Time After Time (3 page)

Stubbornly she closed her eyes and waited for sleep

to come.

* * *

Seconds later, when she opened them again, Leah had to blink several times at the bright sunlight. She rose slowly to her feet, feeling the soft, springy grass beneath her toes.

"Wow!" she breathed in awe.

She had never fallen asleep so quickly. And whoever it was who said dreams reflected the tensions of the day obviously didn't know what he was talking about. She had had a hellish day, and this was one beautiful dream.

The area where she stood was open ground, but fifty yards to her right was the beginning of a thick, shadowy forest, and straight ahead, in the distance, were gently sloping hills. The air she breathed into her lungs was as fresh, crisp and intoxicating as new wine.

For several seconds she merely stood and stared. She had never had a dream in Technicolor and was stunned by the spectacular beauty surrounding her.

At that moment a crackling noise behind her caused her to spin around abruptly, almost losing her balance in her haste. Instantly a gasp caught in her throat, and her eyes widened in astonishment. There, not ten yards away from her, was a leather-clad, shield-toting, card-carrying Roman gladiator.

Leah's first impulse was to giggle. In one hand he carried a round shield, in the other a net. He wasn't much taller than she was, but he was built like an ox. Muscles bulged across his bare chest, shoulders and thighs.

But as she took in the expression on his face, amusement died swiftly. The visor of his metal headgear was raised, and his gaze was trained on her barely covered breasts. While she stood mutely, he examined the long legs that showed below the short gown, then returned his gaze to her breasts and took a step forward.

"Hold on a minute, mister," she said, then began to back away warily.

He simply grinned and took another step toward her. For an interminably long moment, Leah couldn't move. Events seemed to take place in slow motion. It was the strangest sensation. The gladiator continued smiling and walking, and Leah simply stood watching him.

She tried to say "Let's talk about this," or "Can't we reach some kind of compromise?" but it seemed her voice was suspended, as well.

Then, whatever had held her still, released her. Her breath left her in a whoosh of relief, and she whirled around and ran. She didn't even consider talking to him now that she could move. This was obviously not a man open to rational discussion, she told herself, heading toward the safety of the forest. _ As she ran, she thought she heard the net hiss through the air and hit several inches behind her, but she wasn't about to turn around to check. When she reached the first of the trees, she plunged headlong into the concealing foliage behind it. Running instinctively, she dodged limbs and jumped over fallen logs. The sound of her pursuer crashing through the brush behind her gave her all the incentive she needed to push herself beyond her normal limits.

"Damn!" she muttered sharply when she tripped over an exposed root and fell painfully to her knees.

Before she could struggle to her feet, rough hands grasped her under the arms, and then she was being dragged into a thick clump of flowering bushes.

In panic, she dug her nails into the hands holding her, kicking back at her attacker with her bare feet. Sucking air into her lungs, she was preparing to scream bloody murder when her assailant finally spoke.

"Stop that," a disturbingly familiar voice snapped in her ear. "Ouch! You little fool, will you kindly take your claws out of my hands?"

Leah froze. After a moment, she turned her head slowly, a frown of confusion adding creases to her normally smooth brow. When she saw the man who still held her, she murmured in disbelief, "Mr. Gregory?"
                                                                 

Chapter Two

I have had a dream—past the wit of man to say what dream it was.

A Midsummer Night's Dream
—Act IV, Scene 1

M
r.
Gregory,"
Leah
stammered
again;
then
her voice dropped to an astonished whisper. "Mr. Gregory, you're wearing your
pajamas."

He stared at her for a moment in blank silence, then his eyes began to sparkle with amusement. "Only the bottoms," he said, chuckling softly. "I don't believe you. You're being chased through the primeval forest by an overly amorous gladiator, and all you can do is scold me for not being properly dressed." His green gaze slid purposefully over her body. "What exactly do you think you're wearing?"

As she glanced down at her gown, they heard the sharp crack of a branch breaking nearby. Putting a finger to his lips, he jerked his head, indicating the area immediately behind them. "Time to make our move," he whispered.

As silently as possible, they crept through the woods, away from the direction of the noise. When they had gone approximately a hundred yards, he paused and raised his head to listen. After several seconds, he was apparently satisfied that they could no longer be heard, because he grabbed Leah's hand and said, "Now we run like hell."

Which they did, as quickly as they could go in their bare feet. Leah had no idea where they were going, or what they would do when they got there. She simply allowed him to drag her along behind him. Almost at the same moment that she had decided she couldn't go an inch farther unless he threw her over his shoulder and carried her, he pulled her to a halt on the bank of a small stream.

Then a peculiar thing happened. Leah seemed somehow to split into two separate beings. She found she could view the two figures on the grass from some indeterminate spot above them. With unabashed interest, she studied the man kneeling beside the stream, admiring the bare, muscular chest that gleamed in the golden sunlight. The fluid lines of his body gave her a deep, real pleasure. Seconds later she frowned and became conscious of feeling exasperation toward the woman—herself—who lay on the grass beside him.

Instead of joining her in open admiration, this Leah was complaining.

"I'm tired, my feet are bruised, my knees are scraped and I have at least two thousand scratches on my legs," she muttered as she lay on her back, gasping for breath. "This doesn't make any kind of sense. I don't want to be here... and I wish I knew what in hell was going on."

He dipped his hand in the stream and bent down to splash water on his perspiring face and chest. "I assume we're in a dream."

"Yes, I did grasp that," she said irritably. "I've just never had a dream like this."

He turned toward her, his lips curving upward in a crooked smile. "Maybe it's my dream."

"No." She shook her head, instantly dismissing his suggestion. "No, if it's a dream, it's definitely mine. It was probably that cucumber. I know better than to have cucumber in my salad."

Giving a short bark of laughter, he flopped back on the grass, covering his face with one hand. "And if that's not a lowering thought, I've never heard one," he said in mock indignation. "The importance of my physical presence reduced to indigestion."

"That's another thing." She sat up, her stare an accusation. "If I'm going to dream your face, why am I dreaming someone else's personality?"

He propped himself on one elbow to look at her. "You've never dreamed about me before?"

"No, of course not," she said, frowning. The very idea shocked her. It seemed impertinent, somehow.

"I've dreamed about you," he said matter-of-factly.

"Well, what difference—" She broke off, eyeing him in open curiosity. "You dream about me?"

"All the time." He smiled. "But the dreams are usually... different from this one."

The idea that he dreamed of her was intriguing, even a little flattering. "Different? How?"

He raised one heavy, dark eyebrow, which gave him a slightly wicked appearance as he examined her body. Then suddenly, without any kind of hint to warn her, Leah's gown disappeared. One moment it was there, and the next she was naked.

The Leah who watched from a distance chuckled in gleeful amusement. What a silly woman, she thought. There was nothing in that body that should cause embarrassment. Her high, gently rounded breasts were the kind that inspired sculptors. The slender waist and long legs were perfectly formed—an opinion the man in the scene seemed to share as his gaze roamed Leah's body in open admiration. The Persian-lamp-shaped, rose-colored birthmark that rested low and slightly to the back of her left hip, rather than detracting from the loveliness, added to it—the Maker's stamp of approval.

Gasping, the Leah by the stream hastily crossed her arms over her bare breasts. Rising to her knees, she turned her back to him. "Put it back! Do you hear me? Mr. Gregory, I want my gown back!"

Before Leah could even blink, the two parts of her personality merged and the scene changed. She and Mr. Gregory now walked side by side along a cliff

overlooking a deep, deserted stone quarry. She wore a long, flowing garment that seemed to be made of soft white linen. His was equally long, but looked like a blanket gathered and draped over an embroidered, short-sleeved tunic.

"How's that for service?" he asked, leaning down to adjust the strap on his sandal. "Not bad at all. A little drafty in places I'm not used to feeling a draft, but not bad." He glanced at her as he straightened. "Under the circumstances, maybe you'd better call me Paul."

"How did you do that?" she asked, her eyes narrowed, her voice suspicious.

"I didn't.... At least, I don't think I did. I liked things just exactly the way they were," he said, allowing his gaze to drift over her bare shoulder. "But you know how dreams are. You never know what to expect."

"Even if I knew 'how dreams are,' this is not like any dream I've ever heard about," she said helplessly. Then she suddenly stopped walking and looked out over the quarry. "Wait! I just thought of something," she said, turning to him eagerly. "Let's jump off."

He stared at her, his face blank. "Is it something I said?"

"No... no, listen." In her enthusiasm, she grasped his upper arm with both hands. "In dreams, when you fall, you always wake up before you hit the bottom. If we jump, we'll have to wake up." The neatness of the plan brought a smile of satisfaction to her lips.

"You're nuts." Now it was his turn to look suspicious. "Forget it. You can do what you want, but count me out." As she sputtered indignantly, he began walking again, talking to her over his shoulder. "People die in their sleep. And they can't come back to say, 'Hey, guess what? I finally hit bottom.' As I said, count me out. I have no intention of waking up dead tomorrow."

Leah made a face at his back. She hadn't thought of that. And she didn't like the fact that he had thought of it instead of her.

"So what do you suggest?" she asked, her voice disgruntled as she stepped gingerly around a pile of rocky debris, holding her long skirt out of the way with one hand.

The terrain had become rougher as they walked. Huge boulders of white rock rose beside them, block-ing their view of the quarry.

"I suggest we play it out. In fact, that's all we can do. If people could arrange their dreams, there would be no nightmares," he added with maddening calm.

Together they skirted a large outcropping of rock... and walked squarely into a gathering of Roman soldiers.

And there was no doubt that they were soldiers. Their uniforms could never be mistaken for anything else. They had been in the process of passing around a goatskin wine bag, but the appearance of Leah and Paul caused an immediate and definite reaction. Several of the men pulled out swords; others pointed ra-

zor-sharp javelins threateningly in the direction of the intruders.

Leah swallowed heavily. "Play it out, you say?"

As the men began to advance, Paul swore under his breath. "Leah... honey, if you're going to wake up, now is the time to do it."

"Well, well, well," one of the soldiers said, eyeing Leah. "What have we here? A beauteous maid, I vow."

His British accent made the situation slightly ridiculous, but Leab. had no time to play critic, she was too busy trying to hide behind Paul.

Seconds later, when she was grasped by several rough hands and dragged away from Paul, a low growling sound came from deep in his throat. Rage flashed in his green eyes, and his chest swelled as he drew a harsh breath. Then, without warning, he threw himself headlong into the middle of the soldiers who held her.

For a moment the Romans appeared startled and dropped back, almost in fear. But only for a moment. As soon as it dawned on them that they were six men—six armed men—against one, they met his anger enthusiastically and en masse.

An involuntary cry escaped Leah as Paul was caught on the chin by a chain-wrapped fist, then in the stomach, then on the side of the head. Each soldier seemed determined to take part. As Paul continued to stand against the violent blows, Leah felt time slow down, dragging out the scene interminably. She knew she was screaming at them, but she didn't know what words

she used. Eventually she began to claim the pain as her own, flinching each time a blow was struck.

When at last he fell, most of the men stepped away, breathing heavily from their exertions. But two of the soldiers stayed behind. The fact that their laughter didn't sound particularly vicious or cruel as they kicked him in the back and the side made the scene even more unbearable.