Page 14 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

All right, the human version of it.

But before I can scream, he grabs both sides of my face. He locks my stare with the amber force of his. I gasp as he holds me tight. Tighter. But I still don’t scream. Why? Holy shit, why am I not shrieking like the horror-movie girl dumb enough to take a midnight swim in the lake?

He’s two thoughts ahead. He stretches his thumbs in, pressing them over my mouth, trapping me from bursting with sound. Once more, he drenches me in his melted-sun gaze. There’s a wild, desperate expression across his chiseled features. He doesn’t relent the ferocity, as if he’s been chained inside that armoire since the century it was made.

Beautiful.

The syllables are an aria in my mind, exquisite and unending.

He’s so heart-stoppingly beautiful.

Thick, chestnut-colored hair tumbles around his bold but elegant face, some of it covering an inch-long scar over his left eye. But most of the mane is secured at his nape with a crafted leather thong. He’s wearing a fitted brocade vest over a white linen shirt that has ties and ruffles instead of seams and buttons. His V-shaped torso and long, braced legs are as commanding as his linebacker-wide shoulders.

Wow.

No wonder I keep questioning the reality of all this.

Because with this reality, who the hell needs fantasy?

And isn’t that the perfect tagline of the hour?

I even wonder if it was part of his agency’s marketing materials. Drue and Raegan must have had a blast choosing this guy as my naughty birthday gift. I wouldn’t think there’d be many male dancers around these parts, but I’m not asking questions or complaining. He makes Christophe look like a five or six to his solid ten on the Gods of Loire scale.

“Mon Dieu. Mon Dieu, c’est un miracle.”

And holy crap…his voice.

If possible, his husk is sexier than its physical container. It’s liquid velvet infused with the strength of the earth. It harmonizes perfectly with the soft song in my head.

Happy birthday to me…

Happy birthday to me…

“Okay.” I smile to let him know screaming isn’t on my immediate agenda. “I’ll go with miracle if that’s your jam, gorgeous.”

When he tucks his eyebrows together, I notice other awesome things about his face. A couple of rugged nicks, besides the larger gouge, in his forehead. The luxurious length of his lashes. The stunning imbalance of his mouth, with the lower lip bigger than the top.

I wonder what his story is. He’s probably some local kid working the family vineyard during the day and taking gigs like this for some extra cash at night. Who am I to fault him? Rough times call for strange measures.

Finally, he murmurs, “You…are British.”

“Close.” I play with his shirt ruffles, just to sneak my fingers against a little of the chest beneath. Chiseled. Hard. Beautiful. There’s real power beneath his strength. “I’m American. Your people didn’t tell you that?”

“No.” He sounds like he’s choking as I trail my fingers along his collarbones. “There was little time. My God, that feels magnificent.”

He pushes closer, gliding his hands down my sides and over my hips. He caresses me with reverence, as if trying to memorize me.

Wow.

“That’s what this is all about, right?” I slip my hands to the back of his neck, giving in to the moment with subtle sways of my hips. “Feeling good?” I jog my head toward the wardrobe. “Getting the hell out of there?” I refrain from asking why he took so long to pop out, since he’s clearly been staged for this entrance since we finished dessert. Probably longer. But with that in mind, who am I to call the guy out for catching a catnap? Now that he’s rested, I don’t have to worry about wearing him out.

“Hell.” Shadows take over his face as he echoes the word. “An apt description.” Just as quickly, he violently shakes his head. “But it no longer matters.” His eyes are sunrise-gold again. “You are what matters.”

Oh, damn. He’s good. Did they give him the romance bestsellers’ list as training material? It’s working. His reverent touch makes me sizzle. His powerful presence brings my libido fully back online. If I’m not careful, I’ll let this hunk do more than take off his clothes for me.

He cups my face again. “My miracle. You are real. You are here.”

“Errrm…yeah.” I’m tempted to leave it at that, especially when he dips his big gorgeous head and leans his brow against mine. But I manage to add, “Here is…definitely…where I’m at.”