Time and Again

red with heat. Still, there were advantages. Libby's cooking was a far cry from the quick packs he was accustomed to. Then there were the living arrangements. Though he had always loved the home he'd grown up in and was more than comfortable in his quarters aboard his ship, he liked the feel of real wood under his bare feet, and the smell of it burning when she had a fire going in the main room.
    Then there was Libby herself. He wasn't certain it was proper to call her an advantage. She was distinct, unique, and everything he'd ever wanted in a woman. His mouth fell open an instant before the heat from the burner singed his finger. With a quick yelp, he jumped back.
    "What is it?"
    For a moment he just stared at her. Her hair was tousled around her face, and her eyes were heavy from lack of sleep. The robe she wore seemed to swallow her up.
    "Nothing," he managed, nearly overwhelmed by an emotion that he prayed was only desire. "I burned my finger."
    "Don't play with the stove," she said mildly, then went back to making the sandwiches.
    Everything he wanted in a woman? That wasn't possible. He didn't know what he wanted in a woman, and he was a long way from making up his mind. Or had been.
    That thought put the fear of God into him. That, and the uncomfortable suspicion that his mind had been made up for him the moment he'd opened his eyes and seen her dozing in the chair. Ridiculous. He hadn't even known her then.
    But he knew her now.
    He couldn't be in love with her. He watched as she tossed her hair back from her face with a flick of her hand, and his stomach tied itself into knots. Attraction, however outrageous, was acceptable. It wasn't possible that he was in love. He could love being with her, love making love with her, laughing with her.
    He could care for her, find her fascinating and arousing, but as for love, that wasn't an option.
    Love, here and in his time, meant things neither of them could ever have together. A home, a family.
    Years.
    As the kettle began to sputter, he let out a long breath. He was simply magnifying the situation. She was special to him, and always would be. The days he spent with her would be a precious part of his life. But it was essential for him to remember, for both their sakes, that his life began two hundred years after Libby no longer existed.
    "Is something wrong?"
    He glanced over to see her holding two plates, her head cocked a bit to the side, as it did whenever she was trying to work out a problem.
    "No." He smiled and took the plates from her. "My mind was wandering."
    "Eat, Hornblower." She patted his cheek. "You'll feel better."
    Because he wanted to believe it could be that simple, he sat down and dug in while she fixed the tea.
    It seemed natural, Libby thought, for them to share tea and sandwiches in the middle of the night-just the two of them sitting in the cozy kitchen, with an owl hooting somewhere in the forest and the moonlight fading. The awkwardness she had felt-foolishly, she believed-before she'd tugged on her robe, was gone.
    "Better?" she asked him when he'd downed half of his sandwich.
    "Yes." The tension that had slammed into him so unexpectedly had nearly dissipated. He stretched out his legs so that the arch of his foot rubbed over her ankle. There was something soothing in the contact, like a long nap on a rainy afternoon. She looked so pretty with her hair mussed and her eyes heavy.
    "How is it," he murmured, "that I'm the first man to have you?"
    She nearly choked before she managed to swallow the tea that was halfway down her throat. "I don't-"
    She coughed a little, then tugged the lapels of her robe closer. "I don't know how to answer that."
    "Do you consider that an odd question?" Charmed again, he smiled, leaning closer so that he could touch her hair. "You're so sensitive, so attractive. Other men must have wanted you."
    "No- that is, I can't say. I haven't really paid much attention."
    "Does it embarrass you for me to tell you you're attractive?"
    "No." But when she picked up her teacup with both hands she was flushed. "A little, perhaps."
    "I can't be the first to have told you how lovely you are. How warm." He pried one of her hands from the cup to soothe her fingers. "How exciting."
    "Yes, you can." Almost unbearably aroused, she let out a long, shaky breath. "I haven't had a lot of-social experience with men. My studies." Her breath snagged as he kissed her fingers. "My work."
    He released her hand before he went with his impulse