her.
He tilted his chin down. Brought his hand slowly up, cupped her cheek.
Yes.
A bell jingled as the front door opened, and Rollo closed his eyes as if in pain.
“Hello?” The shopkeeper sounded confused, suspicious.
Rollo brought his hand back quickly to his side.
Felicity made a tiny deflated sound, and he marveled at the endearingly feminine noise.
Had she truly wanted him to kiss her?
Good Christ.
He’d almost kissed her.
He inhaled deeply, exhaled sharply, and opened his eyes to her. What had he been thinking?
That open and guileless gaze snagged his. He held it as he called, “Aye, just here. We’ve finished.”
They needed to go, but still, Rollo couldn’t take his eyes from her.
Those brown eyes with that yellow hair. The delicate features of some fairy-tale beauty. And breasts that he wanted to free from her gown, take in his mouth. And suck. And ravage.
Those goddamned buttons had mocked him. He wanted to tear them off, to take her in his arms, and see if the rest of her was as creamy and pale as the delectable stretch of décolletage that he’d decided would surely then and there be the death of him.
“Hello?” The disembodied voice was closer now.
Rollo turned, reached for his cane, and just then stumbled. His damned legs had cramped up, so tightly wound had he been holding himself.
The shopkeeper peeked behind the screen just as Rollo cursed under his breath. Scandalized, the man’s eyes grew wide. “If you’d be so kind—”
“Aye,” Rollo gritted out, “you’ve my coin. We leave you now.”
The click and drag of his cane and feet were the only sounds as they made their way, excruciatingly slowly, from the shop.
Rollo felt Felicity’s eyes on him in the carriage, and he pushed himself as far into the corner as possible.
She smelled so . . . lush. Womanly and rich, her scent filled the small enclosure, driving him to distraction. Did she have to watch him so?
The wheel caught on a rut. The carriage gave a sharp jolt, and Felicity bounced closer in his direction.
“Sixteen fifty-eight,” he said suddenly, his voice cracking. “The year. Is 1658.”
“I . . .” She looked confused for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”
“That doesn’t . . . shock you?” And he’d thought MacColla’s woman Haley had been a peculiar one.
“Shock me ? What about you? I’m from the twenty-first century, and you act as though women pop back in time every day.”
“Bloody hell, but it seems you all do . . .” he muttered.
“What?” She leaned closer to hear.
“I’ve seen . . . this ”—he waved his hands, gesturing to her—“before. But don’t fash yourself.” He glanced away from her to stare back out the window. “As I said, I will help you return to your proper place.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you. I think this is my proper place. I did . . . something—”
“This couldn’t possibly be your proper place .” He sat upright to confront her. “Not very long ago, our king was relieved of his head. His son, the rightful king, Charles II, lives in exile, rallying to be restored to the throne. And Cromwell’s agents comb the countryside seeking men like me to hang from a gibbet in the market square.”
“Well, maybe I was sent back to help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” he snapped.
“I . . .” Her shoulders fell. “Is this about your legs or something?”
He bristled. Would she not leave it alone?
“Because I wasn’t saying you needed help help. Gosh, you’re sensitive. I was just saying, I think for some reason I came back to you specifically .” She poked her finger at his chest. “I made a wish, asked for a Viking, and—”
The laugh exploded from him, surprising them both. “You asked for a Viking ?”
“No, not a real Viking. It was . . . a metaphor.”
“You requested a metaphorical Viking from the universe?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “Though it didn’t sound so silly at the time.”
He sank back into the seat,
He tilted his chin down. Brought his hand slowly up, cupped her cheek.
Yes.
A bell jingled as the front door opened, and Rollo closed his eyes as if in pain.
“Hello?” The shopkeeper sounded confused, suspicious.
Rollo brought his hand back quickly to his side.
Felicity made a tiny deflated sound, and he marveled at the endearingly feminine noise.
Had she truly wanted him to kiss her?
Good Christ.
He’d almost kissed her.
He inhaled deeply, exhaled sharply, and opened his eyes to her. What had he been thinking?
That open and guileless gaze snagged his. He held it as he called, “Aye, just here. We’ve finished.”
They needed to go, but still, Rollo couldn’t take his eyes from her.
Those brown eyes with that yellow hair. The delicate features of some fairy-tale beauty. And breasts that he wanted to free from her gown, take in his mouth. And suck. And ravage.
Those goddamned buttons had mocked him. He wanted to tear them off, to take her in his arms, and see if the rest of her was as creamy and pale as the delectable stretch of décolletage that he’d decided would surely then and there be the death of him.
“Hello?” The disembodied voice was closer now.
Rollo turned, reached for his cane, and just then stumbled. His damned legs had cramped up, so tightly wound had he been holding himself.
The shopkeeper peeked behind the screen just as Rollo cursed under his breath. Scandalized, the man’s eyes grew wide. “If you’d be so kind—”
“Aye,” Rollo gritted out, “you’ve my coin. We leave you now.”
The click and drag of his cane and feet were the only sounds as they made their way, excruciatingly slowly, from the shop.
Rollo felt Felicity’s eyes on him in the carriage, and he pushed himself as far into the corner as possible.
She smelled so . . . lush. Womanly and rich, her scent filled the small enclosure, driving him to distraction. Did she have to watch him so?
The wheel caught on a rut. The carriage gave a sharp jolt, and Felicity bounced closer in his direction.
“Sixteen fifty-eight,” he said suddenly, his voice cracking. “The year. Is 1658.”
“I . . .” She looked confused for a moment. “Oh. Okay.”
“That doesn’t . . . shock you?” And he’d thought MacColla’s woman Haley had been a peculiar one.
“Shock me ? What about you? I’m from the twenty-first century, and you act as though women pop back in time every day.”
“Bloody hell, but it seems you all do . . .” he muttered.
“What?” She leaned closer to hear.
“I’ve seen . . . this ”—he waved his hands, gesturing to her—“before. But don’t fash yourself.” He glanced away from her to stare back out the window. “As I said, I will help you return to your proper place.”
“I’ve been trying to tell you. I think this is my proper place. I did . . . something—”
“This couldn’t possibly be your proper place .” He sat upright to confront her. “Not very long ago, our king was relieved of his head. His son, the rightful king, Charles II, lives in exile, rallying to be restored to the throne. And Cromwell’s agents comb the countryside seeking men like me to hang from a gibbet in the market square.”
“Well, maybe I was sent back to help you.”
“I don’t need your help,” he snapped.
“I . . .” Her shoulders fell. “Is this about your legs or something?”
He bristled. Would she not leave it alone?
“Because I wasn’t saying you needed help help. Gosh, you’re sensitive. I was just saying, I think for some reason I came back to you specifically .” She poked her finger at his chest. “I made a wish, asked for a Viking, and—”
The laugh exploded from him, surprising them both. “You asked for a Viking ?”
“No, not a real Viking. It was . . . a metaphor.”
“You requested a metaphorical Viking from the universe?”
“Yes.” She crossed her arms. “Though it didn’t sound so silly at the time.”
He sank back into the seat,
Similar Books
