Page 10 of Killing Time

In the meantime, however, I was sure going to enjoy that shower.

Seth pulled the Chevy into the detached garage, and then we got out of the car and headed into the house. The evening air was just as chilly as he’d predicted, so I was glad of the sweater I’d slipped on when we exited the restaurant.

It was also cooler than I would have liked in the house, but at least I was able to discover why. Sometime along the way, someone had installed an electric wall heater in the living room, but clearly, it hadn’t been turned on, not when no one had been living in the house for months.

“I think I can make it work,” I told Seth, who’d been peering at the unfamiliar unit with creased brows, clearly not sure how it even functioned.

“You can?” he said, somewhat surprised.

I nodded. “A friend of mine in college had an old apartment in downtown Flagstaff that I swear hadn’t been updated since the 1950s. It had a heater similar to this.”

And I found the switch at the bottom of the unit and pushed it to the right. Almost immediately, warm air began to flow out, although it smelled of burned dust because it had been sitting unused for so long.

“That’ll go away after it’s been running for a couple of minutes,” I told Seth as his nose wrinkled. “How about we get some water and let it do its thing?”

He seemed amenable to that plan, so we went into the kitchen and poured glasses of water for the two of us. Wesipped in silence for a moment, and although I wouldn’t say the atmosphere in the room was exactly tense, I also knew neither of us was really thinking about the wall heater.

No, we were thinking about what we’d said in the restaurant, how we’d taken an important next step despite not making anything official.

And I also knew I’d be lying if I didn’t admit that my thoughts were also straying to the room next door…to the bed Seth and I planned to share.

There was no way in the world I’d be able to lie chastely next to him, not with the sexual tension that had been building between us for the past couple of weeks.

I set down my glass of water, extremely glad that I hadn’t bothered to reapply my lipstick after dinner. This way, I wouldn’t make as much of a mess.

My fingers found his, and he tightened his grip and pulled me close so he could press his mouth against mine. At once, my body came alive, every nerve ending telling me that I needed to be with him before another second passed.

Although neither of us said anything, by unspoken agreement we left the kitchen and moved into the bedroom, not even bothering to turn on a lamp since enough illumination trickled in from the hallway that we could see well enough.

And I wanted to see every inch of him.

I reached up to loosen his tie and then undo the buttons on his shirt. Underneath, he wore a tank-style undershirt, one that couldn’t quite conceal the solid muscles of his chest.

Still, he was way too covered up for me.

Off went both shirt and undershirt, tossed toward the chair in the corner, although I wasn’t sure whether they actually found their target.

That was much better. Now I could see all the glorious muscles of his arms and chest, could see how flat his stomachwas. Maybe not a true six-pack, since he came from a time when working the machines at a gym wasn’t really a thing, but I thought his body was all the more beautiful for that.

I began to reach for his belt, but he put his hand on mine.

“Don’t you think it’s your turn to remove a few things?”

Fair enough.

I shrugged out of my sweater and also tossed it in the general direction of the chair, and then reached for the concealed side zipper in my dress, figuring Seth would have a hard time with it since I didn’t know for sure whether they’d even been common in the 1920s. After slipping the dress over my head and throwing it onto the chair to settle on the rest of our clothes, though, I stepped closer to Seth.

“You should be able to manage the rest of it.”

True, the heavily constructed bras of the 1940s didn’t bear much similarity to the flimsy little things I’d been wearing in 1926, but hooks and eyes were pretty basic. First, though, he had to remove my slip, his fingers trembling a little as he pulled it over my head and let it fall to the floor.

Now I stood in front of him in just an ivory satin bra and matching underpants, gladder than ever that I’d decided against a girdle after spending two weeks constricted in a corset. Those clear blue eyes under the straight brown brows met mine, and although I could see the need in them, I also thought there might have been just a bit of worry.

“I’ve never — ”he began, then broke off, as if too embarrassed to go any further.

“It’s all right,” I said. “I have.”

Surprise flickered in his gaze, but he didn’t seem inclined to ask any questions. Thank God — not because I was embarrassed, but only because I didn’t want to waste time on my sexual history when we had better things we could be doing.

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