September 25, 2013
Lovely Salome Publishing
Digital ISBN: 9781476079929
Amber Schulman stepped into a lush English garden in 2007, only to arrive in breathtaking Sorrento, Italy–in 1958. The only person who understands her confusion is fellow time traveler Mark Lacey, a New Yorker who comes from the land of cassette tapes and Reaganomics. His dark, world-weary eyes beckon her with secrets and sensuality. But why does he seem familiar?
Trapped in the past since he was a teen, Mark wants nothing to do with another whining newcomer. But the blue-eyed Aussie might be able to answer the one question that haunts him: Do I ever get back to 1987? From soccer to samba to sex, Amber tempts him with a zeal for life and love, pulling him free of his lonely isolation. But getting home may prove easier than they imagined. How will their love endure if Amber returns to her time–and Mark to his?
From the Author
This short story was initially published in December 2007 by The Wild Rose Press. Although I had already received “the call” for What a Scoundrel Wants, “Sundial” went to press sooner, making it my first officially published romance. I love these characters, and I love being able to present them to new readers. Interested in time travel? Try this one, with its exotic 1950s Italian twist!
Mark smiled in return, but a waiting silence lengthened between them. They’d behaved almost normally for a whole handful of minutes. He’d liked it. Too much.
“You’re the first I’ve met from my future,” he said. “I’m always the one feeling like Marty McFly, thinking these people are so quaint and stupid. But you must think that of me.”
“Back to the Future?”
“Yeah. I went to see it with my dad. Had a great time.”
“God, you really miss him.” She covered his hand with hers. The gold figure eights on her bracelet shimmered in the sun. “I left São Paolo for Berkeley when I was eighteen, happy to be free. But I could always call when I was lonely. It was a slow transition to being on my own. I can’t imagine being ripped away before I was ready.”
“I don’t want your pity, Amber.”
“Not pity,” she said. “Just glad to understand you. Well, a beginning at least.”
He squeezed her hand, the warmth and softness of her skin peeling away his reserve. Mark stared at those intertwined fingers. “I’m sorry for–for how I’ve acted. I don’t know how to be…be myself, I guess. Be honest. Especially with women.”
Amber pulled away. She stood, the chair legs scraping the linoleum and splitting the silence. Mark followed her slow progress around the dinette like watching a miracle unfold. She touched the back of his neck. Her fingers slid through his hair and gave a little tug.
“Can I kiss you?” Cheeks the color of sunshine through honey turned rosy. “No, wait,” she said. “I’m going to kiss you.”
Mark swallowed. “You are?”
“Try and stop me.”
He circled her body with his arms and grabbed two handfuls of skirt and thigh, pulling her to straddle his legs. “Not a chance.”
Coffee-scented breath mingled with hers. She touched her lips to his, once, again, softly. But like a row of dominoes, sensation fell on sensation and urged her to claim more. Her second kiss turned greedy, hard, and she pushed her tongue into the warm cavern of his mouth.
He clutched her thighs and dragged her closer, offering proof of his hunger in every tense, trembling muscle. She settled onto his lap, the vinyl seat cushion squeaking beneath their weight. Digging her fingers down to his scalp, pulling, Amber deepened the kiss.
His arms banded her back. His lips moved over hers with a rough possession, building a blaze of unspent passion under her skin. Her arms and breasts prickled, tingling and hot, while breath burned her lungs like pepper. Warm heat settled between her thighs and she groaned, pushing against the hard bulge of his erection.
Mark ended the kiss with a similar groan and rested his forehead against hers. “Whoa, Amber. Please.”
Their ragged breaths matched, making her laugh. She kissed the end of his nose. “Sure?”
He nodded and shook his head at the same time. A shaky inhale pressed the hard wall of his chest against her sensitized nipples, arousing her through the thin cotton of her shirt.
She tightened her fingers and dragged his head back. That begging stare had returned. She fell into his internal world as surely as she’d fallen into Sorrento, fear and lust thickening between them like a gathering fog. He wanted her with a desperation that stretched a deep ache through her body.
“No, I’m not sure.”