TimeSlip (8 page)

Ingrid took another slug out of her glass. “He didn’t want
me. Strom doesn’t care about me.”
Oh god, I’m going to start sniveling again
.

Jake took the glass away from her and set it down. “Ingrid,
I’ve known the big guy for a long time. If he didn’t care about you, he would
have slept with you.”

There was a peculiar male logic to that statement that she
couldn’t quite fathom. Ingrid grabbed her drink again and stared morosely into
the glass. “Why couldn’t I have fallen for you or Pete instead?”

Jake threw back his head and roared with laughter. “Ingrid,
no one, and I mean no one would fall for Pete unless they were seriously into
Tech. Hell, even I can’t understand half the things he talks about.”

Ingrid persisted. “I mean, you would have slept with me,
wouldn’t you?”

Jake smiled. “In a nanosecond.”

Whether he had intended it or not, she took that as an
invitation. Jake’s lips were soft. His kiss was gentle, if curiously lacking in
passion, but it was a balm to her earlier rejection.

Finn nudged her. “Ingrid, Strom is here and he doesn’t look
happy.”

“Life’s too short to be happy,” she sniffed, “and besides,
he’s made it very clear that he’s not interested.”

Jake commed him silently,
Boss, I know what it looks
like, but she is out of control
.

Strom glared at him.
I know that
, he commed back.
I
handled things badly
. That was an understatement of galactic proportions.
He had monumentally messed up. Ingrid was hurt and drunk and he still hadn’t
told her that they had received orders to return home. Strom cleared his
throat, hoping to interrupt her explorations of Jake’s neck.

“Ingrid, it’s late. Can we go home now?”

Ingrid rested her head on Jake’s shoulder, and unbuttoning
his shirt, she began to caress his chest. “Don’t wait up, Strom, I’ll be very
late.”

His hands clenched into fists under the table as he watched
Ingrid touching Jake. Best friend or not, if Jake didn’t leave the club soon,
he was going to punch him. How could he have ever believed that he could do
this? He had tried to stay away from Ingrid, tried to protect her, but all he
had done was hurt her.

“Jake, return home now. That’s an order.” Jake stood up
quickly. Relief was etched across his face as he made his way quickly toward
the exit.

“Where Jake goes, I go.” Ingrid stood up unsteadily. The
club was beginning to sway. She really needed some fresh air.

Jake was gone by the time they got outside. She had no idea
what time it was and it was beginning to rain. A fitting end to a disastrous
night.

“Taxi,” she yelled at a passing car, but it sped by her. The
clubs were emptying now and the street was full of people with the same idea.
They would have to walk home. Strom offered her his arm.

“No thank you,” she enunciated in the clear, precise tones
of someone who has realized that she is far from sober. “Finn, it’s time for a
song.”

“Lead the way, girl.”

“What is she doing?” Strom hissed.

“She’s about to sing very, very badly. I’d say she’s reached
about stage four on the Sorrenson scale of drunkenness. Finn counted the
fingers on his hand. Crying, kissing a stranger, inappropriate dancing—”

That one stopped the big guy in his tracks. “She danced?
Ingrid danced in there with the naked women?”

“I kid you not,” Finn winked. “Complete with fan, and I have
the pictures to prove it.”

Strom looked glumly at Ingrid’s swaying figure. “What
happens next?”

“Well, it can only go two ways from here, puking or
unconsciousness. Oops. There she goes.”

Ingrid’s head thumped like a bass drum as the events of the
previous night replayed themselves in glorious technicolor in her memory. The
disastrous seduction, the dancing, the kissing and fondling with Jake, and
Strom was there to witness it. Worst of all was the memory of him carrying her
home and putting her to bed. How was she ever going to face any of them again?

By the time she had a long, hot shower, she almost felt
human. She needed black coffee and a long walk on the beach. Finn was busy in
the kitchen and the other three were sitting on the couch. They looked like
judge, jury and executioner.

“I’m sorry about last night,” she mumbled.

Jake was on his feet first, sweeping her up in a hug. “I had
a great time, Ingrid. Feel free to kiss me any time.”

Jake was a sweetheart, he probably meant it too. Pete gave
her a thumbs-up. Strom didn’t say a word to her, so she left.

* * * * *

The long stretch of beach between Sutton and Howth was one
of her favorite places. At this time of the year on a Saturday morning, it was
wild and empty. Ingrid walked on the ridges of damp sand, meandered around the
rock pools and took deep breaths of tangy sea air, the perfect hangover cure.

Six days. The viking had been in her life for six days. She
had never felt this way before about any man and she knew in her heart and soul
that she never would again. What the hell was she going to do? A gust of wind
blew in from the sea, capturing her hair, tangling it wildly around her face.
When she brushed it away, Strom was there.

“Can we talk?”

“Let me guess, Strom. You have a twenty-sixth-century device
that allows you to track where I am at all times.”

“No.” He shrugged. “I asked Finn.”

“What do you want to talk about?”

“You and me, Ingrid. Us.”

“There is no us,” she snapped. “I seem to recall that you
made that pretty clear last night.”

She stared at the rocky island across the bay, wishing that
she was there instead of having this mortifying conversation with him. Strom’s
hand reached for her and then it stopped in midair and dropped to his side. He
couldn’t even bear to touch her. Why was he torturing her like this? He must
know that she was in love with him. Why couldn’t he just leave her to her
misery? Oh god, she was going to cry again. She had to get away from him.

“Ingrid, please don’t, we’re leaving tomorrow. My orders
came through last night. Raoul is back in the twenty-sixth century.”

She knew it was coming, but not how painful his words would
be. Tomorrow, her viking would be gone for good. She could feel him staring
down at her face, but she refused to meet his eyes. This was bad enough without
letting him realize that she was on the verge of crying. Her legs were shaking,
so she sat down beside a rock pool, pretending she had developed a sudden
interest in sand crabs.

Strom sat down beside her and the silence stretched
uncomfortably between them. “Ingrid, what happened last night was my fault. I
should have explained why we couldn’t be together. I can’t stay here and I was
afraid that you would be hurt when I left. I’ve already messed up your life
enough. Believe me, it’s better this way.”

Ingrid picked up a stick and doodled in the sand. A planet
surrounded by stars. “We live in the same world, Strom. Everything beneath the
sky is mine and everything above it is yours. Did you think that if we became
lovers, I would try to keep you here?”

Feeling dangerously close to tears, she dug her nails into
her palm of her hand.
Don’t you dare cry, Sorrenson.
“I know that I
can’t compete with the stars. I know that it will hurt like hell when you’re
gone. But this is our time, Strom, and you don’t have the right to take that
away from me.”

He didn’t reply. Strom’s dark eyes were full of sadness. He
reached for her again. It was the first time he had held her for days and she
buried her face in his chest, inhaling his scent. They clung together on the
windswept beach for what seemed like an age. Finally he pulled away.

“What if we didn’t know that I was going? What if we were a
man and a woman who met on a beach, and decided to spend the afternoon
together?”

Ingrid wiped her eyes with the sleeve of her jacket. “What
if we had twenty-four hours?”

Chapter Six

They had the day they should have had from the very
beginning. They didn’t stop touching or laughing or smiling. Strom told her
about life at Fleet Academy, of the vast inky blackness of space. How Ismania
looked when its seven suns set and the exquisite taste of yarna fruit on
Thalsis Four.

She told him of her Norwegian father, Sigmund, who fell in
love with a ballet dancer, and of a skinny, muddy child growing up on
archaeological sites around the world following her mother’s death.

They kissed hungrily, passionately, at the end of the pier,
much to the amusement of the fishermen mending their nets. When evening came,
they returned to her apartment.

“Ms. Sorrenson,” the concierge called after her. “Mr.
O’Leary left a message to say that he and his friends have gone out for the
evening.” Ingrid said a silent prayer of thanks to Finn as they got into the
elevator.

Strom pressed the button for the fifth floor. “Ms.
Sorrenson, I believe you’re at my mercy.” His smile was wickedly teasing.

“Why, Captain Hallstrom.” She flashed him an innocent look.
“Whatever do you mean?”

Strom’s kiss was hot, carnal. Ingrid felt his hands around
her waist, lifting her up until she could wrap her legs around him. Strom
pressed her against the wall of the elevator and nuzzled her neck. She could feel
the hard bulge of his erection pressing against her pussy, and when she rocked
against him, she was rewarded with a low male growl of approval.

“Strom,” she gasped. “Someone might see us.” The elevator
doors opened on the fifth floor and Strom carried her across the lobby to her
apartment, still wrapped around him.

“Keys, keys.” Ingrid fumbled in her pockets and Strom opened
the door with one hand, holding her against him with the other.

“Ms. Sorrenson,” he said throatily. “Have I ever told you
that you have an extremely delectable butt? In fact, I don’t believe I can make
it as far as the bedroom without seeing it.”

He was on her like a wolf. Pulling her clothes off and
throwing them on the floor, until she stood naked before him.

His eyes raked her from head to toe. His hot gaze was so
intent, so predatory, that it almost made her blush. “Turn around.”

“Strom, that’s not fair, you’re still dressed.”

“Not for long.”

Ingrid turned away from him, listening impatiently to the
soft thud as his clothes hit the floor. His fingers stroked her shoulder,
moving slowly downward, leaving a fiery trail on her skin. His warm hands
palmed the soft curve of her bottom, kneading gently.

“Oh Ms. Sorrenson,” his voice came out in a low groan that
made her quiver. “I don’t know which of us is in more danger now.”

His large hand moved to her hair, brushing it over one
shoulder to expose her neck and he bit down softly. “Don’t move,” he whispered.

She felt the hard evidence of his arousal slip between her
thighs as his hands moved slowly upward, massaging her breasts, pinching the
tender nipples until they hardened. She gave a small mewl of pleasure. His hand
slipped down over the smooth skin of her belly and his fingers brushed between
the soft curls, rubbing gently.

Ingrid arched her back against him. “Please, Strom, I want
you.”

His mouth found her neck again. “I said don’t move.” His
hips bucked against hers, his erection sliding maddeningly against her damp
folds, while his finger continued to torture her clit with sensuous strokes.
Her breath came in short gasps. Pleasure thrummed low in her belly, spiraling
out of control with mindless abandon, and she collapsed against him.

Strom lifted her trembling body, carrying her to the couch.
Spreading her pale thighs, he watched her face as he slid one large finger
slowly inside her wet sheath, making her ready for him. Her small pink nipples
pebbled and he sucked on one, swirling his tongue around the little peak, while
she squirmed against him.

“S-s-stop. I’m sensitive there,” she squealed.

That was the wrong thing to say. Still pumping his finger
slowly inside her, Strom exhaled, blowing against the sensitive bud before
latching on to the other one. His teeth grazed lightly across the tip and she
bucked beneath him.

“Please, Strom, please …”

“Open your eyes, Ingrid. Look at me. I want to watch you
come.”

He withdrew his finger from her pussy and slid it between
his lips, tasting her. Pulling on a condom, he nudged the crown of his erection
inside her. Her inner walls gripped him, desperately trying to pull him inside.

Inch by inch he slid into her wet channel, all the time
keeping his eyes watchfully on hers. She groaned with pleasure as he moved
inside her, slowly at first, allowing her to become accustomed to him. Her
hands reached for him, pulling him down to her.

“No, Ingrid, I’m heavy and I don’t want to hurt you.”

“You won’t.” Her thighs wrapped around him, drawing him
against her until they were skin to skin.

Ingrid moved against him, matching him stroke for stroke.
Strom wrestled against his desire to ravish her, to pound mercilessly into her,
to bury himself inside her until he was lost. She gave a soft moan of pure
pleasure as the hair on his chest brushed against her erect nipples and all the
while his hips moved against hers in an ever-increasing rhythm.

Ingrid felt the pleasure taking her again, imprisoning her
in its mindless carnality. All the while he stared at her, until her inner
walls gripped him and he pulled back and plunged forward once again, sheathing
himself fully in her, and with a guttural moan he collapsed against her,
covering her, and finally they slept.

The apartment was in darkness when Ingrid woke. She
luxuriated in the feel of Strom’s warm heavy body, still lying on top of her.
Ingrid stroked his hair and kissed the top of his head.

“I love you,” she whispered, not knowing whether he was
awake or not.