Out of Time 01 - Out of Time

three days into their journey and already she’d caught the eye of the most dangerous man in town. If his reservations about her taking this job hadn’t been justified before, they surely were now. Tomorrow, he’d find employment, no matter what it was. Perhaps, he’d found the lead he needed tonight.
    “All and all,” she said, “an interesting night. And can I just say my dogs are barking. If I’m going to make it through tomorrow night, I have got to get some better shoes. I wonder if I can find something Italian.”
    “Tomorrow? Surely, you’re not thinking of going back there?”
    “Surely, I am.”
    “Elizabeth—”
    “Simon,” she said and stopped walking. “We’ve already had this conversation, and I’m too tired for a repeat performance. I know you don’t like me having this job, but I have it. We need it. And besides, Charlie already paid me for the week. And I ain’t no welsher,” she added with a grin.
    Simon frowned, intent on not being swayed by her smile. “You are the most stubborn, pig-headed, obdurate woman I have ever met.”
    “Just some of my many charms. Actually that’s one charm.”
    Simon shook his head. There was no use arguing with her tonight. She yawned, and he noticed for the first time how tired she looked. Her eyes were beginning to glass over, and her slim shoulders curled forward weighted with fatigue. She’d taken on all of the responsibility, and he’d done nothing but berate her for it.
    “I realize I haven’t been exactly supportive of your decisions the last few days, but I do...I wanted to...thank you.”
    Elizabeth smiled and touched his arm tentatively before pulling away. “You’re very welcome.” She stifled another yawn. “We better get me to bed before I turn into a pumpkin.”
    “To bed,” he agreed and then realized how that might have sounded. “Right. Well then.” He gestured nervously down the street, and they walked home in companionable silence.
    Exhausted, Elizabeth took a quick bath and then fell asleep almost before her head hit the pillow. Simon watched the gentle rise and fall of her chest. The corners of her mouth were turned up in a quiet smile. She looked so peaceful, so beautiful. Only in the dim predawn light would he allow himself such thoughts. Well, that wasn’t quite true really.
    He remembered the way she looked at the club. Every curve of her figure leading his eyes to the next. He’d drunk them in greedily. He couldn’t help himself. Unassumingly seductive, she had no idea what she did to him. How his body reacted to her nearness. How when she’d moved so close, he could have closed his eyes and still felt her presence. Still felt the desire. He almost wished he had kissed her. Maybe if he could taste her once, he could get her out of his system. Be free from the endless thoughts of what might be. It was folly, of course. He knew there wouldn’t be just one kiss. Not that it mattered. She deserved a better man than he could ever be. He was carved from an old stone. Rough hewn edges and a cold, hard center.
    Elizabeth’s gentle snoring interrupted his thoughts. She rolled onto her side, moving closer to him. Her arm snaked out from under the covers and fell onto his chest. His breath caught at the intimate touch, but that wasn’t the worst of it. She wiggled closer still, and snuggled her head into the crick of his shoulder, her warm breath fluttering against his neck.
    Even a stone can feel heat.
    He could smell the clean fragrance of her soap and feel the silk of her hair as it brushed against his neck. She felt so wonderful against him, the gentle pressure of her along his side. It was far too tempting to slip his arm around her, to give himself over to the feeling of her in his arms. But it was a pleasure that wasn’t his to take. If his performance at the club were any indication, he desperately needed to keep her at a distance. He couldn’t afford to let his guard down. His brain was muddled enough as it was. His heart couldn’t take one more blow. And he knew it would happen. He could never forget that. Time was his enemy, slowly inching toward the inevitable, the culmination of his nightmares. A week? A month? A year? The end would come.
    Elizabeth shifted again in her sleep. He rolled away from her onto his side and closed his eyes.
    Tennyson was wrong. Sometimes, it would be better never to have loved at all.

Chapter Eleven
    B arely a ripple disturbed the surface of the water. The sun shone