Authors: Jane Leopold Quinn
The Keeper (15 page)
As if talking to a child, he said
gently, "That is the only way out." Striding across the room, he
escorted her back to the door, his hand brushing the small of her back, sending
shivers all over her body. She stepped out again. It was the courtyard, the
people, and the animals.
"God!" Her breath
hitching, she grabbed him, unconsciously digging her fingernails into his hard
forearm. "Where is the door I came in?" she cried desperately.
Staring at her as if she were mad,
he gripped her shoulders, his thumbs bracketing her neck. He forced her to look
into his deep brown eyes. "Janney Forrester, there is only one door and
that's it. Tell me where you're going, and I'll take you there."
Her face flushed hot. "I need
to get out of here." She pushed at his solid chest, tried to twist herself
out of his arms. "Don't touch me!"
"Marek!" The warning tone
was low, but sharp.
They both turned to look at
Augusta. Janney had forgotten she was there. Breaking from his grasp, she ran
to Augusta and begged, "Please, help me. I can't get out. The door's not
the same one I came in." Her words tumbled out all in a rush. "He
won't let me out!"
"Janney, my dear,"
Augusta calmly began. "Marek will not hurt you. No one will hurt
you." She talked softly and assuredly to Janney. "There is only one
door. Let's go look out together."
They walked to the door, opened it,
and looked out into the courtyard again. Frantic, Janney pushed herself back
inside. Her back to the atrium wall, she slid along until she reached the
corner. Thoughts wouldn't light in her brain and the ones that finally did, she
couldn't believe. What seemed to be true couldn't possibly be. She just needed
to think logically. These people were actors. They had to be. She took a deep
breath trying to calm her wildly beating heart and spoke, her voice barely
above a whisper, "Where am I?"
"You're at Aquae Sulis,
dear."
"You mean Bath." It was a
statement. A demand. Not a question.
"The baths are here, but this
town is called Aquae Sulis," Augusta said calmly.
Janney's frantic gaze flickered to
the man. Aquae Sulis was the ancient name for the town of Bath.
His brows had drawn together over
his nose.
"What year is this?" She
was afraid her breath wouldn't last.
"It is the year 161."
"No, I mean really, in real
life, not this fake restored Roman thing."
Augusta approached her, her hands
out, palms up. "Janney dear, you are in Britannia in the Roman Empire.
This is Aquae Sulis. My name is Augusta, and this is my friend, Marek."
Shivering, pressing herself further
into the corner, Janney crossed both palms over her mouth. Eyes wide, she
stared at the couple for what seemed an interminable time as her brain tried to
slog through what was happening. It isn't possible. It can't be. Things like
this don't happen in real life.
It's impossible. Unthinkable. She
could hardly utter the words even in her mind, let alone out loud. They'd tie
her up in a rubber room, or whatever they did back in Roman times with insane
people.
She babbled, "I'm Janney
Forrester from Mission River, Iowa, in America. I teach third grade, and I'm on
summer vacation in England. I live in the year 2012. I don't understand what
happened. It can't possibly be true, but…but I've…" Her panicked eyes
darted around the room. "I think I've gone back in time."
She sank to the floor and buried
her face in her arms, hugging her knees to her chest, holding herself as
tightly as she could.
"Marek, she's not mad,"
Augusta uttered the feared word—mad. "I don't fully understand it, but I
think her story is somehow true."
Tears trickled down her cheeks.
"Oh, my God. My mother will die of worry if I don't get back. My kids… No
one will know what happened to me."
She felt a large heated presence.
Raising her head, she saw Marek kneeling in front of her. He took her cold and
shaking hands in his warm, steady ones and gently asked, "What happened
right before you came in the door? Where were you? Look at me, Janney
Forrester," he commanded gently. "Where were you?"
She blinked as if coming into the
light out of a dark room. Not knowing what was happening to her was making her
crazy. Marek and Augusta were the only solid pieces in this whole bizarre puzzle.
She'd heard his questions and knew that he was trying to help her regain
control. God, she needed to be in control again.
Shuddering with fear that hovered
too closely, she held his gaze and hands as if her life depended on it and
whispered, "I was at the doorway. Outside the door. It wasn't wooden. It
wasn't there." She pointed, clinging to what she knew for sure. "It
was all overgrown with weeds and vines. I walked through grass and wild flowers
up to that door. It was all open, and I could see the ruins inside here. It
didn't look like this. It smelled of dust. There was no roof. The tiles were
broken. The fountain didn't work." Her voice rose in pitch again.
"But when I stepped in, it was perfect. Like it had been restored. Like it
is now. It doesn't make any sense."
He glanced at the door. Helping her
up gently, his hand firmly around her waist, he walked with her to the door.
They stepped out together. The courtyard. They stepped back inside. He urged
her through alone. It was the same scene. She leaned against the doorframe
turning her back to the street. She couldn't bear to look out there again. She
was lost, trapped in a nightmare.
***
Mt. Olympus
"Well, that takes care of
that," the Goddess of Love chirped, gleefully dusting off her palms. Venus
reclined on her chaise with a self-satisfied expression on her dazzling face.
"What takes care of
what?" the God of War asked. Mars reluctantly turned his concentration
from the current battle being waged against Parthia.
"I brought the woman back from
her time to his."
"Whose?"
"Marek Benin's."
"Why in all the heavens would
you do that?"
"Because I have the
power." Venus always enjoyed having the last word over Mars.
Preview of Undercover Lover
Chapter One
"Unhhh…Ohhh, God…" The
sounds tore from her throat in deep, raspy growls. Liz's hips undulated in time
to her heartbeat as shudders rolled through her body.
She'd set the scene in her bedroom:
glowing candles, fluffy pillows, the covers pushed to the bottom of the bed.
She settled against the pillows to play with her toy and fantasize about her
sexy neighbor. It was all his fault. His fault she had to resort to her
vibrator.
Sweeping her lashes closed and
swirling the tip of his imagined cock through the cream pooling in her cleft,
the presence of Mr. Mysterious seemed to invade the room. The sight of his
broad shoulders and chest dominated her mind's eye. Arching her neck, she
moaned, "God, yes…" He teasingly nudged himself into her sheath,
pulsated, pulled out, and then did it again. She gasped, panted, drove herself
mad pretending this ecstasy came from him, from the imagined wicked gleam in
his eyes knowing he tormented her unmercifully.
Part of her knew the truth—that her
dangerous, pretend lover wasn't really here, his cock only plastic and
batteries. But it felt so real, the rotating ridges and length stimulating all
her innermost nerve endings. Concentrating on the sensations, she tortured her
lower lip and thrust her new lover in as deeply as possible. The rotating tip
polished over the ultra-sensitive knot of nerves inside and always brought her
to orgasm. Always. Ah, yes.
In her illusion—her delusion—long,
muscular, hairy legs rasped against her tender inner thighs. She heard his
groan as he tracked the tips of his fingers along her skin from her knees to
her drenched pubic hair.
"Baby," he'd whisper
huskily. "I'm gonna fuck you blind. I'm gonna eat my way down your body
'til your luscious clit pops into my mouth like a ripe cherry.
Groaning loudly at the fantasy
fucking, at first she tried to catalogue her feelings, to catalogue everything
about him. The rakish flash of the gold hoop in his ear turned her on. So did
his demonically-trimmed goatee, and she wasn't usually fond of facial hair.
She stopped thinking and succumbed
to the forces inside her body, squeezing her thighs together to keep the
vibrator in place. Her hands slid over her belly and breasts, squeezing and
twisting her nipples, the dual sensations heavenly. Oh, God, her clit throbbed.
It needed…something. It wanted lips, the soft suctioning of a man's lips
feasting on the tender nub.
On a sob, she speared her fingers
through the lubricant, stroked faster and faster on the sides of her clit,
smoothly and rhythmically, until the added friction drove her over the edge.
She arched her hips, grinding her heels into the sheets, groaning guttural
sounds until the waves passed over her. Pressing her hand on her mound
contained the electric aftershocks. She didn't want to pull the vibrator out or
even hit the off button. All she wanted to do was curl up and cry. How could
such a profound climax—a good thing—make her feel so alone?
Because you are alone.
The euphoric orgasm inspired by the
dark-haired stranger should have consumed her, but quickly cooling perspiration
on her face and between her breasts reminded her that she was absolutely alone.
Self doubt and insecurity did not
factor into Elizabeth Aspen's usual repertoire of emotions. A popular and busy
actress in local Chicago theater productions, she exuded confidence and enjoyed
her sexy, flirtatious persona. She enjoyed her freedom, but sometimes she
feared that very same freedom. It also meant loneliness.
Several months ago, she'd been
callously dumped by her boyfriend, Fred Travis. At first she'd been shocked
when he announced he'd been transferred to his Houston office. He'd accepted
that move without even discussing it with her. Then he delivered the final coup
de grâce. He didn't want a small time actress going with him.
A small time actress? She
considered the stage her life and was thrilled to be working. How could she
have missed his contemptuous attitude? Both her sister and her best friend said
she was well rid of him, but it hurt to have her career belittled by someone
you thought cared. So, now, she would focus on her career, swearing off men and
relationships.
She loved acting, and, after a
hectic day, she loved coming home to her adorable yellow stucco coach house.
Inside, the peaked roof gave her enough height to stand upright in the loft
bedroom. The main floor had just enough room for her cozy furniture. A
glamorous, spa-like bathroom and large walk-in closet completed the perfect
home, a slice of snug normalcy in contrast to her chaotic life as an actress.
A few weeks ago, she'd first
noticed the hunky guy living in the Victorian next door. She'd been shocked at
the intense jolt of carnal pleasure his dark, dangerous good looks had sent
through her belly.
Sex on two legs. Worn jeans
lovingly encased muscular thighs. His straight, black mane flopped over his
forehead accentuating deeply set eyes and an angular face. A mustache and
closely cropped goatee couldn't soften his strong jaw line. And the glint of a
gold hoop in his left ear did not, in any way, lead her to suspect he might be
gay.
This afternoon she'd spotted him
climbing the porch steps, gorgeous in jeans and black leather jacket. His long
hair, broad shoulders, and tight butt, combined with a face like an ultra-sexy
Jake Gyllenhaal, made him irresistible. It was absurd to compare him with the
blond-haired, lithe Fred. Their features were as opposite as a clear,
uncomplicated day and the sexy, preternatural night. A night promising
breathtaking, sensuous passion and uninhibited, rough sex.
Rough sex? She'd never had rough
sex in her life, but the thought of Mr. Hunkalicious holding her down, his
fierce expression focused on her reactions as he sensuously tortured her body…
She squeezed her eyes closed, forcing aside the lustful yearning. She'd
surreptitiously watched that gorgeous butt take the steps two at a time.
Flushing hot with imagining the bulge she'd glimpsed behind his zipper, her
heart pulsed in her throat, her breath came fast, and her nerves tautened with
a ravenous, sexual desire.
Nothing else would work but to
employ the services of Mr. Fake-nine-inch-cock to get thoughts of the flesh and
blood guy out of her system.
About the Author
I’m one of the lucky ones—a
published author. My debut novel,
Ancient Ties
, received 4-½ Stars and
Top Pick from Romantic Times and was nominated for Reviewers’ Choice Award for
Best Erotic Romance of 2006.
It is my honor and pleasure to
write romance. My tag line reads:
My
Romance:
Love with a Scorching
Sensuality. I love to wring every ounce of passion out of my characters and
bring them together for their well-deserved Happily Ever After.
I understand about HEA. I met and
married my husband a bit later in life, so I know it can happen in real life.
We live in Chicago, and my writing space overlooks the park and lakefront. My
message to you is take that chance to do what you want in life, and more
importantly, take the chance to fall in love. Please check out my website to
read about my other wonderful stories.
http://www.janeleopoldquinn.com/
***
Other Books by Jane Leopold
Quinn
Ancient Ties