Page 53 of The Promise
Patrick and his father would be crazy with worry by now, assuming time was passing more or less the same in both centuries. It was all so complicated. He ran an agitated hand through his hair, the idea of losing Cara again eating at his gut. There was just no getting around the fact that he had to go back.He had obligations. And he'd be damned before he'd run out on them.
Of course he could ask her to go with him, but that would mean asking her to give up her way of life for his. And from what he'd seen of the twenty-first century, her life was a helluva lot easier that his, even with the fire. He sighed with frustration. The simple truth was that he had nothing to offer her but debts and dreams. Not exactly an enticing package.
"Michael?"
Startled, he looked up to find her sitting up in the bed, tangled curls tumbling over her shoulders, covering her bare breasts. He sucked in a breath, feeling his body quicken with need. She looked like a goddess. Covering her mouth with a slender hand, she stifled a yawn. He smiled. A sleepy goddess.
"How long have you been awake?" She leaned back against the pillows, a soft smile playing about her lips.
"A while. I couldn't sleep."
Her smile slipped away. "Something's wrong." She studied his face, her eyes widening with understanding. "You're thinking about leaving, aren't you?"
He nodded, amazed at how accurately she'd read his mind. He rubbed a tired hand across his face. Maybe he shouldn't be surprised. Mind reading was a walk in the park when compared with time traveling.
"When?" The word came out a whisper. She bit her lower lip and Michael could see tears welling in her eyes.
He groaned and strode across the space between the bed and the chair, bending to scoop her into his arms. Settling onto the bed, he held her close, his breath stirring tendrils of her hair. "Soon."
He started to speak, to try and explain, but she shook her head then tipped it back in silent invitation. His mouth slanted over hers, feeling the slight tremor of her lips.
He pulled away, his breathing uneven, his eyes searching hers. With a crooked smile she pulled him closer, her lips planting a trail of kisses along his jaw. The heat began to build, spiraling through him with unbelievable force. Oh God, how he wanted this woman.
He flipped her onto her back, covering her with his body, her softness blending with his hardness, an exact match, a perfect fit. With one quick thrust, he was inside her, her heat surrounding him, pulsing, alive. Together, they moved, establishing a rhythm to a silent orchestra only they could hear.
Their mouths met and he drank deeply, trying to draw her in, to hold some part of her captive in his heart?—
A constant memory of what could never be.
Cara wokein a warm cocoon of blankets. The sun streamed through the window, bouncing across the brightly colored patterns on her quilt. She yawned and stretched, as contented as a cat, her body sated from a night of lovemaking, her brain still fuzzy with sleep. She rolled onto her side, reaching for Michael.
The bed was empty, the pillow indented slightly where his head had been.
She jerked upright, fully awake, her heart pounding as she searched the room for some sign of him. Oh God, no. Please, not yet. Her heart sent the prayer fervently heavenward and she scrambled out of the bed, wrapping the quilt around her.
The empty room silently mocked her.
Soul rending pain rocked through her.
He was leaving her. Had left her, the little voice brutally reminded her. Panic swirled in the depths of her stomach, turning and churning, until she felt sick.
"Cara?"
She looked up, her heart refusing to beat another minute. He stood in the doorway, a tray in his hands, his ebony brows drawn together in concern. She tried to talk, but her mouth wouldn't move. Tears ran down her cheeks and her heart resumed beating with a lurching thud.
"Honey, what's wrong?" He dropped the tray on the bureau, cutlery clanging against crockery. With one swift step he was beside her, his arms pulling her close against him as he lifted her, quilt and all, into his lap.
"Gone…I thought…you'd…gone." Between the tears and the huge lump in her throat, she couldn't make the words come out right. She buried her face in the warmth of his bare chest, willing herself a part of him.
He stroked her hair, rocking her back and forth, his voice gentle and soothing. "Hush now, I'm here. You're just reacting to all that's happened. Let it come. That's right, let it come."
She felt his lips on her hair and abandoned any effort at control. With a wrenching sob, she pushed closer, obeying him, letting the tears come. She cried for all that she had lost. Her gallery, her paintings, her innocence, her parents, her grandfather—and she cried for Michael. She cried because he was leaving, and she cried because he could never truly be hers, and she thought that surely her heart would shatter.
All the while, he rocked her, whispering nonsensical words of comfort, keeping her safe in the warm circle of his arms.
"Better?"
She nodded, feeling the echoed rumble of the word deep in his chest.
