Now and Forever (55 page)

"A zipper." She sounded unbearably alluring to his ears. She placed her hand over his erection."You pull down on it."

He did as she instructed, easing the tab over the gentle curve of her belly, lower, then lower still until he could feel her heat. "A zipper," he said as the garment fell open, exposing a small band of cream-colored lace to his gaze. "'Tis amazing." He bent lower over her body, breathing deeply of her scent, then pressed his mouth against her belly.

She made a sound deep in her throat as he traced a design with his tongue. He tugged at the scrap of lace with his teeth. "A world of wondrous inventions."

She moved restlessly beneath him as he stripped her of her outer garment. His breath caught sharply in his throat as he gazed upon her shapely legs and hips, clad in naught save that wisp of lace so sheer he could see the thick dark curls covering her mound. He cupped her with his hand, felt her wet heat against his palm, imagined burying his length deep inside her body and hearing her cry out as she found her release.

Shannon reached again for him, tugging at his shirt, fumbling with the buttons, baring his chest to her hands and mouth. She pressed her face against him at the point where his arm met his torso and drew in a deep shuddering breath that he felt in all parts of his body. She seemed to find great pleasure in the sight and touch of him and his own pleasure multiplied in response.

Her blouse was fastened with ordinary buttons and he quickly slipped them through the buttonholes only to discover more cream-colored lace, this time hiding her breasts from view. But not entirely. He saw the dusky shadow of her nipples beneath the filmy barrier and with trembling hand he drew a finger across curve, then valley, then curve again.

"What is this called?" he asked, hooking a finger under a strap.

"A bra," she said. "Actually a brassiere. The purpose is--"

"The purpose is plain," he said, "even to me."

Less plain, however, was how to remove the brassiere from her person.

"Having trouble?" she asked.

"'Tis a devilishly puzzling garment." He ran his hands beneath the stretchy fabric.

"Most boys can open a bra before they're fifteen," she said with an innocent smile.

"Are you implying I am less skilled than a child?" he asked, growing most annoyed with his lack of ability.

"You're a resourceful man," she said. "I have no doubt you'll figure this out."

And when he did she laughed, a soft throaty woman's laugh that pleased him beyond measure.

"See? I told you that you were a resourceful man," she said with obvious delight.

"Aye." His own delight was obvious as well. The brassiere was still warm from her body. He gazed down at her, his blood heating with a need that went beyond desire. She was small but beautifully made, as if an artist had created her from a dream of splendor. A dream he'd never dared dream before now.

He rose from the bed and removed shoes and stockings then unfastened his trousers. The undergarments - briefs, she had called them - were an embarrassment and he felt more himself when he was naked on the bed with her.

"Come to me, mistress," he said, opening his arms.

She smiled, recognizing the endearment, and did as he bid her to do. There was nothing hesitant about her demeanor, nor anything coy. She seemed as eager for what was to come as he, without artifice or apology. He had never before known a woman with such a capacity for joy and the sensation brought him close to the edge.

 
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She lay at an angle across his body, her breasts flattened against the hard wall of his chest. He held her by the hips, moving her slowly - wonderfully, deliciously - against his arousal until she thought she would faint with longing.

But it was more than longing. It was hunger, a hunger that went so deep, cut so close to the bone, that she couldn't hide from it even if she wanted to. The hunger slashed through her defenses and exposed her beating heart, the heart she'd thought locked away forever.

I can take no more, Andrew.
His cadence had somehow become hers
. Now...please, now....

He slid his hand inside the leg band of her panties and stroked her. "You are certain?" he asked.

She was beyond speech, beyond thought, beyond everything but the moment - and the man.
 

He inched her panties down over her hips, her thighs, then slid them off and tossed them to the floor.

"Nothing will happen that you do not wish to happen," he said, as he poised himself over her body. "It is for you to say."

"Yes," she whispered, opening her arms wide. "I say yes."

With a groan he covered her body with his own. His powerful erection pressed hard and fiery and magnificent against her belly. She cupped his face with her hands and willed him to know that she belonged to him alone, that traveling through time was nothing compared to the miracle of finding love when you'd given up hope.

He fit himself between her legs. She felt him press against her wet heat. She arched upward. He thrust forward. She opened for him, surrounded him, met his passion with more love and joy and wonder than she'd ever believed one woman could hold inside her heart.

 
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She gave him her body, but more than that she gave him back his soul. He knew the precise moment when it happened. When he entered her, her aqua eyes opened wide and she looked at him, watched his face as he sank deeper into her willing softness, and she smiled. Smiled as if he'd somehow managed to gather up the moon and the stars and place them at her feet.

He had been with many women in his life. He knew that the moment of euphoria he found in a woman's arms never lasted the night. With the cold light of dawn came the realization that he was alone, had always been alone, and would be alone until he drew his last breath.

But this time it was different. He pleasured her through the darkest hours of the night and with the approach of dawn, he took his own pleasure in the sight of Shannon, asleep in his arms.

Her thick tangle of lashes cast shadows across her cheeks. Her tousled hair lay soft against his shoulder. She stirred, turning onto her other side, and he felt a sharp pain in his heart as he saw the shiny white curve of the scar that her husband's knife had left behind.

He came from a rougher world than the one in which he found himself. Men ofttimes spoke with their fists, even within the four walls of their home. Somehow he had imagined better of the 20th century. They had been blessed with riches beyond knowing and yet the same problems that had beset the men and women of his time still existed today. Leaning forward he pressed his lips against the pale scar tissue, breathing in her scent. Not even those dark thoughts were enough to dim the joy she'd awakened inside his heart simply by virtue of her existence. The fact that she had lain with him, offered him the wonders of her body - was there a man in this world or any other who had ever been granted a greater honor?

She slept deeply, her bosoms rising and falling with the rhythm of her breathing. After a while he slept as well. He did not dream for nothing he could dream could compare to the wonder of lying there next to a woman such as Shannon.

In truth he did not know what it was that awakened him but he found himself drawn from the warmth of the bed he shared with Shannon. He crossed the room swiftly and went straight to the window, where he pulled the curtains and looked out on a landscape oddly dark for that hour of the morning.

The yard was shrouded in shadows. An unnamed dread filled him as he lifted his gaze to the tops of the trees and saw a most peculiar cloud cover towering up toward the heavens. He knew the striations of dark and light, the low whistle of the wind, the way it called to him like one of the sirens who lured sailors from the sea.

"The lighthouse," he murmured, as the sense of dread grew stronger. That same cloud cover had enveloped the lighthouse on the day Andrew left his old life behind.

He stood there as the cloud cover lingered then passed, feeling as if something had been asked of him and he had failed to answer.

"Andrew?" Shannon's soft murmur curled itself inside his ear. "Come back to bed."

"Aye," he said, turning away from the window. "'Tis the one place I wish to be."

Chapter Seventeen

Dakota was halfway out the door when the telephone rang.

"I can't talk to you now, Ma," she said, cradling the receiver against her shoulder. "If I'm late for the library one more time, Forsythe'll have my head."

"I had a dream," Ginny Wylie said in the tone of voice she reserved for major announcements.

"So what else is new?" Dakota mumbled, eyeing the clock over the refrigerator.

"Dakota? What did you say?"

"I really have to go, Ma. Why don't I call you at lunch--"

"This will only take a minute," Ginny said with the blithe confidence of a woman whose place in the world was secure. "You're going on a trip."

"To work," Dakota said, "if you'd let me hang up the blasted phone."

"I don't have to tell you any of this," Ginny said, sounding aggrieved. "I'm just trying to give you food for thought."

A car phone,
Dakota thought eyeing her old Mustang in the driveway.
Give me a car phone so I can get to work on time.

"You've met a man," Ginny continued, "and he's going to change your life forever."

The hairs on the back of Dakota's neck rose and she sank down onto a kitchen chair. "A man?" She forced a laugh. "The only man in my life is Dr. Forsythe and we both know how much he loves me."

"He's not handsome, but he's...compelling." Ginny drew in a long, noisy breath. "And he's not from around here - Dakota? Are you still there?"

"I'm here, Ma."
With my head between my knees.
She felt the blood rushing to her brain but didn't dare sit up straight for fear she'd pass right out on the floor. "Does this guy have a name?"

"Adam," said Ginny. "Andrew, maybe?"

The room swam in front of her eyes. "He's a friend of Shannon's," she whispered.

"There's more to it than that, isn't there?"

"I really can't talk about this now, Ma."

"Your future is tied up with his."

"I don't think so."

"Yes, it is," said Ginny, "and when he goes home, you're going to go with him."

She sat straight up and burst into laughter. "I don't know how to break it to you, Ma, but this time your dream radar is way
way
off-base."

"So where's he from?" Ginny asked. "Chicago? I know you hate Chicago."

"It's worse than Chicago."

"Denver?"

"Worse than Denver."

There was a long silence then, "I'm not picking anything up on this, Dakota. Why is that?"

"Good grief," said Dakota, leaping to her feet, "will you look at the time! Gotta go, Ma. Talk to you later." She hung up the phone and raced for the door before Ginny had the chance to redial her number. Right on cue, it began to ring as she locked the door behind her.

Ginny was nothing if not persistent.

And accurate?

She closed her eyes and tried to imagine herself with Andrew McVie but her mind was a blank screen. He and Shannon belonged together and nothing would change that.

But you know your future is linked with Shannon and Andrew's.

"Of course I do," she said out loud - never a good sign even in the best of times. "That doesn't mean I'm going to be their shadow." As the only single Wylie sibling, she'd had more than her share of being the fifth wheel. She couldn't imagine spending her life in that position.

Andrew's stay here was only temporary. Of that Dakota was sure. And she'd never seen two fates more intertwined than his and Shannon's.

So where does that leave you?

"I don't know," she said, starting toward her beat-up Mustang, which was parked at the end of her driveway. She supposed that left her where it always left her, playing the good friend, or the wifty psychic sidekick.