Chapter 10
M ichael let the steamy, hot spray beat down on his back.
He hadn't experienced much of this new century, but if showers were any indication, he thought he just might like it.
Not that he could stay. No one was going to accuse him of being like his mother, he thought bitterly.
He wasn't about to desert his family. They depended on him.
He turned, closing his eyes and letting the water slide down his face.
A vision of creamy skin and alabaster breasts filled his mind, its alluring presence sending distinct messages to a much lower portion of his anatomy.
Cara . He groaned. She was everything she'd been nine years ago and more.
She was entrancing, and he wanted her. Wanted all of her, body and soul.
He leaned back, letting the water pound into him, washing away his need. He couldn't have her. He belonged in another time. He had responsibilities. And unlike his mother, he wasn't going to allow unbridled emotion let him forget about them.
"Are you going to stay in there all night? I'm starving."
He smiled at the sound of her voice. Just listening to her talk made him hard.
So much for resolve. He closed his eyes, pretending that they were just an ordinary couple on an ordinary night.
God, how he loved ordinary. He sighed and turned off the spigots and reached for the towel she'd left him.
Just two ordinary people—from two different centuries.
He ran a hand through his wet hair, trying to gain control of his tangled thoughts.
Maybe ordinary was over-rated.
The door squeaked as it swung open. A slender hand snuck through the opening with a stack of clothing. "I think these will fit."
He grabbed the clothes, tempted to drag the woman attached to the arm along with them. "I'll be out in a minute."
She mumbled something and closed the door. He stood for a moment dripping on the floor, staring at the space where her hand had been. Lord, how he wanted her.
Cara leaned back against the door, trying to catch her breath. She hadn't even seen him and she felt as though she were going to explode. Desire ripped through her like a level five tornado. He was the most amazing man she'd ever known—or not known as the case might be.
Desire battled with common sense. He wouldn't stay, couldn't stay.
She had to hold onto her emotions. If she lost her heart to him and he went back, she'd never survive losing him again.
Unfortunately, her body had its own ideas.
She ran her hands over her breasts, remembering his touch, his searing kisses.
She was separated from him by two inches of wood.
Wood with hinges .
With a will of its own her hand reached behind her for the knob.
Before she could shift her weight away from the door, it began to swing open.
Thrown off balance, she careened backward, colliding with damp, sinewy muscle.
Michael. She sucked in a breath and attempted to right herself, but he was quicker, encircling her with hard, sun-bronzed arms.
"I've got you." His whispered words tickled her ear, gently lifting the hair framing her face. Desire, hot and insistent, spread through her belly, reaching lower, quivering, waiting.
He bent his head, nuzzling the soft skin of her neck.
She shivered in anticipation. With soft dry kisses, he traced the line of her neck and shoulder, stopping along the way to explore with his tongue.
She closed her eyes, allowing sensation to wash over her.
His hands massaged her stomach, making slow, languorous circles, inching upward with each pass.
She arched into him, willing his hands to move faster, higher. His lips were at her ear now, causing shivers of pure ecstasy to run up and down her spine as he tugged and licked, exploring every tender crevice. Something deep inside of her began to pulse in response to his tender ministrations.
His hands found her breasts, his strong fingers curving around them, cupping them almost reverently. She arched against him, wanting more than tender touches. His thumbs began to rub and circle relentlessly, until she was rubbing against him like a crazed cat, her body begging for more.
"Tell, me what you want, Cara."
She tipped her head back, leaning it against his shoulder. You. I want you . She tried to form the words, but his hands were robbing her of speech.
With an ear splitting trill, the phone shattered the silence. Michael jumped back. His face tightening.
"It's all right. It's just the phone." She placed a hand on his arm reassuringly. He relaxed, but still looked puzzled. She grabbed the shrieking instrument, unsure whether its shrill interference was a welcome relief or an abhorrent interruption.
"Hello." She put a hand to her breast, trying to still her heart manually.
Michael, leaned against the door jamb, looking nothing short of magnificent in her grandfather's faded jeans.
They hugged his hips, sliding against…she sucked in a sharp breath, trying to concentrate on the telephone conversation.
"Cara, darling, are you listening?" There was a pause and Cara's lust-filled brain finally registered that it was Nick on the other end. A bucket of cold water couldn't have worked better.
"Fine, Nick, I'm fine." At the sound of the name, Michael's lazy grin disappeared. His eyes narrowed as he listened to her end of the conversation.
"Cara, what are you doing? You're not listening to a word I'm saying."
"Yes, I am, Nick, it's just that I was busy." Michael's smile reappeared and she felt her body tighten in response.
"All right, then, I'll get to the point." Nick's voice bordered on a petulant whine. "I wanted to give you a last chance to sell me the paintings."
"Nick, I told you when you were here. I've already sold the paintings and I have absolutely no interest in reneging on the bargain I made."
"Very well, but don't say I didn't give you every chance. I have a feeling you're going to regret your decision."
"I doubt it. Good night."
"Good night, darling. And Cara?"
"Yes, Nick?"
"Enjoy your boy toy." There was a click and the line went dead.
Michael had crossed to her side. "What did he want?"
Cara smiled, not willing to ruin their evening by repeating Nick's snide remarks. "Nothing really. Just trying to get me to change my mind about the paintings."
Michael nodded, accepting her answer. He picked up the phone's receiver and listened to the hum of the dial tone. "This is a telephone isn't it?" He held it out to her.
Cara nodded, placing the receiver back in its cradle.
"I read about it. A guy named Bell invented it a few years back. I never dreamed it would really amount to anything."
"Oh, it's amounted to something all right.
" At the moment, she was wishing Alexander Graham Bell had never been born.
Out of self preservation, she scooped the madras shirt from the floor by the bathroom, flipping it at him with an underhanded lob.
"If we're going out for dinner, I think you'll probably want to wear this. "
He caught it and slipped his arms into the sleeves. It was a little tight across the shoulders, but otherwise fit fine. She gulped as he started to button it. Even the simple action of his fingers sliding the buttons through each hole excited her. Oh Lord, she had it bad.
He sat on the couch and began pulling on his boots. "How long will it take us to get into town?"
"Not long. Maybe fifteen minutes."
He frowned. "On horseback?"
"No, we'll go in my Jeep."
"Jeep?"
She grinned. " A kind of automobile. You're gonna love it." There wasn't a guy alive who didn't love going fast. Not even one from the 19th century.
Jeeps were incredible. Not that he was really sure what one was, exactly.
He'd heard about combustion engines, but this surpassed his wildest dreams. They'd careened down the mountain in record time.
And the road. Well, the road was amazing, too.
No ruts, no mud, just an endless lane of something called asphalt. Not bad.
They slowed as they entered the main street of Silverthread and Michael jerked his head around, staring at the buildings on either side of him. The store fronts were different and the names had all changed, but most of the buildings were the same.
The shanties and clapboard were all gone.
The bank building was there, though, housing something called CompuStore.
And across the street, Bilker's meat market was still carved into the stone edifice of its brick building, although a sign underneath proudly proclaimed the best bagels in town. Whatever bagels were.
The dark cliffs of the mountains loomed ominously on either side, narrowing until they almost seemed to touch, framing Silverthread with their rocky crevices. The mountains, at least, had changed very little.
He could hear the soothing rush of Willow Creek, behind the buildings on the right.
Somehow the noise was comforting. The boardwalks were gone, replaced by sidewalks made of the some material similar to asphalt but smoother.
The street was dotted with automobiles and warm light spilled out from doorways and windows.
They'd passed the new electric plant on the way into town.
Only now it was nothing more than a dilapidated old building.
The mill across the way, was almost totally gone.
Nothing left except a tailings pile and a section of sluice leaning drunkenly over the stream.
He felt a deep sense of loss, everything familiar to him was long gone and forgotten.
The town itself was smaller, certainly, and of course, modernized. But the myriad of twinkling lights above indicated that the Flats were still the preferred place to live. At least some things never changed.