Page 18 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

“Oh, damn. I’m so sorry.” Long ago, I learned to laugh when shit got too much. When feelings got too intense. But he doesn’t need to know that. “I just laugh when things feel good.”

A look of pure male arrogance settles over his beautiful features. “Then I must endeavor to make you do it again.”

He slides back over my sweet spot, hitting more of the hypersensitive nerves, making me giggle longer and louder—until I notice his cocky composure disappearing in favor of a bewildered stare.

The stare he’s directing down there.

A blush heats my whole face. “Uhhh…yikes. I guess I owe you another apology, buddy.”

“Why?”

He barks the word like my contrition is an insult. I barely hold back from rolling my eyes. “Well, I didn’t know I’d be having…company tonight. Not…down there. Is the jungle a deal breaker for you?”

“A…deal breaker?” He frowns while gliding a hand down, sweeping my untrimmed triangle. “But it is not broken.”

Now I’m not sure whether to be frustrated or enchanted. As I work my lips together, silently debating the choice, he trails his touch lower.

“It is…très jolie.” His whole arm bunches, veins standing out against the bulges as he moves his fingers to his cock, adding friction to my tender flesh. “Beautiful, my Alessandra. Every part of you is…beyond the realm of all my erotic fantasies. You are so much more than what I hoped or dreamed for.”

His guttural sincerity makes it impossible to control my thick sigh. “Shit. You…are seriously good at the pretty talk, mister.”

“Only because it comes from the center of my soul.”

Damn. The man has no shortage of this stuff. But why do I keep resisting it? Because I know tonight’s going to end with a cash-stuffed envelope? But if that’s the case and we’re both consenting adults, then why fight the poetry? It’s a nice little touch. That and the whole body-of-a-god factor, of course.

And holy shit, his body.

He’s sleek and hewn and poised perfectly over me. His jutting cock is slick from rubbing my wetness. His face, as intense as a storm yet ablaze like dawn, is framed by the dark waves that’ve fallen loose from the leather tie. I reach up, pulling the rest of his hair free. Touching it is better than fingering a bolt of the trendiest new winter fabrics—and everyone knows winter is my favorite fabric season.

He robs every breath from my body. Yeah, even inspiring me to hop on board with his costume-drama lingo.

“You…ermmm…touch my soul too.” Swiftly I add, “Mon cœur.”

Those two little words, even in my crappy French accent, light up the man’s gaze like the Rockefeller Square Christmas Tree. I bite my lower lip, seriously fighting the urge to answer with a laugh.

Except, to my shock, it’s not a laugh.

I’m suddenly fighting…tears.

The big, embarrassing, spawned-from-the-bottom-of-your-gut kind.

“Thank Christ,” he rasps before pressing a kiss into one of my palms. “I knew you felt it too, Alessandra. I knew it.” He breathes the words into the center of my other hand. “We are destiny. Meant to be. Inked on the pages of fate itself.”

Air hitches in my throat. “Jesus,” I croak.

“He likely had a say in it too.” There’s not a hint of sarcasm in the man’s voice, which means it should be Allie freak-out time again. But it’s not—and now my brain has jumped into the holy-shit pit. “Though I did not believe it at the time,” he goes on. “But I should have. By all the blood of all the saints, how I should have. And how I do now. So much…”

He sweeps his mouth down, taking my lips in a tender but deep kiss. Then he plunges even deeper, as if intending to make me feel the words. Not necessary. I’ve heard. I’ve felt. His pledge, as sincere as a prayer, has accomplished the impossible. Spoken to the soul I’d long surrendered to some permanent mute button.

Well, it’s blaring now. In the middle of the most memorable one-night stand of my existence.

No.

Because of all this.

Because of this man.

I’m not even fully naked, but I’ve never been more exposed. Not like this. Not while doing this.