EXCERPT
Gina woke to a god awful pounding inside her head. Confusion swamped her brain before memory slammed into her with the force of a fullback's tackle. Oh ! My! God! She'd drank too much of Ruth McPherson's wine on an empty stomach and passed out. Could life get more embarrassing?
Something heavy and hot pressed her into the couch cushions. She turned her head, her lips brushing warm skin. Her eyelids popped open, and she swallowed her heart as it leapt into her throat.
Luke was sprawled across her body. A hard push gained her a grunt. He continued to snore softly. What had she done? Had too much to drink and had sex with her ex in Ruth McPherson's living room?
She needed to think. If only the pounding in her head would go away.
A loud, querulous voice penetrated the thick fog surrounding her. "Anybody in there? Is this a public inn or ain't it?"
Her fingers curled into Luke's chest. The hammering wasn't in her head. Someone was pounding on the door. Where in the world was Ruth McPherson? Why didn't she answer the freakin' door? Gina redoubled her efforts to escape Luke's weight.
Luke's fingers cupped her face, his warm breath heating her cheek before his mouth claimed hers. Thoughts of resisting never materialized. The lazy sensuality of his kiss took her breath away. His tongue coaxed her lips open and boldly entered as if it lived there.
Well remembered sensations built between her legs. Her breasts ached for attention as they hadn't in seven years.
"You lusty wench. After last night you'll have to marry me," he murmured in her ear. "You've never been so willing."
Gina reeled with confusion. Lusty wench? Last night? Marry him? "Cut it out, Luke. Get off me." She flattened her hands on his chest and pushed.
Luke landed on the floor and grinned. "Good morning. What did you call me?"
"You bastard! How dare you take advantage of me when I was drunk?"
Propped on an elbow, the twinkling humor in his eyes clouded to confusion. "What nonsense are you spouting, Rachel? You had not a drop of ale to drink. Are you addled?"
Gina sat up, stunned. "Addled? Luke, what's wrong with you? You're scaring me. Why are you calling me Rachel?"
He gracefully jumped to his feet. "What's wrong with me?" A frown drew his brows together. "What is wrong with you? My name is John. Have you forgotten already? Who is this Luke?"
"I'm not Rachel. I'm Gina."
In total confusion she stared the man looming over her. He had Luke's features, yet he wasn't Luke. This man's hair was long, pulled into a ponytail, and the clothes he wore were from another century. Tight pants, knee high riding boots and a white shirt with blouson sleeves.
Gina grappled with a wave of dizziness. She scrambled off the hard bench-what had happened to the couch? She backed up and bumped into a long wooden table. Something was very wrong. Fear pumped adrenaline raced through her veins.
She glanced down at herself, and her level of terror shot off the charts. Gone was the chick mini-dress she'd worn last night. A gray dress, made from a quality of cotton she'd never seen, hung loosely on her body. The desire to flee ran rampant. In her haste to get upstairs, she stumbled on the hem of the dress. She hitched it up and grew more confused as her eyes encountered black boot-like shoes, with buttons on the sides. She clutched the front of her dress, her fingers following the buttons nearly to her neck. Over the dress, she wore a starched white apron. Much like the one Ruth McPherson had worn last night.
"Well?" the stranger who looked like Luke asked. "Do you care to explain yourself? If you have grown tired of our trysts, Rachel, I have a right to know."
Gina swallowed the words so anxious to tumble from her mouth and watched him pace back and forth in the room. Surely, she wasn't mistaken about the worry she'd seen in this man's face. He cared about her. The entire incident reminded her of a scene from a play set in colonial times. Trouble was she appeared to have a leading role. Her gaze scanned the room. Familiar, yet different. Last night she'd pegged the furnishings as being legitimate antiques or fine reproductions. Today they looked to be well used. Light flickered inside sconces on the walls.
Dirt filled the wide cracks between the wide floor boards. A huge black cast iron pot hung on a rod over a fire in the fireplace. Last night, the flames had flickered around three logs when she'd come down the stairs. Now the fire burned hot.
The incessant pounding on the door ceased. Maybe whoever had been banging had gone away. Gina flinched when the door burst open and several people barreled into the room. A short, squat man with huge jowls and ferocious eyes under busy eyebrows stepped forward, his chest puffed out like a strutting partridge. His gaze zeroed in on Gina. The full lips curved into a leer. "Ho, ho. The stable boy dallies with the maid. Not that I blame you, young man." He laughed at his own joke.
Gina's fingers curled, her nails digging into her palms. Her face grew warm, and she lifted a foot to kick the fat guy's ass right where it would hurt the most.
Luke loomed in front of her and grabbed her arms. "What in God's name is the matter with you, Rachel? George will toss me out the door on my arse. And then who will protect you?"
The coarse man cleared his throat. "We have traveled from Massachusetts, and we want rooms, baths and food. In that order." The four guests trooped up the stairs, leaving her alone with the stranger. Tears clogged her throat, a few threatened to spill from the corners of her eyes. "Who are you? What have you done with Luke? Where's Mrs. McPherson?"
Luke drew a sharp breath. His hand trembled as he reached over to touch her cheek. "Are you unwell, Rachel? I would suggest you go to the attic to rest, but I can't handle four travelers alone. There are the baths, the food and I must tend to their horses."
She ignored Luke's comments about her health. "Where's Ruth?" Gina demanded, unable to kept hysteria from her voice. He sighed and rested his hands on her shoulders. "Ruth McPherson has been dead well over fifty years, Rachel. George Haynes owns the inn now. If he returns from his trip to Boston and finds us dallying when there are guests, I'll be tossed into the street, and you..."
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