Just in Time: Portals of Time (24 page)

When she reached him, he towered over her, making her feel even more intimidated. Instead of cowering, she lifted her chin. Then she placed a hand on his chest. His heart thrummed.

Roughly, he grabbed her wrist. “I don’t like what you do to me.”

“What do I do to you, Luke?”

“Scramble my brain. Make me crazy. Turn me on so much I can’t think straight.”

She smiled.

He moved in closer. “You pleased by that?”

“Definitely.”

He kissed her nose. “Witch.”

Then he lowered his mouth to hers. The contact was rough, possessive. Since the same emotions swirled inside Dorian, she cupped her hand around his neck and asked for more. Opening his lips with her tongue—godheads, this kissing was wonderful—she explored him, nipped his mouth, pressed some more. His arms banded around her and he lifted her up so they were flush with each other, so their hearts beat the same tattoo.

When he dragged his mouth away, it was to set her back and draw the sleeping gown over her head. She stood before him, bathed in moonlight herself. After a few seconds, he scooped a hand under her legs and one around her back and lifted her. “What…? Luke what are you doing?”

He stopped at the bed and asked, “You’ve never been carried?”

“Not since I was a youngling.” She nuzzled into him. “I like it.”

“Damn you, I was going to dump you on the bed and ravish you. But you bring out a brutal tenderness in me.”

She understood the oxymoron.

Gently, he set her on the bed. Shed his briefs. And covered her body with his. Threading her fingers through his hair, she kissed him with some of that brutal tenderness, too.

Then he explored her. Every single part of her. He found erogenous zones she didn’t know she had—her ear for the godheads’ sake. By the time he finished she was writhing. “Now, Luke, please.”

He parted her thighs and thrust himself into her. Another thrust, then one more, and they both spiraled out of control. His groans met her moans until they became one long chorus of pleasure. When he collapsed on her, Dorian had never felt so connected to him or anyone else.

Helen had been right. Make-up sex was the best!

A FEW MINUTES
after sex, the likes of which he’d never experienced, Luke lay beside Dorian on the mattress, holding her hand. He’d never felt this way before, never felt so close, so much a part of somebody. Wasn’t it his luck that he chose a woman from the future? Angry about that, and at her, still, about her choice to leave soon, he rolled over on his side and peered down at her. “I love you, damn it.”

He saw her eyes widen in the moonlight. Then glisten. “Oh, Luke, my love is yours, too.”

The combination of anger and pure joy that mixed up in his heart made him speechless. Finally, he said, “We’re in a hell of a fix.”

“I know. I’m sorry I anger you.” Some of her idioms were slipping from the future sayings to how they were phrased now. In a lot of ways she was becoming a modern woman, and in other fucking ways not. But still…

“I’m sorry, too.” He kissed her breastbone.

She smiled. “I’ve never said my love was his once to a man.”

“I’m glad.”

“You had a spousal unit. I suppose you told her.”

“I did. But it was different.” He shook his head. “I can’t believe how much I mean the words with you.”

Again, she smiled.

He asked, “What are we going to do about all this Dorian? You going off on this
mission
. Me staying behind. Will we be together again? Will you come back here? Are you sure you can never go home, and if you could, would you leave me?”

“I don’t have any of those answers, Luke. We need time to figure things out.”

“Including your secrecy about what you do next.”

“I’m sorry, yes.”

“You—”

She put her hand on his mouth. “Luke, please. Don’t spoil what just happened. We aren’t even finished with our task concerning Jess. We have time to make this work for both of us.”

Because she was right, he shut up. The problem was
his
. He’d been having this niggling feeling that she was indeed going to go away for good. And, now, that thought was untenable. Yet he couldn’t box her in with promises.

“Luke…” she whispered hoarsely. “Make love to me again.”

Make love.
Not join. At least they’d made some progress. So he gave up his anger for tonight and kissed her.

Kissed the woman he loved.

FOUR REVOLUTIONS LATER
, on what was called a weekday, Alisha found Dorian and Celeste in front of the television watching yet another science fiction film. They all were fascinated with the genre, so she sat down and viewed it with them for a moment. This one was not in color, and there was a big robot named Klatu speaking to a tall, thin man.

“The video is almost over, Lisha.” This from Celeste who was, of course, enthralled.

While Alisha waited, she got the gist that aliens had come to save earth—which was totally unrealistic. Finally, it ended.

“Come with me, you two.” Alisha stood. “We need to learn some basic things Helen has been doing for us in order to take care of ourselves in Virginia. When we leave here, for example, we have to know how to clean our clothes, run the dishwasher and other household appliances, pay our bills.”

“Can we hire a cleaner of the home, like Helen does?” Celeste asked.

“No, the fewer people we come in contact with, the better our chances of accomplishing our goal in secret. So today, while Helen’s at work and Luke is out on errands, Jess in his study, and the security people right outside, we’re going to learn some of these things.”

“Who’s going to teach us?”

“I’ve been studying up on it. And I’ve watched the cleaners.”

Dorian snorted. “Of course you have.”

First, she showed them how to vacuum. Celeste sneezed, so she assigned Dorian the task of cleaning the rugs on the bottom floor of the house, where they stayed.

“I’ll take care of the bathrooms,” Alisha remarked, “since the cleaning products will probably affect Celi too much.”

“I can do the laundry,” Celeste said. “I watched someone use the machine on the video box.”

“I’ll show you what I’ve learned, too.” They headed to the small, square room that held machines that washed and dried garments. In their time, everything went through the Repurification Chamber. Alisha explained the rudiments of cleaning clothes, then left.

First, Celeste mentally went over what she should do. Separate their clothing colors. She took a moment to admire all the different choices they had; though Alisha tolerated the need for so many things, and Dorian was partial only to nightwear, Celeste loved the feel and smell of everything—the rougher denim jeans, the lacey panties, the soft silk of a blouse.

Then she went to the…washer. She had to start using the terms of the time more, and she’d learned most of them. Once she was established in Alex Lansing’s house, nothing could go awry. Her mission would be hard enough. As she poured liquid, which smelled sweet, into the cup, she thought about his…children. Would they like her? Would she enjoy child care as much as she thought she would? His face appeared before her. He was so handsome…

Megadamn! Alisha was right. She had to stop thinking about him. Quickly, she added the water and clothing and set the cycle.

Not liking this cleaning stuff very much, she took out the computeller she’d put in her pocket and sat down on a chair to wait for the clothes to wash. She was interested in Madison Lansing, the teenager. She’d never met an adolescent before, and all the shows on the video box portrayed them as intractable. But the girl had a lovely face…

She got lost in the study of teenagers and younglings, of what they liked to eat, what activities they preferred, how they talked, but when she heard a loud, booming noise, she looked up. Oh, no! She bolted off the chair. The machine itself was moving out inches and making an awful sound. Soapsuds spewed from the top at a volume that stunned her. She rushed to the machine and opened the lid, hoping to stop the mess; instead, soap and water tumbled over the edges.

Celeste panicked. What should she do? She went to get the directions for the machine on the shelf across the room and slipped. She fell on her derriere into about an inch of water covered by a foot of suds.

And started laughing. This was a predicament, but an amusing one.

“What the hellor is going on…” Dorian came to the door, and her words trailed off. The look of concern on her face changed to one of levity. “Swimming in the soapsuds, Celi?”

“I don’t know what’s happening.” She shrugged. “I must have put in the wrong amount of soap.” Which could very well have happened because she’d been dreaming day of Alex Lansing. She raised her hand. “Come help me.”

Gingerly, Dorian stepped into the water and walked to Celeste. “It smells nice…godheads, Celeste what are you doing?”

“Painting your legs with suds.”

Dorian giggled. Bending down, she scooped some up and covered Alisha’s hair. “Since you like those bubble baths so much…”

Without warning, Celeste tugged on Dorian’s hand, causing her to fall to her rear, too, with a big splash that wet her clothing. Instead of getting angry, as Alisha would have, Dorian cupped up more suds in her hands, and before Celeste knew what was happening, they were covering each other with bubbles.

“Megadamn!” They heard from the doorway.

This from Alisha. Her stern face and rigid stance made Celeste whisper in Dorian’s ear, “Let’s get her.”

The two crawled over to an unsuspecting Alisha. Before she realized their intent, they wrestled her down into the suds.

After only a few minutes, Alisha was bathed, too. For once, she grinned and participated in the fun by soaping them up, too.

Later, they heard, again from the doorway, “What do we have here?” This from Luke. “The Sisters of Doom know how to have fun?”

Jess circled around him and managed to make his way to the washer to turn it off.

The three women exchanged glances.

Then they went after the men.

THE LEVITY OF
the day before had broken some of the tension that had settled over the household. Luke and Jess had been congenial with the laundry fiasco and responded to the play by getting water from the faucet and drowning the three of them. Then they’d all spent an hour cheerfully cleaning up the mess. The good clean fun (no play on words intended) had been helpful to all of them. By the time Helen got home, the laundry room was spotless and she enjoyed their story.

Each day brought them closer to the publication of Jess’s magazine article, originally put out posthumously. Though they didn’t talk much about it, Jess and Helen barely left each other’s side when the two were home together; Luke and Dorian stayed near them, even with the additional security outside. Celeste and Alisha were busy mapping out the next mission.

This morning, Dorian stood at the kitchen counter making breakfast—she actually liked to cook—with a wonderful-smelling, animal product, called bacon, and the eggs from real chickas. No, chickens. She was developing a tolerance for their sustenance and was glad. If she was going to stay in this time period, which no longer made her incredibly sad, she needed to adjust to their ways.

The doorbell rang, interrupting her rumination. She had a clear view of Helen, Jess and Luke in the family room. She saw Luke stand and feel for his gun at his back—Dorian wore her stunner, though concealed—and he left the family area. She imagined him going to the door in that long stride of his and looking out the little peephole.

“It’s my captain,” he called back to them. Soon, the two men appeared in the kitchen.

Al Patchet seemed less worried today. He wasn’t as tall as Luke, and his hair was receding to eventually become like Jess’s, but he had a kind face when he was smiling. When Luke told him to sit, Helen and Jess joined the men at the table. Dorian turned the cooking devices to warm and sat, too.

“You look better, Luke.” The expression in Al’s brown eyes was pleased. He held affection for Luke.

Faking pain, Luke rubbed his shoulder. Dorian knew he was fully recovered but couldn’t reveal that to his captain. “Shoulder’s still sore, but I’m good.”

“I got something that will make you all feel even better.”

“Hold on a second.” Dorian ducked downstairs and summoned Alisha and Celeste.

The three women hustled up to the first floor behind her. “Good morning, Captain,” Celeste said.

Alisha greeted him, too.

When they took places at the table, Luke announced, “The captain has some good news.”

All gazes focused on Al Patchet.

“We traced the emails from Petron to Krueger back to a Jared Cummings, the CEO of the company. So we paid him a visit yesterday. Seems as if Krueger and he met regularly to talk about the developments in the areas of clean energy Krueger was monitoring. As corporate-oil people, they want to stop the twenty-first century leap into alternative sources of fuel. Eventually, Cummings let his hair down with Krueger.”

None of the women knew the meaning of that term, and exchanged glances. Luke caught it and he shook his head—for them to stay quiet, she guessed, in front of the captain.

“Cummings said he might have remarked how he’d like to stop the damn fracking and wind research. He and Krueger laughed about it. Krueger mentioned getting rid of all scientists. Cummings jokingly agreed.”

“This is nuts.” Luke gripped the coffee mug and Dorian could tell he was appalled.

“Cummings had no idea he was dealing with someone sick. It looks like the offhanded remark was enough to spark Krueger’s crazy thinking. He maintains that he actually believed he had a directive from Petron and decided to start with Jess. We think because Jess was a close target to New York.”

Jess’s eyes widened. “So the Petron brass wasn’t involved?”

“As far as we can tell, no. But Kara Krueger was right about her husband’s obsession.”

“One man caused all of humanity—” Jess began.

“Would you like some coffee, Captain?” Celeste asked, loudly scraping back her chair to interrupt Jess’s rumination.