Page 102 of Flirting with Forever

He caught the direction of her gaze and flushed.

“’Tis yours,” he admitted.

“It is?”

“I-I have carried it with me since that day.”

She felt her heart skip a beat. It was a stirring tribute, one that she did not take lightly. She didn’t know what to say.

“I didn’t tell Mertons,” he said. “It seemed the least of my transgressions.”

“Where is Mertons?” she asked.

Peter’s thumb, which had been gently brushing her knuckle, stopped.

“Mertons is where I need to be,” he answered carefully.

Cam hadn’t forgotten what Mertons had said to her—that the Peter here was not the Peter of 1673. The Peter here was a man from the Afterlife who’d been broken by sadness and now awaited release in the form of a new life in which he could forget all that he had lost. “What do you mean?” she said.

“I mean I shouldn’t be here. Apart from the foolish pride that informed this misadventure, my being here is, as Mertons has advised, something akin to yelling ‘fire’ in a crowded theater. My actions here, in a time that is not my own, will play Old Harry with variables I can’t begin to understand.”

“So what?” Her belligerence surprised her. She didn’t want him to leave.

“Like a cursed billiard ball, I may force people into directions they shouldn’t be moved. I may force you down a road you should not travel. I’ve already hurt you in a way I couldn’t have foreseen.”

“I am entirely capable of making my own bad decisions. Believe me. I don’t need you shouldering any of the responsibility for them.”

He laughed, but she could see he was unmoved.

“How long can you stay?” The petulance in her voice made her sound like a child.

“In truth, not as long as I wish.”

Their eyes met and he reached for her. The kiss was hungry and sorrowful and told her everything she already knew.

“How long?” she whispered. “How long?”

“Cam, I cannot—”

“I’m leaving the museum.”

“What?”

“I may have to anyway. You probably don’t know this, but I’m in line for the directorship. If I don’t get it, I’ll leave.”

“You’ll get it.”

“You don’t know my competition. Oh, wait, you do.” She met his eyes. “Anastasia.”

His brow lifted. “She mentioned our meeting?”

His deliberately vague reply made her uneasy. “Yes. She’s the other candidate.”

“She’s also your sister.”

“She has excellent credentials.”

“Credentials cannot replace rectitude. She is unkind to you. The electors will see that.”