Timeless Heart (4 page)

Sandra tossed the jeans in her shopping cart.
Now for a few shirts and socks, and some boots and underwear. She
picked up a package of skimpy thong underwear . What would he say
to these? A giggle burbled through her. With her other hand she
reached for the boxer briefs and picked out a pair of Stanfield’s
Medium. Oh, she imagined he would look stunning in these as well,
better than the model on the package.

Yeah, his package. Her thoughts drifted back to
the tented towel he wore slung carelessly about his slim muscular
hips just a few hours before. Yeah. Major package.

Sandra closed her eyes, her thumb and
forefinger pinching the bridge of her nose. What in hell was wrong
with her? She had never had these feelings of longing, lust,
unbridled want, and wanton yearning before. And now? Yearning. To
be loved, worshipped, adored, by male perfection.

Only he wasn't perfect, no one was. He had
shown he had a flash of temper, a smattering of impatience, and a
smidgen of stubbornness in just the few hours he had been in her
house. Physical perfection aside, he was flawed as any man. How did
a man reach thirty one years old and not be married?

Sandra tossed the package of boxer briefs in
the cart, then reached for some Stanfield T-shirts, size large, she
assumed, or with those shoulders, maybe he was an extra large.
Better get both. Tossing the packages in her cart, she wandered
over to a circular rack of long sleeved shirts. She added a few of
them to the cart as well. Next, some shoes and socks, then off to
get him some toiletries.

There was much yet to learn about her
hero.

Chapter Three

Jerrod pulled on the black 'jeans', as Sandra
called them. They were as form fitting as any of his breeches, very
form fitting. Sandra had shown him how to operate the zipper
contraption, amazing really. He grasped the metal tab and pulled,
taking a slice of skin off his finger in the process.

Sandra came running in when she heard the
cursing.

"Damn and blast! One can suffer serious injury
just dressing."

His irritation dissipated as he followed her
gaze toward the matter of his undress. He was quite exposed, even
though he was wearing those 'boxer briefs' she had given him. They
too, were quite snug. He rarely wore undergarments under his
breeches. He hated the loose, flowing small clothes that tied at
the sides. He had to admit, the under wear, as she called them, was
like a second skin. He liked the feel of it, and obviously it was
needed to protect one's privates from these dangerous metal teeth
of the zipper. He winced inwardly at the thought of his tackle
being caught in such a device.

"I can't work the dammed thing," he snarled
quietly. “Would you mind?"

He could have sworn her mouth dropped open.
But, to her credit, she did not hesitate. She walked toward him and
reached for the tab of the zipper. Her fingers lightly brushed past
his cock, his reaction was immediate and very noticeable, making
putting up the zipper even more of a challenge. He drew a ragged
breath. She stepped closer, lowering her head. The flowery scent
from her hair was tantalizing. She pulled. The zipper
stuck.

Jerrod heard her sigh. She pulled and tried
again. It went up half way. She stepped back quickly like she had
been burned.

"You can manage the rest," she mumbled. “The
shaving cream and razor are in the bathroom, call if you need me.”
Sandra turned as if to flee, but he reached out and softly held her
wrist. God's blood, he was aroused.

“Stay, Sandra, please,” he managed. He reached
for her hand. Was it his fervent imagination, or was her hand
trembling as well? She nodded, and he took her hand. It was small,
warm, and feminine, nearly disappearing in his. It felt as if it
belonged in his. He let go, quickly buttoned the shirt and stuffed
it under the waistband of his jeans, then continued to fight with
the zipper. Finally, he got it up.

He rubbed the quite visible whiskers now
showing on his face. He was anxious to shave. “Come with me,
Sandra?”

Once they reached the bathroom he looked
around. Where was the razor? Letting go of Sandra’s hand, he picked
up a cylindrical object, and pressed the button on the top. A
mighty exhale of air was quickly followed by a mass of white cream.
He sniffed, almost a minty odor. Was this the shaving cream she
spoke of? He rubbed it between his fingers. Most interesting.
Still, he saw no razor. There was something with a handle next to
the cream. Jerrod laid down the cream, it went all over the wall,
and himself. Grumbling, he reached for a towel and began to
wipe.

A sexy laugh bubbled from Sandra, a sensual
sound that went straight to his cock, hardening it even more. Her
laugh was glorious, but she made no move to assist him. She just
crossed her arms and watched him, a sexy, amused grin on her lovely
face. Minx. After he removed the mess, he reached for the handled
object. He stroked a finger over the top, slicing his skin. A small
dot of blood rose to the surface. He sucked on it, while staring at
the object. Not a straight razor as he was used to, but some sort
of razor nonetheless. He pressed a button and the bloody thing
began to vibrate in his hand. He shouted and dropped it like he was
handling hot coals.

“The bloody thing is alive!” he cried
out.

Sandra bent down to pick it up. She flicked the
button and turned it off. “It’s a Gillette Fusion razor, it
vibrates, to give you a closer shave. See? Five blades.”

He raised an eyebrow. “Five blades? I am hardly
a suckling pig to be carved into bits. Do you perhaps have a
straight razor?”

Sandra laughed again. It was such a pleasurable
sound, he longed for it to continue. “Only serial killers use
those. Is that what you used? It’s a wonder you didn’t lop your
head off.”

Jerrod’s handsome face twisted in confusion,
frustration and irritation. He felt out of his element, as he had
ever since he awoke in her room. She stepped in close, the razor
still in her hand. Her countenance was playful, her eyes
mischievous. Or was it desire?

“
Would you like me to shave
you?”Her voice was deep, husky, he would daresay,
suggestive.

Jerrod playfully leaned down to whisper in her
ear, “Do you make a habit of this? Offering to assist a man in his
toilette?” His breath fanned her cheek like a wave of hot sex,
covering her body like a cloak. The room became close, the air
vibrating with sexual tension and raw, desirous heat. “You do have
experience in this, I trust.”

“I shave myself, how different can it
be?”

He cocked his brow. “Indeed? And where do
you…shave?”

Her face was aflame. She slammed the toilet lid
down and pushed him none too gently onto the closed seat. “My legs.
Women shave their legs in this time.”

He gave her his sexy, lop-sided grin. “Indeed?
Now I am very intrigued.”

Sandra picked up the shave cream and spritzed
some into her hands, mixed it between her palms, and leaned down to
spread a thin film over his face. He spread his long legs wide,
allowing her to step in closer to him. He wanted her as close as
she could get. His cock was hard as stone. He looked up at
her.

She looked nervous, and excited, he could see
desire in her lovely gray eyes. Picking up the Fusion, she flicked
on the button, and a low hum filled the silence surrounding them.
Her breasts slightly brushed by his cheek, a low growl rumbled deep
in his chest. Jerrod reached over with a long finger and swiped the
bit of shave cream that was on her sweater, right on the nipple.
Barely there contact, but enough to have that flame between them
roar to life. He smiled seductively as he wiped the cream on his
own throat.

He slid over on the closed toilet seat, so that
his thighs were touching her leg, reached behind her back, and
eased her down until she was sitting on his leg.

“Shave me,” he whispered hoarsely. She took the
razor, held it to the base of his throat and began a slow ascent to
his chin. She twisted, turning toward the sink, where she ran the
razor under warm water, before turning back to him. She scraped him
gently again.

Her free hand followed the ascent of the blade
gently caressing him. God, he was tempted to kiss her, touch her,
instead he leaned back his head and let her gentle strokes lull him
into relaxation. He closed his eyes. He could get used to this very
easily.

Some minutes passed, the feel of her sitting in
his lap, perilously close to his throbbing erection, her hands
shaving him, her warm, sultry breath surrounding him, was massively
appealing. He usually shaved himself, he preferred it. He was not
one for a valet fussing around him.

Before he knew it, Sandra stood up. His eyes
snapped open. She was wiping her hands on a towel.

“Finished, and not one cut. Not a bad job if I
say so myself. I’ll leave you alone.”

Jerrod watched her as she walked from the room,
her shapely hips swaying suggestively. His pounding heartbeat was
echoing in his rigid cock. He wanted her! Like he wanted no other
woman ever before.

****

Fifteen minutes later, Sandra watched from the
kitchen as he walked down the hallway toward her. He looked even
more stunning in present day clothes. The jeans hugged his muscular
thighs even tighter than the breeches he had worn. And he was
deliciously clean shaven.

She couldn’t resist stroking that glorious skin
of his as he sat down at the kitchen table. Her hand reached out
and touched his cheek, soft and warm, feathery as down over those
chiseled cheekbones. Her fingers lingered, following the outline of
his rugged chin, her thumb grazing just under his full lower lip,
tracing the sexy mole that sat at the left corner of his mouth. She
pulled her hand away reluctantly, her eyes locked on
his.

He took her hand and pressed one of the gold
sovereigns in it, he closed her fingers. He stroked her hand
gently.

"For your unwavering kindness and generosity,"
he whispered seductively.

What could she do, but accept his gesture? She
did not want to insult him, or worse, anger him. He lifted her hand
to his lips, a mix of hard and soft, tenderness, and something far
more dangerous.

She always laughed in the romance novels she
read when the heroine practically had an orgasm at the slightest
touch of the man's hand, but she understood it now.

Oh yes. She was ready to come herself. His lips
continued to explore every part of her hand, gently nibbling on her
knuckles. This was getting intense far too fast. Her mind was
whirling, her breath quickened, her nipples hardened, and she could
feel warmth between her thighs. Her senses were off the charts.
What the hell was this? What was she doing, what was she thinking?
She pulled her hand away abruptly, and catching her breath, stepped
back.

His eyebrow cocked in confusion, but he said
nothing. Sandra exhaled. She thought she was turned on when she
shaved him. Those lips of his! If she was this sexually aroused
from him kissing her hand, what would happen if those full sensuous
lips came in contact with other parts of her overheated body? Get a
grip, Sandra.

She shook her head, not now. Like Scarlett
O'Hara, she would think about that tomorrow, because if she thought
of it now, she would go crazy. Jerrod looked up at her intensely.
His blue eyes shimmered like sapphires, hooded with what she could
only hope was desire. Every look, every slight touch carried an
undercurrent of raw heat.

"Jerrod, why don't you go in the living room
where it's more comfortable? I'll bring the tea in there when it's
ready."

He gave her a full bore sexy smile that made
her insides flutter tremulously. "Earl Grey?" he asked
hopefully.

God he was adorable, and loved drinking tea as
much as she did.

"Sure."

She watched as he stood and strode confidently
from the room. Even watching him walk was an assault on her
senses.

He had been here two days, and her interest,
and more importantly her desire, had not abated one bit, that was
damned obvious. Sandra tried to distract herself from her own
longings by trying to show him everything in her world that she
could. However, they did not discuss history in any detail, and he
didn’t seem curious about it. Perhaps, both understood deep down,
that if he could be returned to 1821, the less he knew, the better.
And what if they could not return him? Then what? Yes, she was
becoming convinced of his story as time went by, but a few doubts
still lingered. He was convincing. But it was impossible. She shook
her head and began to fill the kettle with water.

After several minutes passed, Sandra heard a
shout of dismay coming from the living room.

“God’s Blood! Sandra!”

She almost dropped the teapot from her hand. He
ran into the kitchen, looking stricken. “Bodies on the beach, blood
everywhere, in that box contraption! I’ve never seen the like,
never have I dreamt such carnage, how is it possible?”

The terror and confusion on his face and in his
voice was plain to see. Oh hell, he must have turned on the TV. She
hadn’t a chance to explain it yet. Her heart ached for Jerrod. She
put down the pot, and reached for his hand. “Come on, I’ll explain
the best I can.”