Emma Holly (17 page)

concept of the quantum realm, all times are now. Going backward or forward or skipping from point A to point F are perfectly okay."

"But why would time do that for us? Why go along A, B, C, and suddenly jump to F?"

This question obviously required more alertness. Eric pushed himself into a seated position, then refluffed his pillow behind his back. "It's possible that something you were thinking or feeling had such power it compelled your glass to be in a different place. B.G. believes that strong emotion can trigger atypical time events. It's even possible that something you're going to think in the future made it happen. Rather than pop you into an alternate universe—"

"An alternate universe!"

"Let me finish. Rather than pop you into an alternate universe where your glass was already there, your consciousness simply adjusted this one. Only you saw it, so I doubt there's any danger of undermining this reality's consensual rules."

"Eric—"

"I'm only telling you what I suspect B.G. would say. If an event doesn't have a zero probability of happening, many physicists claim it must occur, on some branch of reality. In a different universe, Charity, you and I never met."

The thought of this made her right hand clench the sheets. "Take my word for it," she said tightly, "my little brain doesn't have the power to adjust the world. That's just crazy. Even if quantum theories are true, this is real life."

"Charity, reluctant as I am to admit it, if there's one thing I've learned from living with B.G., it's that the implications of quantum theories are real. They're as real as the friend you haven't heard from in ages calling ten minutes after you stumble across her picture in your kitchen drawer. They're as real as finding your car keys in the very spot you swear you've looked ten times before. They're as real as a woman knowing the minute she gets pregnant because she senses the baby's soul. Just because these things are inexplicable doesn't mean there's anything to be afraid of. The world is the same as it was yesterday."

"I bet your boss would disagree with that. I bet he'd say if I think the world is different, it is."

She'd risen on her elbow to confront him. Now, on the monitor above his head, she saw the scribbling amber blip of chaos wink on and off. The picture—if you could call it that—looked deeper in the darkness, as if it truly were three-dimensional. She had the strongest urge to yank the screen off the wall and let it smash. B.G. wouldn't like her breaking his camera, but the outlet for her anger would have been sweet.

Eric must have sensed her agitation, because he stroked her hair. "You're safe here, Charity. B.G.

wouldn't let you come to harm any more than I would."

Sadly, no one could save her from the kind of harm she felt threatening her. Eric might think he believed these things, but he spoke about them as if they were no more than interesting ideas—with no particular relevance for him. She sat up and faced him, crossing her legs as she tried to get comfortable.

"I want you to understand why I'm upset," she said, surprised to discover how much she did. Usually, she resigned herself to her boyfriends being clueless.

He put one hand over hers where it gripped her knee. "I'm listening."

With her other hand, she dragged her hair from her face. "It's like… when I was little, a couple times, no matter what my mother did, she couldn't come up with rent. I don't want you to think she's lazy. Back then, she was constantly getting jobs. But she'd drop everything for a man. Move to Alaska, if he wanted. Living like that wasn't great for her resume. So a few times, we had to live out of our car."

"That doesn't have to happen to you again."

His tone was so concerned she felt the need to reassure him. "It hasn't happened. Other things, but not that. I've always, always kept a roof over my head. The thing is, the first time we were homeless, it was such a shock I could hardly take it in. I mean, I knew my mom wasn't like other mothers. Other mothers wore track suits. Mine wiggled around in tight jeans. Other mothers taught their kids not to steal. Mine tried to convince me it was okay to take the salt and pepper shakers from restaurants. Even with all that, I never thought she couldn't keep me safe. I thought—like she always said—things would work out.

When I realized the promise was a lie, it pulled the rug out from under me. Suddenly, I couldn't be sure of anything. Suddenly, the world was a scary place. These things you're saying… thinking they're true makes me feel like I felt then."

He was quiet, his thumb sweeping back and forth across the sensitive inner side of her knee. She could tell he didn't have an answer and, strangely enough, the fact that he didn't try to make her feel better was comforting.

"How old were you?" he asked after a bit.

"Eight or so the first time. We were in Houston that summer, because I remember the car was really hot."

He shook his head. "The worst thing that happened to me when I was eight was my mother forcing me to teach B.G. how to ride his bike. He read the encyclopedia when he was three, but ask him to balance on two wheels and he couldn't cope."

"B.G. was reading when he was
three
?"

"Two, actually. But because he didn't talk until later, nobody guessed. Once he did, my big sister, who baby-sat for him now and then, started calling him Rosemary's baby."

Charity laughed, glad for the chance. "That was mean of her."

"Yes, it was, but Dana grew out of it, and it was a little creepy to hear a toddler talking like a Ph.D."

"He must have had a tough time growing up."

"He did, though you'll never hear him admit it. He refused to let anyone make him afraid."

She touched the hand he'd put over hers, tracing the line of a vein. "You really love him."

"Yes," he said with unexpected ease. "He's the person I most admire in the world. When I was eight, of course, he was the person I most resented. Nothing like having a parent order you to make a friend.

Mom was… is a stickler for doing the right thing. According to her, being born to privilege means you have more of an obligation to pay back. Nobody can stand up to her when she's on a mission." He grinned with a flash of orthodontically perfect teeth. "We have a saying in our house, that Mom wears the pants in the family and Dad wears the whoopie cushion."

"He likes to joke?"

"He likes to be obnoxious. He drove my sister to teats of mortification once when he festooned her boyfriend's car in toilet paper. He's an officer at a bank, which means he has to save most of his jokes for us. I promise you, there were times when I would have traded both my parents for your mom—salt shakers and all."

He didn't sound like he meant it. He sounded like he loved his folks, like he forgave them all their flaws—further evidence that he was more grown up than she was.

She tried to shift the conversation to safer ground. "I guess you got over your resentment at being forced

to be B.G.'s bud."

He laughed, memory warming the sound. "Even then he was impossible to resist. After a while, I realized I was never bored when I was with him."

"My mom wasn't boring," she admitted. "A lot of times she was fun."

He seemed to read the cloud on her mood. He took her hands, gathering them to his heart. "Since I'm up now," he said with a coaxing grin, "want to fool around?"

Charity smiled, silently thanking his mother for raising him to be nice. She was amazed at how open he'd been, sharing stories as if they were making friends. "Let's just sleep," she said, "that is, if you don't mind staying?"

"I live to serve," he said—which wasn't quite the answer she was hoping for.

The
creak of Charity's mattress pulled Eric from sleep. His cheek was in her hair, and the sun from the little courtyard shone warm on his bare shoulders. Because Charity was in his arms, someone else must have lowered their weight onto the foot of her bed.

Eric really, truly didn't want to see who it was. His cock was stretched to its limit, routine enough for morning except for how badly it ached. It might not be physically possible to stay hard all night, but the way the ache reverberated in his balls and thighs made him think he had. He wanted nothing more than to bury himself in Charity. He didn't even want to wake her more than a little, just enough to drape her arms around him, just enough to push in and out of her sleepy softness until he shot her full to dripping with his pent-up seed. As far as he was concerned, she didn't have to move. She could lay beneath him like it was a dream.

Her husband would have had the right
, he thought, the idea coming to him out of the blue.

Groaning, he rolled onto his back and opened his eyes.

Crisply dressed and shaved, B.G. sat with his arms crossed over his loose shirtfront. When his gaze caught on the tent Eric's erection made in the sheets, his cluck of mock disapproval roused Charity.

"Mmph," she said, struggling up on her elbows. "And here I was thinking I'd give anything to have the three of us hit the sheets."

Her froggy comment sent a perceptible jerk through B.G.'s frame. The flush that followed intrigued Eric.

He marveled that his boss hadn't considered this possibility before. They'd taken guests together many times.

"You broke the rules," B.G. said with his trademark mild sternness. Despite his outward calm, a muscle ticked in his jaw. "As you are aware, both of you have something to answer for."

Eric suspected habit had Charity explaining, or maybe it was that B.G. actually did look ticked. Maybe it bugged him that his trusted keeper had encouraged the transgression. If that was true, Eric wasn't sure how to handle it. He couldn't remember the last time B.G. had been angry with him.

"Eric was comforting me," Charity said. "After I freaked out."

"The first climax was comfort. The others were indulgence."

"Fine." Charity thrust out her wrists so the sheet fell to her waist. "Slap on the cuffs."

Her breasts were bare and lovely. To Eric's relief, B.G. shook his head and smiled faintly at the show. It seemed their guest could coax anyone into a good mood. "At present, Eric requires my attention. His was the greater offense. You I'm handing over to Sylvia and Maurice."

"Fine," Charity said, feigning indifference as she swung naked out of the bed. "I hope I'm allowed to brush my teeth and all that first."

"You are," B.G. conceded, "but please don't dress."

He watched her flounce into the bathroom, obviously appreciating the twitch and bounce of her smooth young flesh. When she shut the door and burst into a defiant snatch of "Born to Be Wild," he cracked a grin.

Eric found her reaction less humorous. To him, it looked like bravado to hide hurt pride. "She'd respond better to a punishment that came from you," he said quietly.

"Perhaps." B.G. stroked the length of Eric's thigh through the rumpled sheet. The touch made his hard-on jump. "But I'd rather show her what I can do before I work on her directly. Specifically, I'd rather demonstrate on you."

"Lucky me," Eric said with a shiver he could not suppress.

"She'll see everything," B.G. promised. "Every shudder and bead of sweat. She'll wish she were you in no time at all."

By
the time Sylvia and Maurice arrived at Charity's room, the masseuse had recovered from her earlier fit of gratitude. She also seemed not to have enjoyed whatever "seeing to" B.G. had arranged for her.

The expression on her elfin face was petulant.

"I hear
someone
is due special treatment," she said, her fists digging into her waist.

"Stow it, Syl," Maurice said, a hint of steel beneath his amicable tone. "You had your turn in the spotlight when you were a guest. Now it's time to get with the new program—at least if you want Mr. G to keep letting you stay on."

"Do not imply that I'm a bad employee."

"Of course not. You live to please. That's why we're dressed like escapees from a beach movie." He rolled his eyes at Charity. "In case you hadn't guessed, she chose these things."

Their outfits were unusual: snug banana-yellow surfer gear. Sylvia looked lean and sporty in her bikini, while Maurice bulged pretty much everywhere in his clinging knee-length shorts. The rubberized cloth made his package seem even fatter.