Twice In A Lifetime Read online

  “Ian.” She spun to face him. Muscles rippled as he pulled off his long coat and hung it on a peg near the door. Dark, wind-blown hair brushed against the shoulders of his white shirt, the thick strands making her fingers itch to tangle through them like she’d done so many times before.

  “You didn’t follow orders.”

  She shrugged. “Yeah. . .part of my charm.”

  He strode toward her and leaned on the corner of desk. “Ben said you didn't drink the medicine. I know it tastes like the bottom of a slop bucket, but it will make you feel better.”

  She wrinkled her nose. “My head feels okay now. Really.” Except for trying to wrap her mind around time travel.

  “Well, that's good.” He smirked, the familiar single dimple making her smile. She loved that dimple. Loved talking to him without the tension and yelling.

  Damn, she still loved him.

  He unwound the bandage. “It has stopped bleeding and looks as well as expected I suppose.” His hand brushed aside her bangs, his knuckles trailing down her cheek. His expression haunted.

  Fight for what you want. She had to. This was crazy, but if she and Ian could be happy, then who said they had to be in 2011? Say something!

  “Um, Ian—”

  He dropped his hand and eyed the telescope she held. “You can’t go with me. Your dress isn't dry yet.”

  “You're going ashore?”

  He nodded. “Just for awhile. I have personal business. Then, I want to find you a safe place to stay.” He walked to the cabinet and removed a leather pouch. “Ben will bring your dress later. Be ready when I return for you.”

  Her stomach clenched, and a low buzz started in her head. “What do you mean find a place to stay?” She grabbed his arm. “You're not leaving me on that island?” He couldn't. He wouldn’t.

  Panic whipped through her. Christ, this was a freakin’ nightmare. Just when she decided to stay, he was ditching her.

  “Men always leave.” Mother’s drunken motto rapped in her ears, but Celeste’s defense of Ian echoed louder. “Remember, second chances are rare. Fight.”

  “Yes.” Coins jingled inside the pouch as he moved to tuck it inside his coat. “I have things I must attend to. Things that might put you in danger if you remain with me.” He turned, obviously surprised to find her hot on his heels. He gave a don’t-worry-your-pretty-little-head smile and patted her hand as she latched on to him again. “I believe you’ll be better off here.”

  Like hell. This couldn’t be what Celeste planned.

  He tried to side-step her, but Izzy moved to block his path. What could she say that would convince him to let her stay?

  “What about Alicia? You’ll need help finding her.” Dangerous subject, but she had to buy some time. Still, dangling bait in front of an angry bear wasn’t the smartest thing to do. Alicia had always been a toxic subject.

  His eyes narrowed. “How do you know about her?” He gripped Izzy’s wrist. “How do you know so much about me?”

  “I’m. Your. Wife.” She didn’t bother to hide her frustration. “I know everything about you.”

  He cocked a dark eyebrow in disbelief.

  “All right. I'll prove it. You're thirty-five years old. Your birthday is January 16th.” She took a deep breath and watched his face pale. “You're terrified of spiders— though you don't want other men to know.”

  His eyes widened, then he scowled and pushed past her to sag against the desk.

  “How can you possibly… ?” His fingers drummed on the scarred wooden top, a habit he had when trying to figure out something.

  She walked to him, stood so close her bare legs brushed against his pants, the rough fabric an erotic scrape against her skin. “Because I'm your—”

  “Wife,” he injected. “So you've said.”

  “You think I'm crazy?” Her mind raced with ideas. “Fine. You drink your coffee obscenely sweet, and you hate the flavor of cinnamon.” He rolled his eyes. “Still not enough? How about, you've got a scar on your back, right here.” She let her fingers trace the welt. “It took eight stitches. And a birthmark right… here.” Dropping her hand to his firm ass, she gave it a squeeze.

  “Stop that.” He gathered her hands and held them in his grasp, then led her over to the bed and set her down. “I suppose I gave you that ring?” He nodded to her wedding band.

  “Yes. Of course.” She pinned him with a stare. “The same day you promised to love me forever.”

  Pain dimmed his eyes, but he dropped her hand, his long legs eating up the length of the room as he paced. He always had to work through everything before he commented. But this wasn’t like working through a stunt. This was their life.

  “How can I prove we’re married?” Six years of love and six weeks of loneliness clogged her throat, cracked her voice. “What can I say to convince you?”

  He pulled the chair in front of her, straddled it and propped his elbows on the back, his gaze boring a hole through her conscience. Shaking his head, he exhaled a ragged breath. “I just can't believe I would marry a woman and not remember.”

  Christ, what could she say? She didn’t have an answer— not one he would believe.

  Her mind whirled like a rolodex.

  “You were drunk. Very drunk. Both of us were.” She swallowed the sick feeling that came with lying and pushed ahead. “But I fell in love the first moment I laid eyes on you, and I was sober then.” That much was true.

  Heat flushed her body as he studied her, his blue gaze heated, intense. Doubtful.

  “Where did we meet?”

  “In a bar— back home.” Another truth.

  “So you are a tavern wench.” He nodded. “That explains a few things.”

  What the hell did that mean?

  He leaned back, the wheels in his mind obviously turning. “If we're married, why were you on that ship?”

  “Well…we had a fight.” Understatement of the year.

  His eyes narrowed. “About what?”

  She chose her words carefully. “You wanted me to stay at home. But I wanted to be with you. Work beside you.”

  He scoffed. “A woman working on a ship?”

  “You could teach me. I'm a fast learner.” She leaned forward and squeezed his hands. God, he’d taught her everything about stunt work.

  He shook his head. “You sound like young Ben,” he muttered, then speared her with a dark look. “So despite my orders you followed me? Do you ever do as you’re told?”

  Shit. This argument was all too familiar.

  Her heart gave a sick lurch. “Please, Ian. Let me stay. What if you put me ashore then change your mind?” She glanced out the window. “I don’t even know where we’re at.” A little guilt couldn't hurt.

  “Port-au-Prince.”

  Haiti! “You can’t leave me here.”

  Icy fear crawled up her spine. This was harder than she'd imagined. He didn't know her, didn't love her. He was her Ian, and yet he wasn’t.

  His heavy sigh filled the room as he stared at the floor. “I just don’t think—”

  “I can help you find Alicia. I know where Daniel will go.” She hoped. What if things hadn’t transferred through time in the same way? Just because this Daniel knew Alicia, didn’t mean he still had the same life style. It sure as hell didn’t mean he owned property in the same places.

  Ian’s gaze pierced her. “How?” He grabbed her wrist again. “Are you acquainted with Daniel Roberts?”

  Her stomach knotted. “Yes.”

  “From the bar?”

  She didn’t correct him. Couldn’t. He would never understand.

  “Fine. Where?” Ian’s grip tightened, his voice as hard as his touch. “Where is he taking her?”

  “Daniel has a house in Jamaica. He takes women there.”

  “How do you know that?” His voice held a deadly edge.

  Careful. “I overheard Daniel discussing the trip.” She swallowed and threw out the bait. “Let me help.”

  He gave he
r a long, hard look. “Very well. I won't leave you here. But you will do as I say and that means staying in this room.”

  “I will. I promise.” Hope surged through her veins.

  He grabbed his coat and pulled it on, all the while his brows knitted with doubt. “Do not make me regret this decision.”

  She stood and trailed after him. “I won't be any trouble.” The same promise she’d made the day he’d agreed to teach her stunt work.

  “Why do I doubt that?” The deep timbre of his voice sent delicious chills down her spine, making memories spring to life, making her fearless.

  She caught his arm as he turned to leave, then rose on her tiptoe and pressed a soft kiss to his unshaven chin. He stiffened.

  “Don’t doubt it.” She nipped his square jaw then covered his mouth with hers. Heat flooded her body, pooled low in her stomach. Pulsed between her legs. God, she’d missed this. His taste. His scent. Musk, spice and sunshine. And Ian. Her Ian.

  Oh, Celeste, you gave me the best birthday gift ever.

  Again she brushed her mouth over his then sucked his bottom lip. Wrapping her arms his neck, she stepped closer, until their bodies brushed together, until his cock hardened against her stomach. A thrill tingled up her body, and moisture slicked between her legs.

  Her fingers threaded in his thick hair as she traced his mouth with the tip of her tongue. “Kiss me.”

  He hesitated, then groaned and covered her lips in a breath stealing kiss. Hot, wet, silky. Her nipples hardened, ached for his touch, the tug of his fingers, the pull of his mouth.

  “Touch me.” She pressed a kiss to his throat then licked his collarbone. “I need to feel your hands on me.”

  He grunted and slid his hands down her back, then lifted the shirt covering her ass. Rough palms gripped her cheeks, grinding her against his erection. His gaze burned through her as he trailed one long finger down her crease then moved his thigh between her legs.

  “Yes. Please. Make me come.”

  “Deuce, but your dirty mouth will be my undoing.”

  “Part . . . of my charm.” She tilted her hips, rubbing, needing release more than air. Heat and pressure centered, built. Grinding. Swelling. “Oh, God, yes. Right there.” Desire roared through her, the ache building. Building. The orgasm so…damned…close.

  A sharp knock sounded at the door. “Captain? The men are ready to go ashore.”

  Ian pulled back and swallowed hard, his expression hungry, his heart thumping against her breast.

  “Captain?”

  “Yes. I’ll be right there.” His heavy lidded gaze skimmed her body. Possessive. Aroused. Regretful as he set her aside.

  Her mind crawled to process what was happening while her body was doused with disappointment. “You’re still going?”

  He raked through his hair, then nodded. “We need provisions before sailing for Jamaica. I’ll only be a few hours.” He stepped to the door, but turned and pinned her with a hard stare. “But when I return…”

  “Yes?” Her heart thumped in anticipation of some explicit description of what he would do to her. Oh, but his tongue was naughty in all the right ways.

  “…I expect an explanation about your connection to Daniel Roberts.”

  Izzy drooped against the door, her thoughts racing even though her legs collapsed. This was going to be the shortest second chance in history.

  Chapter Four

  Ian stood over the bed watching Izzy sleep. Gathering supplies took more time than he’d anticipated, and gathering information— or at least attempting to— garnered him nothing but a headache.

  No one in Port-au-Prince had seen Daniel’s ship, The Jackel, and no one had knowledge of him. No one except the woman in bed.

  Damn. Who was she, really?

  Lover?

  Liar?

  Wife? His head said no, but his heart whispered perhaps.

  He caressed her forehead, checking the wound for fever. Her skin was cool— too cool. Pulling the blanket over her shoulders, he strode to the window.

  When Alicia first disappeared, rum had been his only solace. Memories of those few weeks remained as foggy as the Newfoundland coast. Perhaps Izzy tempted him into marriage while he was in his cups. But he hadn’t been drunk this afternoon, and he had been more than tempted. His damn cock ached for hours after her vivid words. Make me come.

  Christ!

  He glanced to the bed. She was certainly a beauty. Caution whispered in his ear: A beauty who would wind him around her finger if he wasn’t careful. Already he let her stay when good sense told him to put her ashore. He should have forced her to reveal Robert’s destination, then left her with the priests and been done with the whole situation. Instead—

  She sighed and kicked free from the blankets, her bare legs bathed in pale moonlight. Closing his eyes, he searched for strength.

  – Instead, all he could think about was climbing into bed and thrusting into her slick, sweet body.

  He shook his head and walked to the wash basin. Stripping off his coat, he stared into the small mirror. The gentle sway of the ship contrasted to the confusion raging through him. What about her made him feel as if he’d awaken from a long dream, feel suddenly found when he’d been lost? Why did he feel saved when she was the one fished from the sea?

  That’s what loneliness does to a man.

  Lonely? I’m not lonely. How preposterous. He captained a ship full of loyal men, visited exotic ports on a regular basis, met people from all over the world. Did that sound like loneliness? No. Isabella Douglas inspired lust. Just lust. And lust could be controlled. Had to be controlled. Because until he knew the truth about her and Roberts, she couldn’t be trusted, wife or not.

  Ian pulled the shirt from his body and dropped it to the floor, then poured some water into the bowl. Lathering a rag, he washed his face and chest, letting the cool water trickle down his stomach.

  He needed to stop thinking about the woman in his bed and decide a plan of action for once they caught up to The Jackel. Dropping into his chair, he leaned back and closed his eyes.

  “Ian?”

  He bolted upright. Izzy drifted toward him, like mist floating on water.

  “What’s wrong?” Her brows dipped together. “Has something happened?” She scurried to the desk. “Did you find Alicia? Oh, God, she’s not dead is she?”

  Panic tore through him like a full gale wind. “Dead! Christ no, why would you assume that?”

  Her dark eyes widened and she stepped back. “Because last time you were— um, no, reason.” She gave a brittle smile. “I’m…just one of those people who thinks the worst. Did you get all the supplies you needed? The ship’s moving— guess that means we’re headed to Jamaica.”

  “Mmm.” Ian watched her wander to the window and stare at the water, knuckles white as she gripped the sill. His wife was a bad liar.

  She turned, smiling a little too brightly. “Why don’t you come to bed? You look exhausted.” Grasping his hands, she tugged him to his feet.

  “I thought perhaps we’d have a drink.” He strolled to the cabinet and uncorked the rum. “We were going to talk. Remember?” His confidence bloomed at her panicked expression. She was hiding something, and he intended to find out what.

  “Could it wait until tomorrow?” Her words brushed his bare shoulder. “I don’t really feel like talking.” Slow kisses tickled down his spine, her tongue warm and wet.

  Oh, she would make an excellent spy. Sex as a diversion. Well, it would not work— at least not on him. But testing her resolve promised to be a delight. Just what secrets would she divulge while in passion’s grasp?

  He turned, trailing a finger down the V in the shirt, across the soft skin between her breasts. “What do you feel like doing?”

  A seductress’s smile curved her mouth, a smile so tempting his resolved nearly faltered. She gripped the hem of the shirt and inched it up over her body. Long legs. Wide hips. Firm breasts…Deuce! Sweat prickled his scalp. Heat roared through
him. Dark blonde curls shaved into a thin strip topped her mound.

  She dropped the shirt to the floor and lifted her dark gaze.

  Damn, this would be harder than he thought. How could he drive her to distraction when he couldn’t think for the painful throbbing of his erection?

  “Those pants look a little tight.” She cupped his length, rubbing her palm from head to ballocks. “Why don’t you take them off?” One button, then two and tropical air caressed his cockhead. Her hand covered him, gave him a gentle twist as if he was her personal door knob, slicking the moisture already gathering from his slit.

  “Let’s move to the bed, first.” Gathering her wrists, he tugged her to the mattress. He couldn’t let her have control, couldn’t make love to Daniel’s spy. “Lie down and place your hands above your head.” How much pleasure could she take before she told the truth?

  She grinned. “All right.” She gripped the wooden berth. “Are you going to tie my hands, or do you trust me?”

  Trust. Hell, if he knew whether or not he could trust her, he would be bringing her to climax right now instead of staging a sexual interrogation. “I hope I can trust you.”

  Did she guess the depth of his words? Of course not. Damn, even he couldn’t fathom why this felt so important. His sole focus should be on Alicia…but right now all he wanted was to know if Izzy’s loyalty lay with him.

  “You can. Always.” Sincerity darkened her eyes.

  “Time will tell.” He leaned over and pressed a hot kiss behind her ear, sucked on her lobe, nibbled down her neck. “After all, a liar is one thing I do not tolerate. But then you probably already knew that.” He licked between her breasts.

  “Mmmm. Yes.”

  Was she agreeing or merely enjoying his kisses? He needed her to enjoy what he was doing. Hell, he wanted her to. And he refused to think about why it mattered so much.

  “You have beautiful breasts.” He nuzzled down one small globe, then flicked his tongue over the pink tip. “I do hope I’ve told you that.” He hoped he’d worshiped them.

  “Yes.” Her answer was all air, no voice. Eyes closed, she writhed on the bed.