“Harder,” she whispered.
“Wh—what?”
“Do it harder.”
He swallowed, certain she had no idea how the words scorched his ears with erotic suggestion. “I don’t want to hurt you.”
“You won’t.”
He gave another gentle tug and something caught his eye. Two dark bruises at the base of her neck. The kind made from large, strong hands. “What the hell is going on?”
“What?”
He rose from the bed and came around to face her. “You don’t have water. You look like you haven’t had a decent meal in months and those bruises on your neck—”
“They’re nothing.”
“Don’t tell me you provoked him, because I don’t give a damn if you did. He’s not just holding you prisoner here, Josette, he’s abusing you.”
Her gaze met his. Mistrust, weariness and a hint of fear stared back at him. “It’s…Mrs. Beaumont.”
“I don’t give a damn about formality right now.”
“You’re obviously from some uncivilized—”
“Dammit don’t change the subject. Is your precious Southern cause worth this?”
“Of course it is. Now please fasten me up before someone comes along and finds us like this.”
She presented her back to him once again. He quickly did as she asked, still refusing to tie her as tight as she wanted. He’d just finished the last button when the cell phone in his pocket chimed.
Eyes wide with fear, she stared at him. “What is that?”
He pulled the phone from his pocket. There was no signal, but the alarm he’d set to remind him of a meeting with his attorney had gone off. He muttered an expletive. He wasn’t even sure he could find his way back to his own time. And truth be told, he didn’t want to. “This,” he said, finally thinking to answer her question, “is how I prove that I’m from where I say I am.”
“How so?” Though she still looked wary, there was an eagerness, an excitement to her voice. He supposed besides food and water, she also lacked for mental stimulation.
“Do you like music?”
“Yes, very much.”
He tapped the screen until a menu for the music he’d downloaded appeared. He’d skip the modern stuff, she probably wasn’t up for that. With another tap, the first violin notes of a Vivaldi concerto spilled from the speaker as clearly as if they were in a concert hall.
She gasped. “How is that possible?”
“I don’t have time to explain it, I’m late for a meeting.”
The look of bitter disappointment on her face pained him. “Tell you what, I’ll leave that with you. There’s a lot of music in there, just push the buttons, you’ll find it.” If nothing else, playing with it would keep her mind occupied—and hopefully keep her from spying—until he could come back.
“You’re leaving?”
“I don’t want to.” And it was the truth. He could stay with her like this all day. Especially if it meant protecting her from the abusive general.
“When will you be back?”
“I’ll try to come later tonight. I’ll bring you something to eat and some water, maybe something to read.”
“Books?” Her eyes lit up, as eager as a child at Christmas time.
He chuckled. “Yes, books. You won’t believe how we read books in the twenty-first century.” He rose and had to stop himself from chuckling at the expression of wonder on her face as she touched the phone. “Don’t provoke the general while I’m gone. And for God’s sake, no spying.”
“Jamie, if for some reason you don’t make it back…”
“I’ll find a way.” He had to. Somehow he had to convince her to stop spying.
****
Josette studied the fascinating device in her hands. She’d pressed a button earlier and it had emitted more music and gone dark. It had taken a long time to make it light up again.
She had discovered more than just music, however, a series of numbers following people’s names—she had no idea what any of them meant, but made a mental note to ask Jamie about them.
Perhaps what intrigued her most were the images. They were far more sophisticated than any photographs she’d ever seen, brilliant in color and so vivid for a moment she’d thought the people depicted were real. She kept returning to one in particular over and over again. It was an image of Jamie. A woman stood beside him. She’d never seen such a scantily clad female in all her life—little more than two triangles of cloth to cover her breasts and another for her lower region—but it was Jamie she couldn’t stop studying.
He was shirtless, with dark spectacles covering his eyes. His skin was a dark golden color but she’d never seen a physique like his on any man. Hard, solid muscle, a taut stomach and golden brown skin. She caught herself running a fingernail over the image of his chest. A shivery sensation rippled through her, not unlike the way she’d felt with his hands on her bare back earlier.
She tipped the device to the side and gave a little gasp when the image within shifted. What a clever little thing. For the first time she noticed the background. Water. And lots of tall buildings in the distance, taller than any she’d ever seen. Jamie was on a beach somewhere, but she had to imagine it was a very private beach since he and his companion were barely dressed.
The growling of her stomach drew her attention away from the fascinating instrument in her hand. She set it aside and began to pace the room again. The general hadn’t bothered her at all today. Neither had he brought her food, water or even water to wash with. He had allowed Maisie to come help her dress this morning, but that was the only visit she’d had from her servants all day. Most were gone, of course, run off by the general and his men. Maisie was old, scarcely able to see but still able to cook, so she was of use to them.
Not for the first time, she strode to the place where Jamie seemed to appear and reappear. Did he really vanish to another time? Why didn’t it happen when she stepped into the same spot? Would he be able to come back again? Her heart fell at the thought of never seeing him again. It was wrong to feel so emotionally invested in him, and yet whenever he was near, she was inexplicably drawn to him.
She shook her head. He was simply a diversion from her boredom. The fact remained he was a Yankee and determined to keep her from aiding the south.
“Josette.”
At the sound of his voice, she whirled. Relief washed over her, so potent she wanted to weep with it. She resisted the ridiculous urge to rush to him. But his arms were laden down with bags and packages and the most tantalizing aromas wafted from them.
“What on earth?”
“I brought you some things.” He gestured with his hands. “Is there someplace I can set these?”
Her stomach rumbled insistently.. “What is that wonderful smell?”
“Steak. It’s probably not very warm, I had to get take out, I don’t have a way to cook right now.”
“Take out?” she repeated the unfamiliar words.
He smiled. “In my time, we go to restaurants and order food to bring home.”
“Don’t you have servants to cook for you?”
“I do, but they’re not here.” He set the packages down and handed her a strange looking bottle. It wasn’t glass, she realized when she accepted it, and it was cold. A label declared the clear contents to be spring water.
“It’s plastic,” he said, apparently noticing the way she touched it. “Go ahead, open it.” She studied it, but could find no way to dislodge the little white cork. He took the bottle from her and removed it with a twist.
“Wait, I brought something else.” He dug into one of the bags and produced a glass. This, too, was made of the strange, clear material. “I figured a proper Southern lady wouldn’t drink from a bottle.” He poured the contents out and handed it to her.
It tasted nothing like the water she was accustomed to, but it was cold and wet. She forced herself to take ladylike sips when she really wanted to gulp the entire thing and ask for more.
�
��Has the general been up to see you today?”
“No, he rode out early this morning. The house is quiet, so he probably left just a few men to guard me.”
“I brought you some things to protect yourself, but we’ll get to that. First I want you to eat.”
More odd containers appeared. A white square box that made a squeaking sound when he opened it. Inside was an enormous steak and a pile of mashed potatoes.
She watched him pull out a small knife and fork and cut a juicy piece of meat for her.
“Is there no china or silver in your time?”
He laughed. “This is a take out container. It’s called Styrofoam. And the knife and fork are plastic, too. They’re a little easier to carry around than traditional utensils.”
He held out the fork and she took a bite. The meat all but melted in her mouth and she couldn’t contain a small “mmm” of pleasure. It had been ages since she’d tasted beef. Again, the need to be a lady and eat daintily warred with the need to put food in her aching stomach as quickly as possible.
Jamie handed the utensils to her. Her first attempt at cutting resulted in the knife snapping in two. She gave a little shriek of surprise, and he handed her another. “Happens all the time.”
While she ate heartily, he set his own container aside to pull more items from the bags he’d brought with him. A bottle of wine and two wineglasses—again that clear, lightweight material he called plastic. He uncorked the bottle and splashed a generous amount into both glasses.
Reminding herself to slow down and savor, she inhaled the aroma of the wine before taking a small slip. She closed her eyes in pleasure as the tart, fruity liquid bathed her taste buds. “I feel positively spoiled.”
As she ate, he entertained her with stories from “his” time. She wasn’t entirely convinced he wasn’t insane, but his dark blue eyes sparkled as he described the inventions and gadgets that made life easier.
“All this progress and yet you drink from plastic glasses?” she asked with a giggle, holding her wineglass up for a refill.
Jamie smiled, liking the careful way she enunciated “plastic”. “No. But the house isn’t exactly in move-in condition. I don’t have any plates or glasses.”
She tipped her head, a thoughtful look in her eyes. “How does the house look in your time? Has it changed much?”
Not wanting her to see his hesitation, and not about to tell her the truth, he glanced down at his untouched dinner. He’d been so busy watching her enjoy the simple pleasures of wine and food, he’d nearly forgotten to eat. “It needs a lot of work.”
She looked around the room. “I can’t imagine it looking anything but graceful and beautiful.”
He allowed his gaze to linger on her striking face. “Me either.”
Her cheeks deepened in color. “And when you’ve finished…with the house. What will become of it?”
There was no point in lying to her. He picked up his wineglass and leaned back, resting his shoulders against the bed. “I’ll probably sell it.”
“You don’t want to live here?” She sounded shocked.
“I’m in real estate, Jos—Mrs. Beaumont.”
“You may…. you may call me Josette.”
He arched a brow in surprise. He didn’t know much about the formalities of her time period, but suspected allowing him to use her given name was out of the ordinary. “I flip houses. Remember the little picture boxes I told you about? Television?”
She nodded.
“People get most of their entertainment from watching programs—think of them as short plays—on television. I have a show where I take a house and in a short period of time, renovate it and sell it for a profit. It’s called flipping.”
“And you intend to flip my house?”
The outrage in her voice would have amused him if he wasn’t so dammed confused by all of this. “I don’t know. I originally wanted to tear it down.”
She stared at him for long, silent seconds, hurt evident in her troubled gaze. “I don’t think I care for the way they do things in your time, Jamie.”
“It’s what I’d call a prime location,” he whispered. “I could put a hotel or an office building here and make a lot more money than I can restoring an old house.”
“If you tear it down, we’d never see one another again.”
Against his better judgment, he reached across the slight distance that separated them. He brushed her cheek with the tip of his index finger. “I’m not tearing it down. Not now.”
Her gaze didn’t leave his. “But if you need money…”
His deep laughter surprised both of them. “I have more of that than I need. I couldn’t begin to spend what I have. So I think I can afford to take a loss on one old house. Especially if it means I can see you.”
“Will you?” She lowered her lashes demurely. “Continue to visit me, I mean?”
He couldn’t tear his gaze from her mouth. Would it shock her if he kissed her? “I want to,” he admitted. “But I’m not even sure how it happens. That first night, I came back a dozen times to try and find you. You weren’t here. Today I’ve been able to come and go with no trouble.”
“I’ve paced this room a thousand times and never been transported to another time,” she added.
“Who’s to say when I leave here tonight I’ll be able to come back?”
“Oh, Jamie, don’t say that. I’ve only known you for a day, but your companionship has come to mean a great deal to me.”
Was that some nineteenth century way of saying she liked him? A pang of sadness moved through him. He felt the same way, and at the same time, he needed to put a stop to this, needed to convince her that spying for the south was pointless. Then maybe he could focus on the lawsuit and restoring the house. “I should go, Josette.”
“Why?”
“Because I’ve had too much wine and sitting beside you—touching you—is starting to feel like it isn’t enough.”
“If we were…in two thousand and twelve, would we be alone together like this?”
“Yes,” he said, his voice sounding strained even to his ears. “We’d be on a date.”
“A date?”
“Mmmm. I’d come pick you up and take you out to dinner. We’d go someplace expensive and romantic because I’d want to impress you.”
She smiled, as though that appealed to her. “And then what?”
“I’d spend the rest of the night making love to you.”
Her eyes widened and those temping pink lips parted. She looked away. “Now I know why men and women who hardly know one another shouldn’t be alone together.”
“You asked.” He wasn’t about to apologize for being honest.
She rose gracefully to her feet and picked up the smart phone. “Is that what men and women do? Go out to dinner and then…make love?”
“At first. Once that gets old you start doing more things together—museums, vacations, art galleries.”
“It sounds rather backward to me. I should think you’d get to know one another first, have a courtship and declare yourselves to one another before allowing any…liberties.” She sat down on the bed, pushing the buttons on the phone with a determined expression.
“There are many women who would agree with you.”
“Really?”
“Yep,” he said matter-of-factly. “But most of them are sitting home alone on Saturday nights.”
Anger prickled at her spine. “Are you saying men don’t want to…date…women who would rather be courted before allowing liberties?”
“That’s pretty much it, yeah.” He winced, realizing how shallow it all sounded.
She still didn’t look up from her mission with the phone. “I would think a good many unexpected children would result.”
He sighed, wishing they’d never veered onto this conversation. He should have just kissed her, dammit. “I don’t want to explain it to a lady like you, Josette. But there are…precautions. Ways to prevent that from happening.”
He grimaced at the image of him with Ashley on vacation in Hawaii. “No, we were engaged to be married.”
“Why in Heaven’s name doesn’t she have clothes on?”
He had to suppress a snort of laughter at her indignant tone. He supposed she’d really be scandalized if he told her he’d paid for the breasts spilling so freely from Ashley’s bikini top, as well as her perfect upturned nose. “It’s a bathing suit. Everyone wears them.”
“Little wonder men want to date these women if they go about in the altogether like this.” She glanced back at the image. “Is a woman like this considered attractive in your time?”
He grunted. “Only until you get to know her.” He rose from the floor and took the phone from her. “Look, Josette, I’m not trying to offend you. A lot’s changed in a hundred and fifty years.”
“Not for the better, apparently.”
“Not always.” He tapped the screen and the phone emitted a bunch of beeps.
“What are you doing?”
“Deleting—erasing it, getting rid of it. It’s an old picture.”
“Don’t,” she cried, reaching for the phone.
He frowned in surprise. “Why would you want that?”
“It was…. intriguing.” There was that delicate, lady-like blush again.
“In what way?”
She made a production of smoothing her faded black skirt. “Nothing.” Her voice was much too high. “Tell me, Jamie, do all men in your time dress the way you are in that image?”
“If they’re on the beach, yes, they generally do.”
She smoothed another wrinkle. “And do they all…look like you?”
A smug, totally male surge of pride rushed over him. She glanced over her shoulder and he couldn’t help but grin. Was she saying she liked what she’d seen?
“What?” she asked, a blush stealing over her cheeks.
“So that’s why you wanted the picture.”
“I was merely curious.”
He stepped closer to the bed, fully aware he was invading her space, but between the wine and the arousal her reaction had caused, he wanted to get closer. If only to see how she’d react. Would she move away or allow him nearer? “No, they don’t all look like me. I work out—exercise—to relieve stress. And I’ve studied martial arts since I was a kid.”
This Moment In Time Page 3