“And that noise.” Josette stopped again. “What is that?”
“My phone?”
“No—there it is again. That.”
He had to strain to hear it, but then the distant beeping of a construction vehicle blended with the hum of traffic on the interstate. “Just the usual sounds of spring.”
Her lips thinned into a line of disapproval. “Your life is much too noisy, Jamie. Airplanes, traffic, cell phones. I declare, I’d take to my bed with a sick headache every day if I had to listen to that.”
“You get used to it.”
As they drew closer to the house, she slowed. He looked up at it and tried to see what she did. Some of the shutters hung by only one nail, others were missing altogether. The brick was time and weather damaged. Sadness and confusion crossed her face.
“Sebastian’s tree is gone,” she said. “The one right outside my bedroom window.” She pointed in the direction of her room. “Just this morning, two Federal soldiers were standing right here discussing their loved ones.”
“Those soldiers have been in their graves for more than a century, Josette.”
She paled. “Then I suppose I have been, too. It’s all so hard to comprehend.”
“It was for me, too, at first.”
The sun ducked behind a cloud just then, sending a reminder that the gray chill of winter hadn’t fully left them yet. “Let’s go inside, Jamie. It’s cold out here.”
****
Candles glowed around the room, chasing away the descending darkness with warm, gentle light. Their glow did little to hide the peeling, yellowed paint of what had once been the grand parlor of Beaumont House. Josette found it hard to believe she sat in this very room this morning, passing information to Reverend Huckabee. Now it was void of furnishings and décor, save for the horrendous portrait of her that hung over the fireplace.
She stood before the fireplace, gazing up at the painting. “It’s a terrible likeness of me.”
Jamie came to stand behind her. “It doesn’t do you justice, but I wouldn’t say it’s terrible.”
“Bernard had it painted shortly after we wed. I hated it so much that after he died, I had the servants store it in the attic. I’d hoped to never see it again.”
He stood so close she felt the heat of his body against her back. “Well it certainly got my attention.”
Warmth rushed through her. “Did it?”
He slipped his arms about her waist, pulling her against him, and bent to place a kiss to the curve of her neck. “Have you given any thought to what you’d like to do?”
The masculine smell of him teased her nostrils, the feel of his hard, solid body against hers made it hard to concentrate. With him this near she had a good many thoughts about what she’d like to do, most of them highly improper.
She closed her eyes and sighed in contentment. The first real contentment she’d known in months. This stolen time away with him was like a small piece of heaven. If her absence went noted by the general, she’d pay heavily, but the happiness she felt right now was worth whatever might happen when she returned. “What I’d like to do…” she said, realizing he still waited for her answer. “I’d…I’d like a bath.”
A deep chuckle rumbled through his chest and she felt the vibration against her back. “Is that funny?”
He released her from his embrace and she turned to face him.
“No, it’s not. You’ve been confined to your room a long time. It’s just…such a female thing to say. Trust me, I was hoping for a different answer.”
Heat flushed her cheeks.
“But the tub is on the second floor, and it’s not in very good shape. I’ve been having the restoration team work on the plumbing. There’s a shower in the mud room off the kitchen. We just got the plumbing hooked up yesterday.”
“A…a what?”
“Come on, I’ll show you.” He took hold of her hand and led her toward the kitchen. “This was all added on sometime in the fifties, I think,” he said, gesturing around the room as he tugged her through. “At some point someone added a mud room—a place to clean up after working outside. The shower is nothing special, but at least it works.”
Inside the mud room, Josette stared at the contraption. A drain on the floor sat beneath a silver nozzle protruding from the wall.
“It’s like a waterfall,” Jamie explained, reaching in to turn the knob. Water blasted out, the mist spraying her face. “You stand beneath it and wash.”
She took a step before the water soaked her through. “Would it be too much trouble to bring the tub down here and fill it?”
“It’s attached to the floor,” he said gently. “Remember? I showed you this afternoon and told you about indoor plumbing.”
“I…” the idea of standing naked in this little room, rather than submerged in warm water, seemed almost indecent. But she hadn’t been able to do anything but sponge bathe for so long and since Maisie was no longer allowed to tend to her, she hadn’t been able to wash her hair.
“It’ll be fine. You’ll get in there and you won’t want to come out.” Jamie shut the water off. “I’ll be right back.”
Josette stared at the contraption for a few seconds. It was a means of getting clean, that was all. Not as soothing as a hot bath, but better than a basin of water and a cloth. She reached behind her to unfasten the buttons at the back of her dress. She couldn’t reach them all, but had lost so much weight during her captivity that she could easily slide out of it with half the buttons still secure.
She stood in her chemise and drawers, debating if it might not be better to shower with her under things on, when Jamie returned. She quickly crossed her arms over her breasts. “I don’t have any towels here, but I brought you a blanket—” He turned around so quickly she had to smile. “I have soap and a little bottle of shampoo from the last hotel I stayed in.” His back to her, he held them up for her inspection. “I’ll just leave these here and give you some privacy.”
“Thank you, Jamie.”
She stepped into the space below the water spout and studied the knobs she’d seen him turn just a few minutes ago. She reached for the one with a C in the middle and gave it a slight turn. She shrieked as a blast of icy cold water spluttered out. This wasn’t right, the water she’d felt on her face moments ago had been warm. Maybe it took a moment to heat up? She stepped to one side, away from the icy spray, waited a moment, then tested the water again. Still cold.
She turned the knob until the water stopped and reached for the one marked H. This time she knew enough to stand to one side as the water came out. Delicious warmth spilled from the spout. Well it was better than cold. She took up the small bar of soap Jamie had left on the shelf and wet her hands beneath the hot water, then, for lack of a flannel or wash cloth, lathered it between her hands.
She frowned. It didn’t lather well at all, and bits of it came off in her hands.
“Everything all right in there?” he called from outside the room.
“I don’t mean to be a bother, but…”
He stepped in and from the way he purposely looked at anything in the room but her, she knew he was trying to be polite. “What did you need?”
“Well, one side is too hot, the other is too cold. And this soap…” she held her palm out for his inspection.
His lips twitched and when his dark blue gaze met hers, she saw amusement in his eyes. “It’s wrapped in paper.” He took the soap from her and scraped the soggy outer layer away. “You have to take it off before you can use it.”
“Oh.” Cheeks flaming from her foolishness, she stepped back and gestured to the spray of water. “Can you…”
She could have sworn she heard him sigh.
“I’m sorry, Jamie. You’re going to a great deal of trouble and I—” She reached for the knob, intent on turning the water off. “It’s too much bother.”
To her horror, the spray suddenly doubled in strength, drenching him where he stood.
Whether it wa
s the incredible events of the day, the emotion of seeing loved one’s headstones suddenly aged more than a century, the condition of the house, or her monthly time drawing near, tears stung at her eyes. She felt so foolish, so inept in this complicated century Jamie lived in.
He made no attempt to get out from under the spray of water. She glanced at his face, certain he was livid. A smile broke across his handsome face. And then he laughed.
“You’re not angry?”
He held up a hand to the water, then reached to adjust another knob and checked the temperature again. “I should have gotten everything ready for you. It’s just….”
“What?” Had he tired of her company already? He was probably ready to send her back to her own time.
He sighed. “I’m not one of your southern gentlemen. I can’t pretend I’m not affected by the thought of you in here naked, or by the way that material is stuck to you like…” he swallowed, then shook his head. “My chivalry is straining at the zipper.” He moved to step away from her, but she placed her hand on his arm.
He glanced down at the hand on his arm, then back up at her, his eyes dark with desire. A wave of heat swirled in her midsection with such force it was painful. “A gentleman who comes upon a lady indisposed would avert his gaze. That’s exactly what you did.”
“And you want me to stay here, while you bathe, and not look? I may be chivalrous by your definition, but I’m no saint.”
She stepped closer and reached for the buttons on his shirt. “Then don’t be a saint, Jamie,” she whispered, her voice trembling as she unfastened the tiny buttons. When his shirt was completely open she slipped her hand inside to stroke the hard wall of his chest. Her fingers traveled over every inch of exposed skin, down to the ridges of muscle across his stomach. Touching him made her feel wanton and wild, she wanted to caress his skin with her tongue, explore every fascinating male part of him with eyes and lips and fingers.
Jamie’s body warred with his conscience. When she looked up at him out of those coffee-dark eyes, he saw only passion, desire. Need. The same things he felt. Did her invitation only involve looking? Or was he allowed to touch?
“Turn around,” he said, surprised to realize he even had a voice left.
She looked surprised, but did as he asked. He moved to the other side of the shower and positioned her so the water cascaded over her hair. She leaned her head back and her hair fell like jet velvet down her back, the ends curling toward her waist. He reached for the small hotel-sized shampoo bottle and poured a bit in his palm. Her gaze, trust and desire mingled, studied his face as he gently placed his hands on her head and began to work the soap into a lather.
She raised her arms to help him and he stepped back to study her, from the slender white throat, to her chest to the small breasts, with their dusky rose areola. Two pert little nipples protruded, all but begging for his attention. His gaze was drawn to the dark triangle of curls between her thighs. It had been so long since he’d seen a woman who wasn’t perfectly landscaped he’d forgotten what women were really supposed to look like. The sight nearly brought him to his knees. He heard her gasp and glanced up to find her watching him.
“You said I didn’t have to be a saint.” He eased her under the spray of water again to rinse her hair, watching as the suds sluiced down her body. Where most women he’d been with were Pilates toned and muscular, Josette was slender with the kind of soft curves he’d love to feel pressed against his body. Her ribs and hip bones protruded enough to remind him of the weeks she’d gone without proper nourishment, and while food was the farthest thing from his mind right now, he needed to see to it that she ate heartily while she was here.
Still half standing behind her, he pressed a kiss to the curve between her shoulder and her neck. She sighed and reached an arm up toward him. The movement lifted her breasts and he could resist no longer. While nuzzling her neck, tasting her with his tongue, he stroked her breast. She fit perfectly into his palm, just as he’d thought she would. He teased the swollen nipple with his thumb, emboldened by the small hums of pleasure coming from her throat. He moved his other hand around to stroke her other breast, lifting them. She moaned and pressed against him. Her movements stilled while he explored her breasts, almost as if she couldn’t bring herself to pull away, but the sound of her breathing, her parted lips, told him she was every bit as turned on as he was.
She turned her head toward him and he bent to kiss her. It was an awkward angle but their tongues managed to succeed where their lips couldn’t. He eased one hand from her breast to slide it down her body, feeling every rib, the dip of her stomach and lower. The feel of her wet curls against his fingers was nearly his undoing. He had to remind himself to be patient, to test her reactions. She wasn’t like women from his time, he had to move slower. After a few moments of tender stroking he eased his hand lower. Slick heat met his finger and it wasn’t from the water cascading over their bodies.
A whimper escaped her as he gently pressed the tiny nub inside her slick folds. He stroked it, teased it, all the while continuing to caress her breasts.
“Jamie…” she breathed. “What are you doing to me?”
“Making love to you.”
“I’ve never…”
Worried he’d frightened or offended her, he drew on what little strength he had left and pulled his hand away. Much to his surprise she covered his hand with hers. “It makes me feel so…. wicked.”
“Wicked?” He was terrified to ask if that was a good thing or a bad thing. God, he hoped it was good.
“Yes,” she gasped, urging his hand back to the tender little bud he’d been lavishing with attention. “It makes me want to…want to…” she cried out.
He moved his hand away long enough to turn her to face him. Some things just couldn’t be put off any longer, and her nipple between his lips was one of them.
Without giving her time to think, he bent to taste her. The delicate nipples he’d admired from afar swelled as he stroked his tongue over them. He pulled one gently between his lips and drew on it. He moved his free hand between them once again, and fully explored places he hadn’t been able to reach moments ago. Her moans grew louder. “Oh Jamie, please,” she gasped. “Whatever it is you’re doing to me…”
He raised his head from her breast to look at her. “Do you still feel wicked?”
“Terribly, terribly wicked.” She clawed at his shirt, pushing the wet material apart and toward his shoulders. “I want to look at you—all of you. And touch you.”
She might as well have taken a torch to him. He’d had his own desire under control until that second. He shrugged out of the shirt, tossed it aside and heard it land somewhere with a soggy thwack. Her hands immediately moved to his chest, sliding over him once more, down his stomach, down…“I never touched Bernard when we…I never saw what he looked like.”
He took her hand and guided it over the bulge where his cock all but strained to break free. He grit his teeth against the need to be free and fully in her palm. But even through denim it was torture. She took hold of the tab on his zipper and slowly, slowly eased it down. He sprang free from his boxers but she didn’t seem shocked or surprised, merely closed her palm around him.
“Oh, Jamie,” she whispered, fondling the length of him.
Red hot lightning seared his brain.
Her fingers trailed a path over him, pausing to circle the tip, then back down.
He ground his teeth against the need to bury himself inside her. Slow. Careful. Patient. “You’re not…” he swallowed, trying to find the right words. “Are you sure this is what you want?”
“I want everything,” she said in that soft, lilting voice that drifted over his skin like a warm breeze.
Without pausing for thought he slid down the wall, dragging her with him. When they stopped, he was half sitting, half reclining against the wall. He placed his hands on her backside and lifted her against him, felt the first brush of wet heat against his erection, heard her gas
p of pleasure and then slick velvet walls surrounded him, squeezed him. She cried out as he filled her and he felt her stretch to accommodate him. He went still, giving her time to adjust to the feel and size of him. And then she began to move. He reached up to cup and caress her breasts and she leaned closer, giving him room to take the peak of her breast into his mouth. His own cries rose to match hers as she moved atop him, slick heat sliding…squeezing him until they found a rhythm together and within seconds she cried out, tumbling into the vortex and pulling him down with her.
When Jamie next knew a coherent thought, she was sprawled atop him, the warm water beating down, cooling their overheated skin. He glanced down at her, the dark brows so stark against her porcelain face, her mouth curled in a half smile. She reminded him of a cat snoozing in the afternoon sun, only she wasn’t sleeping.
He pushed the wet hair back from her face. “I never wanted it to happen that way.”
She raised her head and pressed a languid kiss to his chest. “But you wanted it to happen. And so did I.”
“I wanted it to be romantic,” he said. “Wine, candlelight, a fire in the fireplace. Not on the floor of the shower with my pants half on and shampoo still in your hair.”
She laughed. “It was romantic to me.”
He kicked off the rest of his wet clothes and rose to his feet, taking her with him. “We’ll have plenty of time for romance. First let’s get you rinsed off.”
Chapter Seven
Jamie stared down at the flames in the fireplace. He didn’t want to take her back yet. Maybe not ever, but she’d already said she found things much too noisy in this century. But having her under the same roof—at the same time—wasn’t going to be easy, no matter how long it lasted. It had been less than an hour since they’d made love and he wanted her again already.
Beside him on a pile of blankets, Josette slept soundly. He supposed he should wake her, she was eager to get back before her absence was discovered. But he couldn’t help thinking this was probably the most peaceful slumber she’d had since the Union army had taken over her home.
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