What began as a simple gesture of thanks, suddenly vibrated with an overwhelming sensuality. He wanted to feel her mouth beneath his, bury his face in her sweet-smelling hair, then gaze into her passion-clouded eyes.
It took all his strength to draw away. He could not take what she offered, not in this time, not in any time. He had no right, for he could not offer her anything in return. Dropping his hand from her soft cheek, he sucked in a deep draft of air, averting his gaze from the apprehension that colored her deep green eyes.
'I-I'm sorry,' she said.
'There is no need to apologize,' Griffin replied. 'I am the one to be sorry. I acted impulsively, without thought for your feelings, or your honor.'
He quickly stood and walked to the bedroom door.
'You don't have to leave,' she said.
'I do,' he replied. ''Tis nearly midnight. Your friend said that we must try to duplicate what happened. Perhaps it wasn't the weather, but the time or the place. I'm of a mind to wait outside and see.'
Merrie sat up straight in bed. 'Do you think it will work?'
Griffin shrugged. 'We'll not know until we try.' He smiled. 'Go to sleep, Merrie-girl,' he said softly. 'And if I am gone when you wake, you will think this has all been a dream.'
'I'll never believe it was a dream,' she said, her voice trembling slightly. 'I'll never forget you.'
'Nor I you,' he said.
Griffin turned and walked out of the bedroom, leaving Merrie alone. She would be fine, she had assured him of that fact. Merrie had lived alone for a long time before he had come to her. Still, in a small corner of his soul, he knew he was leaving something rare and precious behind. And if he magically stepped back to his own time on this night, he knew he would always wonder what might have been had he been forced to stay.
He had spoken the truth when he said he would not forget her. He would see her eyes in the sea and her smile in the sun. He would feel her skin when he touched the finest silk and he would smell her perfume every time he brought a flower to his nose.
No, upon his life, he would never forget Merrie.
Meredith flopped back on her pillow and covered her face with her hands. She felt like crying but she wasn't sure why. This man had blown into her life with all the force of a hurricane, and now there was a good chance he'd blow right back out again.
She knew she had to let him go. There was nothing for him here, and he was intent on his plan to avenge his father's death. And yet, she didn't want him to leave. There was something about him, something she felt on such a visceral level, a feeling that she couldn't put into words, something that told her this thing between them was not finished. He was not supposed to leave, not yet.
Meredith fought against the temptation to run out to the beach and try to convince him to stay. But deep down, she knew that would be wrong. She had to let him try, and if nothing happened this night, she would put her feelings aside and continue to help him until he found his way back.
With a groan of frustration, Meredith climbed out of bed and walked to the window. Drawing a deep breath, she pulled back the curtain and looked out into the yard. He stood on the lawn, his form illuminated by the full moon, his hair blowing in the breeze.
He stared out at the water, watching, waiting. A halo of silver light seemed to surround him, gilding his body like some ancient statue of a sea god, lining a shimmering path from his feet out to the horizon. He looked so far away, already lost to her, and she touched her lips with her fingers, hoping to feel the warmth of his mouth still there. But her lips were cold, his touch long gone.
Meredith glanced over at the bedside clock. Her stomach tightened as the numbers changed to 11:57. She let the lace curtain fall from her fingers and numbly walked back to the bed. Shoving all her papers to the floor, she crawled beneath the covers and curled into a tiny ball.
She was frightened, not of what she had been through, but of what the future might be without him. Would she ever feel this powerful attraction for a man again? Or would she be left with her memories of Griffin and her half- finished dreams?
Reaching over, she turned off the bedside lamp and let the darkness envelop her. As she closed her eyes, an image of him flashed in her mind, imprinted on her memory. 'Go to sleep,' she whispered, rolling over on her back to stare at the ceiling. 'What will happen, will happen. If he isn't meant to leave, he won't.'
She lay perfectly still for a very long time, listening to the sounds around her and inside her: the waves, her heartbeat, the breeze, her breathing and the silent cry of an abandoned soul. The clock marked each minute and as it did, she was forced to face the fact that he was gone. He'd disappeared from her life as quickly as he'd appeared. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to sleep.
Meredith wasn't sure how much time had passed-she'd been afraid to open her eyes and look at the clock. Maybe she'd even drifted off for a few minutes. But slowly, she realized that she wasn't alone anymore. He was here, in the room. She sensed his presence as surely as if the light was on and she was staring at his handsome face.
She heard him approach the bed and for a moment he stood over her, his breathing deep and even. Then she heard him whisper her name. Her heart leaped and she fought the urge to jump up and throw her arms around him in joy. Instead, she keep her eyes closed and her body still.
The bed sank beneath his weight. He moaned softly as he pulled her against him, pressing her backside into his lap and wrapping his arms around her waist. She knew he just needed to be with someone, anyone, right now, but she was thankful he'd chosen her. For the first time, she understood the loneliness he felt, isolated and so far from everything familiar. She'd felt that same loneliness as she watched him on the beach.
Still, though she knew he was in pain, a lazy sense of comfort and satisfaction worked its way through her body. She felt exhausted, yet strangely exhilarated. He was here with her, where he belonged, at least for a little while longer.
When she was certain he slept, Meredith slipped out of his arms and turned on the bedside lamp. The light spilled across his face and she held her breath, waiting for him to open his eyes. But he was deep in slumber, his perfect features tranquil and untroubled.
She turned on her side and faced him, lazily studying every detail of his face. Dark lashes, sinfully long for a man, and flawlessly arched eyebrows, as black as raven's wings, framed his eyes. Taken alone, they would have appeared almost feminine, but amidst the strong cheekbones, the sculpted mouth and the aristocratic nose, they fell into a remarkable masculine balance.
He had changed back into his old clothes before going out to the beach, but he had discarded his waistcoat before crawling into bed with her. His linen shirt gaped open in the front, revealing a wide expanse of smooth chest, dusted with dark hair. She reached out and held her hand close to his skin, close enough to feel the warmth radiating into her fingers, yet not close enough to touch him. Slowly, she skimmed her fingers above the ridges of his muscles, imagining the feel of him, without making contact.
As she explored his body this way, first with her eyes and then with an invisible touch, she marveled at the man who shared her bed… the man who had kissed her earlier… the man who had awakened feelings she never knew she possessed.
She'd had a number of relationships with colleagues on campus, always more intellectual than anything else. But she'd never felt for them what she felt for Griffin. Though she had tried to convince herself she was sexually attracted to these men, when it came right down to consummating the relationship, she couldn't bring herself to go through with it.
In this day and age, her virginity loomed over her like a big scarlet
He was the opposite of everything she'd thought she wanted in a man-he was a man of action, not introspection. He could be brooding and distant, keeping his emotions locked deep inside. Griffin Rourke was definitely not a sensitive, nineties kind of guy. But she didn't want that. She wanted him-exactly the way he was, with all his simmering arrogance and sensual energy and chauvinistic ideas.
Maybe that was why she felt so at ease around him. In the past, just the thought of making love to a man had caused her paroxysms of nervousness. But Griffin knew nothing about the games that men and women played in today's society. To him, she appeared sophisticated and self-assured, a woman of action, and in his presence, she'd
