Chasing Time

by Mia Downing

  I set the dial to tomorrow at noon, drew in another breath, and closed my eyes for a second. I pictured Skye in so many moments in our life—her triumph of our bonding ceremony, her joy when I proposed, her terrified face as we jumped that last time, her blood coating my jacket. I had to do this for her. For us.

  I opened my eyes and pressed the button.

  Light sparked brilliant white in the center of the dial and promptly died. I let out a ragged breath and tapped the dial, hoping it was broken.

  Nothing.

  Dread grew with the lump in my throat. This couldn’t be right. We weren’t bound. Wouldn’t I know if we were?

  I tried shifting the time, inching the dial forward to a short jump to midnight. I didn’t hesitate as I punched the button, desperate for any answer but what seemed to be the truth.

  Again, the light sparked, spiraling outward for about two heartbeats until it died out. The energy dial dipped deep into the red, my payment for curiosity.

  Unable to breathe, I sank into the chair and poured another drink, the tip of the bottle rattling on the glass as I tried to keep my hand still.

  So we were bound. Fuck me sitting, I had no clue how to repair the bond. How would I convince her she wanted to repair it? We weren’t like other people who didn’t need the energy, whose lives weren’t trapped in service to it. Time travelers joked the energy was like a Dominatrix—demanding, needy, picky. But the pleasure of reward was worth any pain we had to suffer to gain it.

  But if Skye didn’t remember me or our past, how the hell would I convince her to save my life?

  Chapter five

  Skye

  I pulled up in front of Marek’s kitchen door a few minutes before noon on Sunday. The storm raged at full wrath, the wind stripping the last of the autumn leaves from the trees. Rain drummed my windshield, and I waited a moment before turning off the car and my wipers to assess his porch.

  He’d emailed me shortly after I had sent mine, telling me to come at noon and the kitchen door would offer more protection from the impending weather than the door at the front of the manor. I liked that.

  But then he’d added: Since you’ve obviously thought long and hard about the sex we’re not going to have, perhaps I could beg the offering of one kiss, taken at the time of my choosing.

  There are no cons to this kiss, either.

  Of course, there were cons! What if I decided to have dinner, and it was spicy, and we both had bad breath? What if he was bad at it? What if I was bad at it? What if he’d touched me at some point, and a kiss absolutely was not going to happen?

  And he sounded more and more like Mr. Darcy with every email he sent. That was unacceptable, too, since it made me think that this thing between us might be blossoming into a romance.

  But all I could think about all day yesterday and today was that one kiss he would claim, his lips delivering the perfect pressure as they slanted over mine, his tongue gently asking me to part so he could delve deeper…

  Nope. Nope. Nope.

  So I had answered: One, closed-mouth kiss. No tongue, no groping. That’s all I’m offering. He hadn’t responded, which I hadn’t expected. He seemed like the sort of guy to fight for more. But maybe he’d been teasing, and just maybe…a chaste kiss was enough.

  I’d find out soon…if I got out of the car.

  I assumed the door in front of me led to the kitchen since it had a small porch, the roof and hedge offering shelter from the chilly wind and rain. I’d driven around the pea-gravel loop at the front of the brick mansion, and the massive, plank door flanked by stone lions had been open to the elements. Okay. I could sprint to the porch without getting too soaked.

  I shouldered my laptop case, yanked my jacket hood over my head, and shut off the car. With a brave breath, I got out and dashed through the cold rain, leaping over a puddle pooling on the flagstone path. I slipped on the soaked step and nearly fell, squealing as I scrambled on the mat before the door. It took a moment for me to catch my breath, my heart pounding as the wind reached under the roof to snatch at my hood.

  I crowded closer to the door and knocked. Curious, I peered through a pane of glass. The door opened into a cluttered but tidy mudroom with a worn, oak bench and pegs and cubbies above it on the walls. Marek’s long, wool coat hung among other unfamiliar items, his boots tucked neatly under the bench.

  I knocked louder and peered to the left. The kitchen glowed with warm, yellow light from an Edison-type chandelier over a simple table with benches. If I craned my neck a little, I could catch a glimpse of a white, porcelain farm sink and a huge stove. I had told him I didn’t want dinner, yet what would it be like to sit with him at that table under that light, our hands almost touching?

  But he wasn’t answering the door, so how would I even get to deny myself the chance at dinner at that table?

  I peeked at my watch. It was just noon, but I prickled at his tardiness. He’d seemed eager to see me again as he’d tucked me into my car after dinner. But maybe now he saw what everyone else saw in me.

  No. I wasn’t buying that. I rapped my knuckles harder, disgruntled that he didn’t have a doorbell.

  Deep in the house, footsteps drummed down the staircase and on the hardwood floor. Seconds later, Marek burst into the mudroom from the opposite side. I bit back a shriek and jumped back, startled.

  “Sorry!” he said through the glass as he fumbled with the lock and opened the door, gasping for breath as he welcomed me in. “The upstairs clock is wrong. It’s just chiming noon now.”

  To back up his story, a faint yet deep bong of a grandfather clock tolled the hour. Okay, I could forgive that. I had a thing for old clocks and timepieces.

  As he struggled against the wind to shut the door again, I sneaked a peek. He looked exhausted, his eyes rimmed with dark circles, his cheeks gaunt and white despite having just dashed here.

  He finally turned to me, his smile fading as his gaze met mine. “What?”

  “I just…” My hand flew out to test for a temperature as if I’d done a hundred times. His skin was cool under my wrist. “Are you sick?”

  “No. Not with anything contagious, anyway.” He gave me a sweet smile as he leaned into my hand. “But you can be my nurse anytime you’d like.”

  Oh God, I’d touched him. I snatched my hand away, my cheeks flushing with heat that should have been his. I should have felt a jolt of energy that I either liked or disliked, but I had felt nothing more than a pleasant hum, as if the energy between us had been there all along and it was acceptable.

  I busied myself by setting my laptop case on the floor and shrugging out of my coat.

  Marek took the coat and gave it a gentle shake. “Jay warned me yesterday that I looked like sh—crap. Sorry.” He brushed past me to hang my coat next to his. “I’ll call the doctor for antibiotics tomorrow.”

  “Oh.” I had questions. Who was Jay, and what was wrong? But my tongue wouldn’t loosen as I was still shocked by the whole energy thing.

  He wiped his damp hands on a towel on the bench, folding it neatly when he was done. “Jay is the caretakers’ son—the Witcombes. He has the foul mouth of a teen, and it has rubbed off on me. And the doctor thinks it’s some tick-borne thing.”

  “Like Lyme,” I offered, surprised he could read my mind. Or maybe he was better at the whole conversation thing than I was.

  “Sure.” He led me into the kitchen, and I had to keep my gaze on his broad shoulders under his flannel shirt instead of letting it dip to his denim-encased ass.

  He asked over his shoulder, “You know the Witcombes?”

  “Adele?”

  “Yes. Her husband is Ray.”

  “Yes, she comes in the store a lot. She likes cozy mysteries. She buys them and donates them to the library when she’s done.” My gaze slipped, and damn it, the lower half of the man’s ass looked great in jeans as he walked away. I hated Grace for putting that in my mind.

  We continued by the gas stove I’d admired from afar and turne
d into the hallway.

  “They’re good people. Adele does a lot for me.” He stopped at a set of double doors and smiled as he grabbed the brass knobs. “Welcome to my library.”

  The doors swung inward, revealing the most glorious yet simple library. I stepped in, gaping at the floor-to-ceiling shelving filled with books and the little sitting area to the left. Direct center stood a large table with a pile of books, and behind that, a reading nook had been built into the bow window. More tall bookshelves and a huge desk flanked the reading area to the right. At the far end, fire in the fireplace crackled and snapped, the screen keeping in any wayward sparks.

  “I know, I know,” Marek said as he strode to the fireplace and shoved a poker at a log, “the fireplace probably isn’t the best thing for the books. But I promise, this room does have humidity control, and I keep it the same temperature year-round.” He replaced the screen and dusted off his hands.

  “The fire probably helps on damp days like today.” A chill swept over me, and I rubbed my arms to warm them as I stepped in. “I’m impressed that you have heavy drapery around the window seat. Few people realize the damage sunlight can cause.” That was stupid to say. Of course, he’d know.

  He glanced fondly at the cozy space. “I couldn’t get rid of the reading nook, so I had to be proactive.”

  The image of him curling up with a book on the wide, cushioned ledge made me shake my head. “I pictured you to be a desk-and-chair sort of guy.”

  Shrugging, he turned back to me with a sad smile. “I am.”

  Oh. His wife. I tore my gaze from his, dipping my head to stare at the Persian rug. “I’m sorry. That was stupid of me.”

  “Don’t be.” His slippered feet came into view, and his hand tucked under my chin to draw my gaze back to his dark-blue eyes. “I’m going to claim my kiss now, to make you feel better.”

  “What?” My mouth went dry while my brain panicked.

  His thumb swept over my cheek, but his fingers held my chin firmly. “Shh… One, closed-mouth kiss. No tongue, no groping. I know the rules. Remember, no cons to this.”

  Before I could protest, his mouth drew closer, and his lashes fluttered closed. As his lips touched mine, I snapped my eyes shut. Most kisses started with a blast of unfamiliar energy that bombarded my senses. His lips held nothing more than a tiny but enjoyable shock as they slanted for a better angle.

  Before I could begin to enjoy it, the pressure lightened, and he gently lifted, dropping a small kiss to the tip of my nose.

  I opened my eyes to find his crinkling at the corners as he smiled.

  “There. That’s out of the way,” he said, his voice a little hoarse.

  My hand fluttered to my throat as his hand slid to cup my cheek, his thumb brushing my jawbone. I should be jerking away from him, but instead, I leaned into that slight touch. “Thank goodness.”

  “We wouldn’t want to be tempted to do that again.”

  “No,” I agreed, though every cell in my body ached for more. How could I get another taste of him without looking desperate? “But if you had to, you could petition for a second kiss.”

  His mouth quirked at the opportunity. “Oh, I didn’t realize that was a thing. Well, consider yourself petitioned. What are the rules?”

  Rules… For some reason, the mention of rules sparked a blurred memory of a closet and a man’s lips on my neck as he stroked his fingers deep inside me. My smoldering insides burst into flames, and all rational thought went up in a trail of smoke. I wet my dry lips with the tip of my tongue, and his gaze dropped to follow the subtle movement.

  “Uh.” Think, think. “What if the second one lasted a little longer…”

  “Oh?” His breath blew across my cheek, tickling the skin.

  “And maybe…a little tongue the next time.” I bet he wouldn’t ram his tongue down my throat like other guys. No, it’d be like a slow, gentle dance that got dirtier as the drinks got stronger. I hadn’t had that, but I’d seen it in movies.

  “Groping?” His thumb brushed over my bottom lip suggestively.

  A thousand tiny shocks of pleasure raced along my skin. God, yes. “No groping.”

  He nodded as if considering that kiss. “What about kiss three? I’m petitioning for kiss three, too. There should be a lot of tongue and groping at kiss three.”

  I’d never wanted a third kiss so badly before, but I couldn’t give in that easily. “We’ll have to see. It’s a surprise.”

  He dropped another kiss on my nose and stepped away. “Surprise is my middle name.”

  Skye

  Later as we sat in Marek’s library and he handed me books to look at, I fixated on his hands—manly, with long fingers that had just enough roughness to them and just the right amount of softness.

  He’d bring me a book, caressing the spine as he gave me insight to its contents then placing it in front of me with reverence and respect. But all I heard was a monotone murmur as my gaze followed the stroke of his finger, imagining it again on my cheek…and maybe straying lower, under my shirt, along my heated skin.

  Though probably odd for most people, this hand obsession was normal for me. But I always fell for unobtainable, safe professors who’d never want to cross the line, and I could just lust after whatever aspect I found sexy—hands, eyes, thighs…

  But Marek had already kissed me once, and I’d liked it. He was more than obtainable. He was dangerous. And I might have liked that aspect, too.

  I should be hot and bothered for the books, especially when he retrieved a rare first edition concerning Jack the Ripper’s misdeeds. But he put on white gloves, and that made me squirm with an ache I couldn’t explain. He returned with the book in his hands, and the skin at his wrist was richly toned like a faded tan, a few shades more golden than the stark, white cotton. The darker hair above his wrist fascinated me, the way it disappeared under the rolled cuff of his sleeve, up his forearm…

  Oh, God, he’d have chest hair, too.

  I spent a moment stripping him to just his jeans, picturing him with a smattering of chest hair that lead down to abs that were just firm enough. Todd had a ripped eight-pack of abs, and the thought always made me ill. No, Marek would earn his abs by… What the hell would a wealthy nerd do?

  “Do you garden?” I blurted out as he removed the Jack the Ripper book from the table.

  “Garden?” He slipped the book on a dark shelf, laying it on its side to protect the spine and turned to me with a puzzled smile. “Why, yes. I just took up the hobby this summer. We have a greenhouse out back if you’re interested in seeing it later.”

  That explained the tan. “I’d love to.” I rubbed the back of my neck as I stared at the front of his shirt, covering his abs. “Is it a big garden?”

  “I guess for one person, yes.” He turned, and I followed the motion of his hand as he pointed out the window. “You can just see the plot over there with the little fence. I had to give Adele quite a bit of what I grew. She made me some pickles.”

  There we go. Raking and hoeing a garden that size would make for nice abs. And strong forearms. And a firm ass—

  “Do you garden?” he asked in return.

  I fought a squirm as I forced my gaze to his confused one. “No. Everything I try to grow, dies. Grace tells me I have a black thumb.”

  “Your thumbs look healthy to me.” He smiled as settled his hands on the back of the ladderback chair across from me.

  I blinked as the image of his perfect hands and knuckles blurred. Like the first time I’d seen him outside the bookstore when he’d splayed his hand on the bookstore window, a different version of him appeared in the same position, wearing dark pants in worn leather. The hands in that dream-like version tightened on the back of the same chair, his knuckles going white. The masculine voice spoke an unfamiliar language, arguing his point in terse sentences.

  “Skye,” both voices said— one was concerned, the other angry.

  My gaze snapped from the hands to Marek’s concerned yet t
ired face, the spell breaking. “Yes?”

  “You okay?”

  I gave my head a little shake to clear it. “Yes. I…I’m just a little light-headed. I was excited to come, and I think I forgot to eat breakfast.” That had to be it. I didn’t fixate on hands and have weird episodes surrounding them. Well, not the weird episode part anyway.

  He rubbed his jaw in thought. “Would you like something? I should have offered when you came in. I’m sorry. I got so excited by the books—”

  “That would be great if it’s not too much trouble.” Anything to get his hands out of here so I could stop fantasizing about them.

  “I have just the thing.” He shot me a lopsided grin as he went to the doorway. “Just stay put in case you have another spell.”

  “I’m going to stay right here.” I smiled encouragingly as I patted the book in front of me.

  He disappeared down the hall. My back pocket vibrated with a text, and my hands trembled as I removed my phone.

  Grace asked: So has he murdered you yet?

  I quickly typed: You’re too late. I’m bleeding out in his library.

  I got a thumbs up to that. You having fun?

  I’m fixated with his hands.

  That got another thumbs up. Grace knew my weird obsessions well. You need me to drop off condoms?

  No! I’m not doing him. That sounded sure. Decisive. I didn’t just “do” guys. Grace knew that.

  Sure, you keep telling yourself that. Holler if you need some.

  I sent her the middle finger emoji and put away my phone just as Marek returned with a tray.

  “Okay, here we go.” He balanced a charcuterie board filled with meats, cheeses, crackers, and grapes on his right hand like a butler. “I hope this is to your liking. A little something to tide you over before dinner.”

  I didn’t want to tell him I wasn’t staying that long, not when his smile lit his tired eyes and gave him soft lines around his mouth that were incredibly sexy on him. Before he lost his wife, he must have smiled a lot.