up to refused to let her totally freak out and cause a scene. Besides, scenes brought attention to her. Witnesses that would be on the cruise for the rest of the trip, remembering her acting like a crazy person.
Christophe held her tighter against his chest—his rock hard, very masculine chest. Serena swallowed, realizing she was good and caught, and her best friend was letting it happen. Probably thought she was doing her a favor.
"You will allow me to correct the slight I committed?"
All Serena could do was stare at him. What if it had been a horribly bad pirate joke? Could she forgive him and find out why he was so hell-bent on spending time with her? "Do I have a choice?" His grin was knowing. If she said no, she had the feeling he'd keep walking anyway. "How do I know it's safe to go with you?" Was she really having a don't-talk-to-strangers moment at twenty-eight? Stranger danger!
Danger was right. She was in danger of her hormones bursting into little horny flames and consuming her. When was the last time a man had touched her like this? She didn't think her exes had ever picked her up either. It made her feel so dainty and strangely feminine in a time where feminism frowned on such frivolities.
Christophe halted mid-step. "I'd never harm you, but your resolve against me, aye, that is in peril. I will penetrate that wall, and when I do, you'll be wanting me to do so."
The word penetrate maneuvered its way through her pores, sinking deep. Her toes curled and all she could do clutch the collar of his shirt and try not to react.
She was failing horribly.
Chapter Four
S ilence stretched, tense in the hot climate of the island. Inside the building, a metal instrument whirled around like a horizontal windmill from the ceiling, creating a manmade breeze. The rush of cool air was appreciated, but did little to alleviate the equally intense heat of Serena's scrutiny. Christophe had taken her to the location Mrs. Baker mapped out for him the night before after buying him some strange clothing which made him uncomfortable. It was lighter, had strange fastenings that opened and closed on metal teeth, and the footwear...the strange slippers would not hold up the way a good pair of boots would.
Mrs. Baker and her son were to arrive soon to help explain his circumstances to Serena—because there was no way she'd believe him. He scarcely believed it himself, but for the clear advancements of ships, lighting, and devices, not to mention the changes to the island itself. Unless the entire ship full of people, newspapers, pamphlets that read like colorful books, and the natives of Bermuda were in on a grand jest. Nothing was as it should be. He'd been on this island a number of times, but everything had changed, even though landmarks and beaches appeared the same. Which meant time had passed, and a lot of it. There was no other explanation.
If he had traveled through time, all he could do was adapt. It could be temporary, but he didn't have a way to know for certain. He could either allow himself to panic at the changes, or adjust. As he had with the life of piracy, adaptation was the better option. He'd observe, note the change, blend in as well as he could. He'd survived the past year doing that, and he'd do the same now. Only he wouldn't be doing it alone.
A woman delivered platters of food to their table. Christophe had ordered the catch of the day and really didn't care what he ate so long as he could be near the siren who had called him to her time. If they were truly fated by the stars, two souls to form one whole, then she must be fighting extremely hard against her own desires, and they had to mirror his own. His craving for her put his body in complete turmoil. All the sweeter it would be when she gave in to him. Even now, her gaze sought the exits to the building. There were but two, both behind him on opposite walls. If her breath didn't catch when he touched her, lips parting when he moved close enough to take
Christophe held her tighter against his chest—his rock hard, very masculine chest. Serena swallowed, realizing she was good and caught, and her best friend was letting it happen. Probably thought she was doing her a favor.
"You will allow me to correct the slight I committed?"
All Serena could do was stare at him. What if it had been a horribly bad pirate joke? Could she forgive him and find out why he was so hell-bent on spending time with her? "Do I have a choice?" His grin was knowing. If she said no, she had the feeling he'd keep walking anyway. "How do I know it's safe to go with you?" Was she really having a don't-talk-to-strangers moment at twenty-eight? Stranger danger!
Danger was right. She was in danger of her hormones bursting into little horny flames and consuming her. When was the last time a man had touched her like this? She didn't think her exes had ever picked her up either. It made her feel so dainty and strangely feminine in a time where feminism frowned on such frivolities.
Christophe halted mid-step. "I'd never harm you, but your resolve against me, aye, that is in peril. I will penetrate that wall, and when I do, you'll be wanting me to do so."
The word penetrate maneuvered its way through her pores, sinking deep. Her toes curled and all she could do clutch the collar of his shirt and try not to react.
She was failing horribly.
Chapter Four
S ilence stretched, tense in the hot climate of the island. Inside the building, a metal instrument whirled around like a horizontal windmill from the ceiling, creating a manmade breeze. The rush of cool air was appreciated, but did little to alleviate the equally intense heat of Serena's scrutiny. Christophe had taken her to the location Mrs. Baker mapped out for him the night before after buying him some strange clothing which made him uncomfortable. It was lighter, had strange fastenings that opened and closed on metal teeth, and the footwear...the strange slippers would not hold up the way a good pair of boots would.
Mrs. Baker and her son were to arrive soon to help explain his circumstances to Serena—because there was no way she'd believe him. He scarcely believed it himself, but for the clear advancements of ships, lighting, and devices, not to mention the changes to the island itself. Unless the entire ship full of people, newspapers, pamphlets that read like colorful books, and the natives of Bermuda were in on a grand jest. Nothing was as it should be. He'd been on this island a number of times, but everything had changed, even though landmarks and beaches appeared the same. Which meant time had passed, and a lot of it. There was no other explanation.
If he had traveled through time, all he could do was adapt. It could be temporary, but he didn't have a way to know for certain. He could either allow himself to panic at the changes, or adjust. As he had with the life of piracy, adaptation was the better option. He'd observe, note the change, blend in as well as he could. He'd survived the past year doing that, and he'd do the same now. Only he wouldn't be doing it alone.
A woman delivered platters of food to their table. Christophe had ordered the catch of the day and really didn't care what he ate so long as he could be near the siren who had called him to her time. If they were truly fated by the stars, two souls to form one whole, then she must be fighting extremely hard against her own desires, and they had to mirror his own. His craving for her put his body in complete turmoil. All the sweeter it would be when she gave in to him. Even now, her gaze sought the exits to the building. There were but two, both behind him on opposite walls. If her breath didn't catch when he touched her, lips parting when he moved close enough to take
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