living . . . before . . . you died?”
“I drove a truck. And I fixed things for people. Radios. Washing machines. Cars. I was good at understanding how things worked.”
“All of that’s different now. Trucks are huge. And a lot of machines have computers. Even cars have them.”
“What are they?”
She flapped her hand. “I don’t know this place so well, either.There are different kinds of computers. But the ones in machines . . . I guess you’d say they . . . know how to carry out complex processes.”
“Well, some things have to be the same about driving a truck.” His eyes took on a faraway look. “The freedom. The open road. Seeing different parts of the country. Meeting people.”
“Meeting women?” she said before she realized she might be getting herself into trouble.
He gave her a direct look. “Yeah. But that was just fooling around.” He stroked his hand over her naked shoulder, then down to the top of her breasts. “What we have . . . this is what was meant to be.”