Time and Again

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