Page 57 of Misadventures with a Time Traveler

After everything that went down with Pascaline in the gallery, I can’t deny that’s likely his name, but I’m still grappling about the century in which he received it. The conviction bolsters my determined look at Henri. “Monsieur, may I speak to your…guest…alone, please?”

Henri glances to Max as if seeking royal permission. “This is acceptable for you?” And then, God help me, actually asking for it.

“Not just acceptable, my friend. Necessary.”

Henri’s jaw tightens. “The time…is that limited?”

Max nods. Yes, like freaking Henry the Eighth. The hunky pre-joust-stab one. “Right now, every moment counts.”

“Of course.” Henri dips a nod. “Whatever you need.”

As the man backs out of the room, I dig my fingernails into my palms to keep my composure. The man needs a padded room and intense psychotherapy, not deference and awe. The resolve helps with maintaining my determined stance from the second Max swivels his attention back to me.

Thoroughly on me.

To the degree that he’s my new human microwave. And my nervous system is his melted cheese.

I raise my chin higher. Refortify my posture. Like that helps with anything—especially because he takes instant note of it. I see that much in the newest arrogance across his face.

With that same steady confidence, he steps over. He doesn’t stop until he’s deep inside my personal space. He reaches to grasp me by the shoulders.

“Don’t,” I grit out.

I’m peeved as hell at you.

I freaking crave you.

His serenity just grates harder on my ire—and teases my sex like a physical stroke. “Ma chérie. What is wrong?”

I release a rickety breath. “What the hell isn’t wrong?”

“I do not understand.”

With a push of physical and mental effort, I step back. It’s only a step, but it’s a start. “While you were off with Chevalier, I was in the De Leon portrait gallery.”

“Oh?”

“Yeah. Oh. There are some interesting pieces in there. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Something dark forms in his gaze. He reaches for me again. This time, my fortitude isn’t so strong. Just like that, I’m a steel shaving in front of a mega-magnet. I’m quickly being outpowered, and that makes me even more pissed.

“Alessandra. I know this must be vexing for you.”

“I’m not vexed. But plenty of others around here are, and that’s why I came to find you.” I raise my head and search his stunning face. “You want to really honor me, Max? Then give me some honesty. What’s your game here?”

“My…game?” He drops his head and shakes it slowly. “Mon Dieu, Alessandra. Is that really what you think?”

“Damn it.” I toss my head with an angry flinch. “I’m not going to rain the police down on you, okay? Not if you promise me that this fuckery ends now.”

He flares his nostrils. “Exactly what fuckery would that be, mademoiselle?”

“Are you really going to make me spell it out?” I toss my head the other way, realizing I’m fast entering dangerous diva territory. “Fine, then. You want exact? Even though you know how much you look like the guy in the portrait upstairs? And how you likely also know about the crazy gypsy curse that made him disappear, giving him a chance to escape execution if only he followed his heart?”

When his features remain disturbingly steady, my lungs expel a harsh breath. I inhale with the same force. Why is he so accepting of this? So not stunned or confused?

“So what’s your play on this, buddy?” I’m finally able to level. “How are you spinning this? Are you just out to make a euro or two doing the swashbuckling cosplay thing, or is this something else? I mean, you’re not saying…” I have to stop and focus on pulling in air now. “Oh hell, Max. Are you actually saying that guy’s been reincarnated through you?”

At first, I get only silence as reply. And stillness. Utter, creepy stillness.