by Mia Downing
“Maybe,” I said into his shirt. “Okay, yes. You’re right. That would have been creepier. I don’t even remember you.”
He kissed the top of my head again. “I have to go put dinner in the oven. We’ll discuss this more another day. Okay? But I can’t do this today.”
“Okay.” I already missed the warmth of his body against mine as he pulled away. “But…when?”
“So pushy.” He gave me a sad smile and a sigh from the doorway. “It will be probably end up being sooner than you think.”
Marek
I crossed the hall into the kitchen and quietly closed the door behind me, leaning against it as I let out a long, agonized breath.
Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.
I softly banged my head against the door, punctuating the English swears that had no futuristic equivalent. I wanted to scream and cry. Instead, I stared at the ceiling with growing dread.
While I’d hoped she remembered me, I never thought her memory would be me, leaving her behind with a stranger. How did I explain the twists of time and occupational hazards of a time traveler? That fractures happened, lives were destroyed, and somehow, we’d become a statistic in a futuristic book that we’d never read.
This was why I blamed the curse. So much easier than taking responsibility for the events that led up to that last, fateful jump through time to…here.
Pulling it together, I went to the fridge and retrieved the cast iron pan to put in the oven. I’d made ratatouille, her favorite. Only she didn’t like thyme, so I’d left that out. She liked it with breaded chicken on the side, and I added another tray to the oven to warm. I would slice up some nice, crusty bread. These were her favorites, and I hoped these would help remind her of the good things I’d done.
I had no clue how I’d dig myself out of this. Or even if I wanted to at this point. If I survived to tomorrow, I’d go chuck the necklace off the point and call it a day. And hopefully, that would be enough so Skye could go on with her life—curse-free.
Chapter seven
Skye
After our heated conversation and revelations in the library, I had expected dinner to be awkward.
It wasn’t.
Marek had made me some veggie dish from scratch that I’d never had before—it was divine. And he hated thyme, so he’d left it out. I hated thyme, too, but I wasn’t telling him that. I don’t know why he looked a little sad when I told him I’d never tried it before, but it was hands down a favorite meal. Isn’t that what counted?
We sat at the cozy kitchen table with the Edison lights, and it was every bit as warm and inviting as I had thought it would be. While we ate, he poured excellent wine, and we played “Twenty Questions.” The questions started innocent enough. His favorite color was blue, but he also liked yellow. Mine was black. He loved dogs, was on the fence about Christmas, and we liked the same music—straight classical and alternative rock.
But as I hit the second glass of wine, I wanted to know more. I wanted the dirty details that made Marek a good liar and an excellent kisser.
As he primly cut his vegetables with his knife and fork, all I could think of was Grace calling him Mr. Darcy. If he replaced those tight jeans and flannel with period clothing, he’d slip into the past with no issue.
“So. You got any tattoos?” He didn’t seem the type.
He stilled, set down his fork and knife, and gulped down a sip of wine. “Yes. One.”
“Seriously? Where.”
“If you’re lucky, maybe you’ll get to see it.” The corner of his mouth quirked. “My turn. Do you have any tattoos?”
“Yes. One.” I’d gotten it a few months ago, a set of clock gears with a dial and a storm in the background. I’d seen it so many times in my dreams, I finally went and got it inked on my back by my shoulder blade. Hurt like hell. Funny, I’d never wanted one before that. “And maybe, you’ll get to see it, too.”
His smile broadened, and his gaze dipped to the front of my shirt as if he could magically unbutton it from a distance. “I look forward to that.”
I pushed my plate to the side as I contemplated how to bring up what I’d ruminated on over dinner. “Since maybe we spoke the same first language…would you teach me?”
“Teach you?” He leaped to his feet, knocking his chair into the table so it rattled. “Sorry. I need to get the pie out of the oven.” Was I imagining the gulp? “But you want me to teach you…our language?”
“Yeah, if it’s not too much trouble.”
“Like, tomorrow?”
“Or now.”
“Oh.” He fumbled with the potholders as he removed the tray holding our dessert, the cinnamon and apple scents warning my stomach to make room. “Aren’t you afraid I’ll teach you just the dirty words?”
I laughed. “I’ve never been afraid of dirty words.”
I caught him staring again, his blue eyes darkening as he dragged his teeth over his bottom lip. “Yeah, I’m not teaching you those. Not yet.”
“Why not? It could be fun. I could yell them at you like we were in a bad sitcom.”
“Sweetness, the only thing I want you to scream is my name.”
I sucked in a breath as the meaning of those words hit me first in the chest, sinking to pool in my core. My poor panties couldn’t take much more dampness, not with him looking all dark and sexy like that.
I bit my lip. “Is that all guys think about?”
“Nope,” he said as he cleared my plate and his. “I spent most of dinner thinking about how I’m going to get around the rules so I can kiss you more without using kiss three. There’s no way I can grope you without fucking you, and you’re not ready for that.”
My brows flew up. My, my. The man could be blunt. I liked that. I also softened a little since he knew that I wasn’t ready for more. At least, not yet. “Oh? So what’s your solution?”
“Well, we can christen this old house with new memories of you giving me a kiss in every room.”
“That sounds cheesy.” It didn’t. It sounded sweet and romantic, and since Mr. Cocky could find my clit without his hands, he could probably make it really dirty.
He picked up my wine glass and deliberately drank from where my lips had been, his dark-blue gaze holding mine as he finished and licked his lips. “That’s too bad. I was hoping to see how many rooms it would take me to get you off.”
God damn, the way he stroked the stem of my glass made me want to change the rules. His fingers long yet firm sweeps down the crystal that echoed in my panties, my core clenching. I fought squirming. “Without groping?”
“That’s the goal.” He tilted his head with calm assurance, his gaze confident, as if he’d done exactly this before and had me screaming by room two.
My mouth went dry at the challenge. It also scared me a little, but I could handle this. “You used more than tongue on the window ledge.”
“That was all fair; you said so, Mighty Rule Maker.” He raised his hands in placation.
That was right. I was the Mighty Rule Maker. “Okay. As long as your hands don’t touch anything encased in lingerie.”
His lips twisted, but his gaze didn’t drop to my boobs as I’d expected. “Done.”
His easy acceptance made me bolder. As much as I wanted the contact, I also wanted the knowledge. “And the Twenty Questions needs to continue. You get a kiss, I get answers.”
“Sure.” He glanced at me, then at the pie. “This needs a minute to cool. You want the two-buck tour of this joint?”
“Absolutely.” That pie would be ruined, waiting for us. I was going to make him earn that scream.
Marek laced his hand in mine as he led me down the formal hallway. I didn’t hold hands, yet I craved this contact. The walls surrounding us were a sumptuous red with gold accents, the hall rug matching.
“Okay. The tour starts here.” He swept a hand forward with a bow, welcoming me into the foyer.
The front entry was elegant, with rich wood accents that complimented the red in the hall.
A staircase swept to the second floor, and to the left was a little fireplace with a bundle of sticks—probably part of the original layout of the home.
“That rug is hideous.” The Oriental rug under a center table had some weird pattern and color variations going on. Primary colors should go together, but this did not.
“Yeah, well, I didn’t pick it out.”
“You can’t get rid of it?” I walked around the table, admiring the ornate vase and the tasteful chandelier above it.
“Nope." He smiled softly. "That rug has history. I’m a sucker for the memories.”
“I’ve noticed.” Even though we’d kissed before, I found myself growing nervous at the prospect of it happening. I mean, this was the “kiss a room” tour. My hand fluttered to my throat as my gaze darted to his firm lips, the sexy dimple in his chin. “So, my question. How many people have you slept with?”
There. Get that out in the open.
“One.”
I gaped at him. Yeah, he was a little nerdy, but that ass would get him laid any time he wanted.
“When did you meet her?” Whenever I asked him about his wife, he got this odd look on his face, like I should know the answers, so we didn’t have to discuss it. “When we were sixteen.”
“Is this weird to talk about?” I wanted to sleep with him eventually. His deceased wife was something that would have to come up.
“Yeah, a little.” He rubbed the back of his neck in that uneasy way of his. “I haven’t had anyone to talk to about this.”
“You want me to not ask, then?”
“No, it’s okay. If it’s too much, I’ll tell you.” His hands returned to his pockets. “How many for you?”
“Three.”
He looked away as if sad…or disgusted…I didn’t know. Three wasn’t that many, but compared to his one, I guess it was. But he turned back to me with that lopsided smile of his. “How many of them made you scream their name?”
“None.”
“Good.”
But his smile faded as he contemplated me with a longing that I felt way down in my toes. I fidgeted when I got nervous, so I clasped my hands together to keep them still.
Crossing the room, he grabbed my hands and pressed his lips to my knuckles. “There. Kiss for room one.”
“That’s it?” I felt that kiss in my toes, too.
“Skye.” His lips brushed my hand again. “The whole ‘kiss a room’ thing was a joke. I’m not going to force you to kiss me or whatever to placate me. I don’t know what you did with those guys, but…that’s not me. This is all about you—your pleasure, your needs. I’m not going to lie. I’d fuck you seven ways to Sunday if you wanted it. The difference is, if we get to six ways to Sunday and you say ‘no,’ I’m stopping. You understand?”
Oh, God, did I understand. All the tension I’d harbored in my shoulders released. I didn’t know him that well, but that was the truth. I didn’t have to kiss him or blow him…or whatever. Because if we counted those guys…the count went way higher than three.
I nervously licked my lips as I dropped my gaze to the middle button of his shirt. The thought was freeing, to have that much power, that he could stop, that I mattered… I always felt vulnerable and hid behind a cactus exterior for protection. Maybe I didn’t need that here. “Thank you.”
He gently lifted my chin so I could meet his sweet, gentle gaze that had just a touch of sadness. “You ready for the next room?”
This time, I slipped my hand in his, willingly touching him on my own. “Of course.”
Marek
Three.
I didn’t want to know how many men she’d slept with. For Fate’s sake, she was my wife. We’d been each other’s firsts, and yeah, it had been consummated with the bad fumbling of seventeen-year-old me who knew nothing more than what the other candidates had whispered in the dorms. But I’d learned, and she had benefited.
And from the way she glanced away after she’d told me her number…that hotter-than-hell confidence that used to be hers in another time was an act in this one. All of it. That prickly attitude would always be hers out of necessity to protect herself from the energy of others. But the cool, sexy air and banter was camouflage worn out of need to ward off fumbling boys or to placate men who didn’t know or care what made a woman like Skye tick.
She’d said three, but how many more had taken something from her?
That was on me. I’d left her here.
And I didn’t have the time to fix it.
Skye
As the tour continued, something inside me changed. My energy really liked Marek. It had never liked a guy before. It sounds like a little issue but being repulsed by a man makes it hard to get a sexy time going. My gut said that though he had skimped on the truth here and there, his core values were spot on. Human. Decent.
If one woman could see that decency at the fickle age of sixteen and keep him up until a year ago, I could choose him for a night.
But to be sure… I cautiously let my ever-present shield down just a little to test the energetic waters, so to speak. I hadn’t been close enough to do more than sense him in the cemetery. But this close, I’d see it all.
I’d always pictured my energy as black or dark blue like a churning sea in a winter storm, something akin to the color of Marek’s eyes when he was aroused.
Still, I gasped as I experienced Marek’s energy full on. He gleamed like the sun—bright, warm, welcoming. Yellow, like the petals of a sunflower as it tipped to find the sun’s warmth. And yes, my energy liked his, swirling harder and pooling in the recesses of my mind, pounding against an invisible wall, as if trying to reach him by sheer force.
Huh.
I stumbled into him as he abruptly stopped in the hall. I grabbed for him to stay up, his bicep flexing as he grabbed me.
“You okay?” we both asked at the same time. And then laughed at the same time.
His brows furrowed as he righted me, his gaze wildly searching my face for…something. “I thought—”
“What?” I sucked in a breath.
People were often put off by my energy. That’s why I had learned to shield. I checked to ensure protection was in place. It was. It had become a mental reflex to make sure I was safe at all costs.
He shook his head as if clearing it, swallowing as if confused. “Nothing. Let’s continue.”
The next room on the tour was his formal office, a small room with a huge, mahogany desk and lots and lots of books opposite a brick fireplace set in the far wall. I think it shared a chimney with the hallway fireplace. One window overlooked the front yard, casting just enough light to see his desk had piles of paper, journals, lots of old-fashioned pens, and books—no computer. Maybe he had a laptop he carried back and forth between the two rooms.
But the space didn’t feel like his. The books were bunched differently than on his other desk, the papers and maps sorted in different piles.
“I often light a fire in here to help with humidity. I wanted to check it,” he said.
I sat on the edge of the desk as I enjoyed the view of his ass as he bent to tend the fire. I breathed in the heady scent of the old books and—maybe I imagined it—lavender.
He turned. “So, this is the office.” He gestured to the door, looking like a kid who was showing me the formal dining room no one was allowed to enter except on holidays. “You ready for the next room?”
“This isn’t your office, is it?” When he didn’t answer, I said, “That’s my formal question, so you have to answer.”
He shook his head but couldn’t quite meet my gaze. “No.”
Oh, Marek.
This was her office, and it killed him to admit it.
But still…he had said he wanted new memories for this old house. It was time to christen it. “Is it dirty of me to kiss you in her office?”
His gaze shot to mine. Blinking rapidly, he froze a moment before he shook his head again. “No.”
I slid off the desk and closed the gap, m
y steps sure though my breathing hitched with desire. I didn’t hesitate as my hands cupped his cheeks, drawing his head down to mine. Rising to my toes, I met him halfway, my mouth slanting and parting under his in a blatant invitation.
He groaned and wrapped his arms around my waist, tugging me tight to his long, lean form as he accepted this kiss, the first I’d ever given any man willingly.
So much better, sweeter…almost pure.
After a moment, he lifted his head from mine and smiled with satisfaction. “Next room?”
Oh, I looked forward to the next kiss. “Next room.”
Each room and each kiss made me braver, bolder. Hotter. I stopped him in the hall to kiss him again, running my hand up his chest to sample the muscles underneath. He couldn’t grope, but I could. Definitely well built, but not too ripped.
In the dining room, I shoved him against the wall and kissed him breathless. After I used the bathroom, I tugged him inside and kissed him in there, christening that room as well. In his greenhouse, I sat on the potting bench and drew him between my open thighs, kissing him until he groaned in a “just fuck me” way after, muttering something in his secret language.
I had no clue who this new girl was, but she treated Marek like she owned him, like she’d done this a million times before, and this was natural and not at all dirty. I liked that confidence.
But Marek remained respectful, only giving as much as I demanded, his hands always firmly planted on my hips or waist, so he didn’t roam.
I wanted the roaming. He’d given me his word he’d stop, and that was all I needed.
As we climbed the wide staircase to the second floor, he paused at the top as if winded, gripping the banister with white knuckles.
“You okay?” I asked, concerned as I touched his elbow.
“Yes. I just need to sit for a moment.” He gestured to the door across the hall in front of us. “Maybe we could take a break before we finish the tour and have pie.”