Nora Roberts - Times Change

Frustrated, he stroked her cheek. “Sunny, I didn’t think it was possible to tell you the truth. And I didn’t know how . . .” He stopped, swore. “If it had been possible, I would have shown you more romance, but I didn’t have a gift for you.”

“A gift?” She’d really believed she was too weary to become annoyed again. She’d been wrong. “What the hell are you talking about?”

“Romance,” he repeated, more than a little embarrassed. “Attention, flattery, the giving of gifts.”

“That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Romance? Is that your superior species’ definition of romance?” She pushed his hands away. “Idiot. Romance has nothing to do with presents or flattery. It has to do with caring and compassion, with sharing your hopes and your dreams. It means being honest.”

“This is honest.”

He lowered his mouth to hers. She prepared to resist, to hold him off with icy disdain. But for the first time his mouth wasn’t hungry, it wasn’t passionate, it wasn’t desperate. It was, instead, infinitely tender. The beauty of it shimmered through her like liquid sunlight. Her defensive front of disinterest melted away like snow in the spring.

He looked at her. Was there confusion in his eyes? she wondered. It couldn’t matter, she told herself. She couldn’t allow herself to care so much a second time. But he laid a soothing hand on her cheek and touched his lips experimentally to hers.

He hadn’t known being gentle could be so weakening. Or so fulfilling. There had always been power when he’d touched her. Bolts of power. Now there was only warmth, a quiet river of it, running through him. He wanted to share it with her, to show her how precious she was and would always be.

“I love you,” he murmured. When she tried to shake her head, he only repeated the words again and again as his mouth whispered over hers.

She couldn’t fight him like this. Not when the fog had rolled in over her brain and her body was sinking in some thick, syrupy darkness. Her breath shook as she tried to say his name. He covered her trembling lips with his own. Patient, so patient, as hers warmed and moved beneath his.

Time, he thought as he slowly deepened the kiss. They would take all they needed. And when the time had ended she would know that he would never love again as he had loved her.

He undressed her. Though his fingers shook from the pull of his own emotions, they didn’t hurry. Button by button he loosened her shirt, pressing his lips lightly to each new opening. Softly, sweetly, he trailed his fingers over her flesh, parting the material.

There was no greed now, only an aching, bittersweet tenderness.

Surrendering, she eased his sweater up over his shoulders so that she could feel the warmth of his skin against hers. If she only had today, she would forget all the yesterdays, all the tomorrows. As his mouth met hers again, it was as though it were the first time they had kissed. The first time they had loved.

This she would remember. The heady flavor of his lips, those quiet, lovely words he spoke against her mouth. Not promises. There could be no promises. But there was the depthless green of his eyes to drown in. There was the impossible gentleness of his hands to be lost in.

He slipped her jeans over her hips, following the route with his mouth, down her thigh, over her knee and her calf. In the dim, silent room, there was no day or night. And a heart so filled with love could not break.

She enchanted him, until he believed they would always be here together, alone, with only the soft sigh of the bed shifting, yielding beneath the pressure of their bodies. Alone, with only the soothing stroke of her fingers over his skin. With only her drifting, tenuous scent swimming in his brain.

And the love he felt pulsed through his blood, seeped into his bones, until he knew he would never be free of it. There was joy in that. She would be with him, despite all distances.

He slipped into her with a yearning that was deep. She enfolded him with an unquestioning generosity. As they moved together, time stood beautifully still.

***

She woke, blinking in the darkness and afraid. Beside her, the bed was cool. He was gone. Panic snatched at her throat and had her rearing up. She bit back the cry and steadied herself.

He wasn’t gone—or at least he hadn’t gone far, for she was still on the ship, in his bed. With her heart pounding, she lay back and tried to think.

The way he had loved her had been so sweet, so kind, so patient. And so much like goodbye. She couldn’t cry again, Sunny promised herself as she squeezed back tears. Crying solved nothing. If she loved him, and she did, the only thing she could do for him was to be strong.

She dressed in the dark, then went to look for him.

The ship confused her. There was another cabin, smaller than Jacob’s but painted in the same pale blues. She passed through another area she assumed was the galley only because there was an empty carton of some sort of drink on a smooth, narrow counter and a metal door built into the wall that after a critical study she decided was some sort of oven.

She found him on the flight deck, sitting at the command console. His wore only his jeans. The viewing screen showed a panorama of forest and the shadow of distant ridges. He was staring through it as he spoke to the computer.

“Set coordinates for 1500 hours.”

Affirmative.

“Preferred destination as close as possible to original departure data, time and position.”

Understood.

“Estimate approximate flight time from lift-off to time warp.”

Working . . . Estimate three hours, twenty-two minutes from lift-off to orbit of sun. Is closer calculation desired?

“No.”

“Jacob.”

He spun in his chair, swore under his breath. “Disengage.”

The computer screen went blank.

“I thought you were sleeping.”

“I was.” Accusations, threats, pleas, sprang to her lips. She bit them back. She had promised herself she would be strong. “You’re going back.”

“I have to.” He rose to cross to her. “Sunny, I’ve tried to find another way. There is none.”

“But—”

“Do you love your parents?”

“Yes, of course.”

“And I love mine.” He took her hand, weighed it in his. “I can’t begin to explain what we went through when we thought Cal was dead. My mother . . . She’s very strong, but when the news came that he was lost, presumed dead, she was ill with grief. Days, weeks.”

“I’m sorry,” she said quietly. “I can only imagine how you must have felt.”

He shook his head. Those days were still difficult to speak of. “And then, when we learned the truth, they both tried to accept. He was alive, and that meant everything. But to know that they would never see him again, never know.” He broke off in frustration. “Maybe they can accept, especially when I explain to them that he’s happy here. When I tell them about the child.”

“What child?”

“Cal’s—Libby’s carrying a child. Didn’t she tell you?”

“No.” Shaken, Sunny pressed a hand to her temple. “Everything was so confused. And I . . . Libby’s pregnant.” With a little laugh, she dropped her hand “How about that? We’re going to have a niece or nephew.” It seemed right, only right, that when her world was at its darkest there should be that tiny glimmer of life, and of hope, in the future.

Yet it was that same future she was losing him to.

“Having a baby only takes nine months,” she began, trying to sound casual. “I don’t suppose you’d consider hanging around to see whether we should buy blue or pink balloons.”

It was so easy to see beyond her smile, into her eyes, where the sadness hovered. “I can’t take a chance on leaving the ship here so long—and I’ve already overstayed my projected equations. Sunny, my parents have a right, a need, to know about Cal’s life, about the child. Their grandchild.”