Out of Time (Lovers in Time Series, Book 1): Time Travel Romance Read online

  "A technicality. Just like all the rest. Nothing on his record warrants a direct trip to your lair. He deserves his judgment day."

  "Is that so? What about his overindulgence in unemotional fornication? Everyone knows that's a particular peeve of yours."

  "Just as everyone knows how that is your favorite form of temptation. I wonder how many of the women he encountered were acting under your provocation." The archangel remained silent for a moment. "It is true that the relationship portion of his record is rather murky but the free love promotion of the nineteen-sixties American culture has been extremely hard for many humans to resist. Besides, I believe he was beginning to come around with Ginger O'Neill."

  "Hah! He never told her he loved her. Nor would he ever have sacrificed his life to save hers. If she hadn't left him, he would have left her long before any true promises were made."

  "I disagree. We're clearly at a stalemate which, as you well know, requires a formal Judgment Day for the human."

  "Not if I challenge," Jezebel blurted out without hesitation.

  Gabriel chuckled. "Do you dare? You lost the last one."

  "The last one wasn't worth the effort of winning. Yes. I dare. I challenge you for Jack Templeton's soul."

  "Accepted. And since you have staked the premature claim, I have the right to set the stage for his test."

  "Damn you to hell, Gabriel!"

  "Now you see how easy it is to accidentally use a figure of speech. You know very well you don't have the power to damn me to anything."

  "We'll see who has the power on this one. Since you're setting the stage, I get to name the terms."

  "That is your right... as long as they are reasonable."

  She grumbled at the limitation. "Fine. Jack Templeton is mine if he doesn't tell a woman he loves her and prove that he's willing to die for her... within two weeks, Earth time."

  "Unreasonable. Six months."

  "Also unreasonable. Three weeks."

  "Six weeks. And absolutely no interference from you or yours during that time."

  "The same goes for you. No guardian angels sitting on his shoulder, whispering helpful little suggestions in his ear."

  "Agreed. No angelic whispers."

  "Done."

  Once Jezebel had slithered back into her lair, Gabriel allowed himself to smile. Once again, in her fit of temper, Jezebel had missed an important point. He had agreed to no angelic guidance and he would not intervene directly during the specified time but he had not agreed to refrain from using his power to create an extraordinary set of circumstances in which the condemned human would take his test.

  Given a certain advantage and a distinct disadvantage, Jack Templeton just might be saved.

  * * *

  Father Peters had never regretted a promise more than the one he'd made to Jack Templeton last night. It wasn't that he had never seen a person die before. It was the manner of death he was having trouble with in this instance.

  He firmly believed God was the only one who should have the power of life and death. Whether Templeton was innocent or guilty was not his concern—God would deal with that—but he did not believe that anyone's life should be ended by another man's hand. Since he couldn't stop the death sentence from being carried out, however, at least he could make sure that it was done as humanely as possible.

  Which is why, an hour before the sun broached the horizon, the priest stood behind a one-way viewing glass and watched two guards lead Templeton into the small room and strap him into the electric chair. He felt some satisfaction in noting that the convicted man's last request regarding his haircut had been granted. On the other hand, it was acutely uncomfortable to be close enough to see the beads of perspiration on Templeton's face. He wondered what the condemned man could be thinking at this, the final moments of his aborted life.

  After the leather straps were tightened and the electrodes secured in place, the two guards left Templeton alone in the room.

  The warden turned on the intercom and spoke into the microphone. "Any last words, Templeton?"

  The eyes of the accused seem to bore through the glass. "I'm innocent."

  The warden turned off the intercom and nodded to the executioner. Father Peters made the sign of the cross and began reciting The Lord's Prayer.

  Rather than watch Templeton, the priest kept his eyes on the voltage meter. The arm jumped to 2,000, as Templeton had said it should, but then the worst thing that could possibly happen, did.

  All the lights went out.

  "Shut it down," the warden ordered.

  For several seconds they were in total blackness and the priest prayed that the first surge of electricity had been enough to put the poor man out of his misery.

  The return of power caused the lights to flicker for a few more seconds before the area was illuminated again.

  "What the hell?" exclaimed the warden and he burst through the door into the room where the electric chair was situated. The two guards, the executioner and Father Peters were right behind him.

  "Dear God in heaven," the priest muttered as the others expressed their shock in less spiritual terms.

  Where Jack Templeton had been securely strapped moments before, there was now nothing but a slightly scorched prison uniform and smoldering ashes.

  Chapter 2

  Forsyth County, Georgia

  August 24, 2016

  This was the night. She had given it more thought than she normally would but her usual flirtations had not captured her target's heart. She was used to men declaring their undying love after she allowed them to feel her up through her sweater. But he was obviously too experienced to be affected by such a small gesture. After two weeks of serious necking, it was clear that she was going to have to go all the way to get him to fall in love with her. She had four hours before anyone would wonder where she was. Four hours to make love to him better than any other girl ever had. She took a moment to unbutton one more button on her cardigan and adjust her breasts for maximum exposure. After one last look around to make sure no one saw her, she knocked on his door.

  "Wow," he said as soon as he opened the door.

  She smiled softly and gave her iron-straightened, red hair a little flip as she stepped into his apartment. She made sure to pass by closely enough for him to smell her perfume without actually making contact. Her efforts were rewarded when she turned back to him and saw the hungry look in his eyes as he stared at her cleavage. The bulge in his slacks assured her that this was going to be a cinch.

  "Ah don't have ta be home 'til eleven tonight. Mama's at a friend's house for a meetin'." She ordered her conscience to be quiet. All the lies would be worth it soon enough.

  He closed the door and moved toward her, his blue eyes twinkling with obvious thoughts of sex. "So, how would you like to spend your free evening?"

  She closed the distance between them and slowly ran her hands up his chest and around his neck. Rising on her toes, she pressed her body against his and drew his head down for a long, wet kiss. "Ah want to spend the whole evenin' makin' y'all happy."

  His chuckle was barely audible as his erection quickly swelled against her lower abdomen. "Is that right? What is it you think would make me happy?"

  She slid her hand between their bodies and stroked him. "Ah think it might make y'all happy ta put this inside me. Ah'm pretty sure you've been thinkin' 'bout that a lot."

  His hands slid down her back and squeezed her bottom. "If you're teasing again—"

  "Ah ain't teasin'. Ah am ready to be yours. All yours." She drew him into another long, open-mouthed, tongue-tangling kiss.

  He lifted her and carried her into his bedroom without breaking the kiss. As he gently laid her down and straddled her hips, she was certain she saw love in his eyes. Now she just had to get him to admit it. As he began removing her sweater, she closed her eyes and prepared for the discomfort. But instead of being pinched and squeezed, his fingers molded her naked breasts into peaks that his tongue gently teased. H
er eyes opened wide with pleasant surprise.

  "You like that?" he asked with a cocky grin.

  "Oh my, yes. Do it some more."

  He obeyed and she gasped as she felt a tickle all the way down to her core.

  That made him raise his head and arch an eyebrow at her. "Is there something you haven't told me?"

  Her stomach soured with the guilt of all that she had not told him. "Like what, sugar?"

  "I'm getting the feeling this is new to you. Are you a virgin?"

  She laughed with relief. "Good Lawd, no. Ah just haven't had, um, a lot of experience, at least not anythin' like... what you just did."

  He kissed the tip of her nose. "That's okay, babe. I've probably had enough for the both of us. But I'm guessing that means you're not on the pill, huh?"

  She considered telling another lie but she doubted if an "unexpected" pregnancy would guarantee his devotion under the circumstances. She lowered her eyes and shook her head.

  He groaned and shifted to her side. "And I don't have any rubbers."

  "Ah guess Ah should have thought of that. Please don't be mad."

  "Why would I be mad? I kinda like the fact that you didn't think of it. I'll pick some up tomorrow. In the meantime..." He leaned up on his elbow and kissed the corners of her mouth and her chin. "I figure if you liked my mouth here..." He flicked his tongue over a nipple then placed a light kiss on her tummy. "I promise you're gonna love where I'm going next."

  As he removed her skirt and panties, she guessed what he was about to do. She'd heard of oral sex but in her experience it had only gone one way and all she ever got out of it were sore jaws. Her body automatically stiffened in preparation of the unknown.

  But then he grinned and winked at her and she allowed him to push her thighs apart so he could show her what all the talk was about. What he did next was so shocking and unexpectedly pleasurable, she wanted it to go on forever but her body had a very different plan. A mere minute later, she cried out with relief and joy. "Y'all were sho' right. Ah surely did love that." She suddenly realized he was still fully dressed. Reaching for his belt buckle, she murmured, "An' now Ah think it's your turn."

  He brought her hand up to his mouth and kissed her fingertips. "Not yet. Enjoy the afterglow. Some girls think it's the best part."

  She snuggled into him with a smile. This really was nice. Now she wanted him in her life even more than before. "Ah love you so much, Jack." She felt a muscle in his arm twitch.

  "Ah, babe, that's just the climax talking."

  His tone was light but she knew she'd made a mistake as he eased away from her.

  "Look, Ginger, I—"

  * * *

  Ginger?

  Kelly Kirkwood came awake with a jolt. She had been deep in dreamland... and what a hot, though totally weird, dream it had been. The dampness between her thighs backed up a clinging sense of arousal—what had he called it—the afterglow. That gorgeous, thoughtful guy seemed so real, she felt as though she should know him. She was certain she didn't but sure wished she did. What was more confusing was the way she felt, as though she were the woman in the dream. She wasn't watching it, like a movie, she was in it. Yet the woman being so well pleasured wasn't her. That woman had a distinct southern drawl and was much, much younger, a teenager perhaps. Plus, her body seemed shorter, rounder and her shoulder-length hair was perfectly straight and a much brighter red than her own.

  And he had called her Ginger.

  The feeling that the name was both right and wrong at the same time was what pulled her out of the strange dream.

  The desire for more of the man Ginger called Jack, plus the physical need for more sleep, won out over analyzing the dream. She rolled to her side, hugged her spare pillow and tried to drift off. But her eyes wouldn't stay closed. Abruptly she realized it wasn't the dream keeping her awake. For the first time in months, author Kelly Kirkwood felt an idea coming on. She sensed that it was right in front of her, yet she couldn't quite grasp it.

  Though the sun had not yet risen, she got up, turned her bed back into a sofa, made a pot of coffee and sat down at the old kitchen table she was currently using as her desk.

  For the past five years, she had come up with plots for her novels by researching true homicide cases then putting her own twists on them. Until recently, that process had proven extremely successful. Seven of her romantic suspense books had been published, the last three had become bestsellers and her last release was being considered for a movie.

  Unfortunately, two months ago her creative well seemed to dry up.

  One author friend had cited several cases of artistic people who froze after major success hit but she didn't think success had affected her that strongly, one way or the other.

  When she accidentally blurted something out about her lack of productivity to her ex-husband, he accepted total blame. Noting that her problem seemed to have begun at the same time as they signed the divorce papers, he insisted she would get back to writing once she accepted him back in her life.

  As much as she hated to agree with him on anything, Will Kirkwood may have been close to the truth. During their mockery of a marriage, she had turned to writing to escape the reality of the mistake she'd made with him. She had poured every ounce of pent-up emotions into her work rather than taking out her anger and frustration on the cause of her tension. The emotional intensity had made her stories come alive and now that she was legally free of him, she seemed to have totally lost that spark. But she would still prefer never to write another word rather than go back to living the way she was.

  Thoughts of Will's annoying persistence automatically led to the other male trying to win her attentions since the divorce. Bruce Hackett, a long-time friend whose legal skills had helped obtain her divorce, had taken it into his head that it was time to move their relationship from friends to lovers. Kelly had not wanted to hurt his feelings, so rather than flatly rejecting him, she had given the excuse that it was too soon for her to get involved with another man.

  Instead of pushing him gently away, it had encouraged him to hover, being as solicitous as possible so that when she felt ready to get involved, he would be the first man in line.

  Kelly had come to the conclusion that, despite their real relationship, Bruce had fallen in love with her image, in the same way many of her male fans had. They read the steamy sex scenes in her books and imagined that the words were written from her vast experience rather than a fertile imagination. Her publicist was to blame for the ultra-sexy press photo inside the back cover, but she had gone along with it for the sake of increasing sales.

  In the photo she was wearing a black leather jacket, an emerald green bustier that accented her full breasts, and her nearly waist-length, strawberry-blonde hair was draped seductively over one shoulder. It was a picture of wicked sensuality that she augmented by dressing the part for book signings and television interviews. Generally, it worked to her advantage but occasionally, as with Bruce, it backfired.

  Perhaps she should make a point of having Bruce see her as she now looked—in her oversized t-shirt and baggy gym shorts to hide the extra fifteen pounds she was carrying, her unruly hair pinned in an untidy knot at the back of her neck, no makeup to cover the freckles on her nose or darken the pale brows and lashes that framed her hazel eyes—a very average woman who, with effort, managed to clean up well.

  Her agent, Darren Pendergast, was yet another man who seemed to think that sex could help clear her writer's block. Darren believed that all she needed was a wild ride on a young stallion and compared it to a car getting a tune-up. He even offered to line up a pro if she was too shy to shop for one herself. Fortunately for Darren, he was an extraordinary agent so she was able to tolerate his less-than-charming personality.

  Unbidden, moments from the hot dream flickered through her mind. She didn't usually remember details of dreams; she barely recalled having one. Yet this one flooded out of her subconscious as though it were a real memory. She even thought s
he could smell the man's woodsy aftershave. A shimmer of pleasure ran through her body, reminding her of the feel of the man's hands and mouth as he introduced her to the joys of sex. That was ridiculous of course. She certainly didn't need an introduction. Maybe just a reminder...

  How odd. She shook her head to clear the sensual haze and found she had to clench her thighs to halt a building arousal. That sure was a hell of a dream.

  The truth was she couldn't imagine ever feeling ready to be with any man again. Perhaps that was the reason she was having a hard time coming up with a romantic suspense story. On the other hand, last night's very wet dream seemed to suggest she needed a good tumble. Maybe Darren's idea wasn't as crazy as she'd thought. Maybe her creative well just needed a really good, energetic priming from a no-strings-attached pro.

  The explanation she liked best, however, had come from her very empathetic editor. Connie Engel had assured her it was perfectly normal to feel drained after going through something as traumatic as her divorce had been. Besides, she had been pushing herself nonstop for five years. All she needed was a quiet retreat to recharge her batteries. Get away from everything and everybody for a month and she'd be right back on track.

  Kelly had liked the sound of that but couldn't imagine where she could go that would allow her to truly escape. Then, almost magically, came the perfect answer—a friend of Connie's offered her the use of a slightly primitive cabin, nestled in the woods by Lake Sidney Lanier in Georgia. Only her mother and Connie knew of her exact whereabouts.

  In actuality, the one-room cabin was only about sixty miles from her townhouse in Atlanta but it was remote enough to be in another country. It had indoor plumbing with running water from a well, small kitchen appliances operating off a propane gas tank and a generator that provided enough electricity to turn on a lamp, brew coffee and recharge her laptop, though not all at once. If it happened to get chilly one night, there was a wood-burning fireplace.

  Best of all, it had no telephone or cable lines. She had to rely on her cell phone for calls and an internet connection, a circumstance that allowed her to blame non-communication on the erratic or complete lack of a signal in the remote location. If she needed to stay online or make an important call, mail something or buy groceries, the town of Charming was a mere fifteen-minute drive away on a partially dirt road.