"And maybe you still will," she said.
Griffin laughed harshly. "Damn, I do not even know how I got here!" He pulled his arm from his eyes and found Merrie leaning over him.
"Griffin, there is something… something I need to tell you."
"What is it?"
She bit her bottom lip and winced. "You'll be angry."
He reached out and cupped her cheek in his palm. "What troubles you so, Merrie?"
"It's just that I-I-" Suddenly, without warning, she brought her mouth down on his and kissed him, quick and hard. Then, as if she'd surprised even herself, she drew away, her eyes wide with shock.
Gently, Griffin placed his hand on her nape and drew her closer. "I cannot be happy with just one sweet taste, Merrie-girl," he murmured against her lips. "I must have more."
She opened to him and he pressed her mouth to his, quietly demanding her surrender. Hesitantly, her tongue touched his and a warm rush of desire washed over him, heating his blood, making his pulse race. Lord, how could he fight this, these exquisite sensations that her touch aroused?
Wrapping his arms around her waist, he pulled her beneath him, settling himself against her bewitching body, his hips pressed against hers. How long had it been since he'd felt such need for a woman? He'd lost himself in so many after Jane's death, and though they'd slaked the ache in his loins, none had soothed the ache he felt deep in his heart. After a time, he'd stopped trying to numb the pain and avoided women altogether.
But somehow, he knew Merrie would make his heart soar with pleasure and his body shudder with passion. He would bury himself deep inside her and there he would find his release. The past would finally melt away and he would be left with only the present… and the future… and the woman who had freed him from his demons.
Without breaking their kiss, he pushed up on one arm and reached between them, fumbling with the buttons of her dress. One by one, he loosened them, then relinquished her lips for the silken skin of her neck and shoulder. He parted the bodice of her dress and slipped his palm inside, then froze.
Instinct had trained him to expect another layer or two, a chemise and a corset at least. Instead, his hand cupped the soft flesh of her breast and hard bud of her nipple. He sucked in a sharp breath and held it, waiting until the overwhelming need for release passed.
He had thought to deny this attraction between them would be to honor her. But now he knew he was wrong, for to make love to her, to give himself entirely to this woman, without reserve, would be the greatest honor of all.
Griffin brushed his lips along her collarbone, tasting her silken skin and tracing a path between her breasts. And then, with exquisite care, he drew her nipple softly between his lips, teasing at it with his teeth, exciting it with his tongue.
She moaned softly, then whispered his name. Weaving her fingers through his hair, she pressed him against her, the sweet torment of his mouth on her breast no longer enough for her.
Griffin focused his thoughts, trying to control his hunger. He knew the moment he entered her, he would be lost in an explosion of long-denied need. So he would take her slowly, treating her with great care and bringing her own passions to the surface, waiting until she was ready for him at last.
Reaching down, he drew her leg up against his thigh, sliding his palm along the length of her limb, his hard shaft fitted against a spot between her thighs. "I need you, Merrie," he murmured. He drew back and pressed his palm against her cheek, stroking her reddened lips with his thumb. "Faith, but I think I must have been brought here to make love to you, for there is no other reason I can fathom."
Her eyes snapped open and she looked directly at him, her expression suddenly lucid, the hazy passion in her eyes clearing like the morning fog beneath the sun.
"I-I can't do this," she murmured. She glanced around, then wiggled out from under him, clutching at the buttons of her dress. "I-I'm sorry… I shouldn't have… I mean, this was all my fault."
"Merrie, wait. I did not mean to-"
"We should go now." She grabbed the basket and stumbled to her feet. "I-I'll meet you back at the road." Griffin watched as she clambered up the dune, slipping and sliding against the steep mound of sand. When she disappeared behind it, he flopped back down and cursed out loud.
What the devil had he done wrong? He knew things between men and women had changed in the past three centuries. But a woman's honor was now her own responsibility-or so Merrie had told him. Besides, she'd had other men and how many, he didn't care to speculate. Had he been so inept that he hadn't even lived up to her past lovers? No, that couldn't be so! She had responded to his touch, urging him on with her soft, pleading moans.
Griffin groaned. For the first time in a very long while, he felt like a fumbling boy, untrained in the ways of the world. He had made a mess of things, of that he was certain.
There was only one solution to his dilemma, to this war that raged between his past and his present. He had little chance of returning to his own time. No matter how much he wanted to go back, he'd have to come to terms with making a life here, in the twentieth century. So he would do the only proper thing after their unfortunate encounter on the beach. All their problems would be solved.
He would simply take Merrie as his wife.
The night breeze blew softly through the screened porch, ruffling Meredith's hair and cooling her flushed skin. Curling her feet beneath her on the chaise longue, she listened idly to the songs of the crickets and the gentle ebb and flow of the waves. But her eyes never strayed from the figure that stood on the beach, illuminated by the light of a half moon.
Griffin stood at the water's edge, staring out across the Sound, his hands braced on his hips. He'd been there since they'd arrived back home, pacing, then stopping to gaze at the horizon. He'd spent many midnights in the same spot, watching and waiting, at the edge of the water while she pretended to sleep. But tonight was different.
He was still dressed in the faded jeans and ragged shirt that he'd worn to work. The leather pouch was still sitting on the mantel and his boots and breeches were inside the hall closet. For the first time in many nights, Griffin was not waiting to leave. And in that realization, Meredith knew she should feel some joy. But all she felt was utter confusion and a healthy dose of remorse.
She drew a long breath and closed her eyes. She'd wanted to go to him, to explain her sudden rejection of his advances, but then she'd thought better of it. For an explanation would also require a confession, and she wasn't sure he was ready to listen to what she had to say. Nor was she prepared to tell him what she'd been trying to deny from the night he'd arrived…that shewas the cause of his leap in time.
Meredith covered her eyes with her hands. It had to be the truth, nothing else made sense. Over the past week, she'd carefully questioned him about Blackbeard, knowing full well it may be the catalyst to send him back. But to her surprise, she'd discovered that Griffin knew very little about the man he hunted and could provide few facts that she didn't already know. She'd somehow forgotten that news did not travel fast in colonial America. Without the benefit of newspapers and television, news of Black-beard's crimes and background had been spread mostly by word of mouth.
She was now certain she'd brought him here as an answer to her fantasies. Over the past week, she had desperately tried to a recall a specific incident, an errant musing or a frustrated thought that may have provided the key. Yet nothing had come to mind. One day she was happily writing a biography and the next night, he was lying on her beach, half dead, her fantasy man come to life.