Of Sand and Stone Page 2

  He looked around the exhibit and saw a banner announcing the current exhibition: “Meeting the Masters—Classical Art Exhibit 2018”

  So it was true. That night he’d been in the gardens with Aphrodite had been in the year 1816. His mind reeled. He’d known it had been two hundred years, yet seeing the evidence of it now put a knot in his stomach.

  “Two hundred bloody years… You damned bitch!”

  He heard a soft, lilting chuckle drift down from the rafters of the room. Aphrodite was always watching.

  “You’re starting to scare me,” the woman whispered, backing away, and then she looked around the room. “Wait. Where is the statue? It was just here…” Her head lowered as she stared at his feet and the faint sheen of dust that surrounded him on the stone floor, mixed with the scattered packing material.

  “I’m sorry,” Devon muttered, wondering how he was going to explain that he was the statue. “I should not speak thus in front of a lady. Please accept my apologies.” He looked her way again, focusing on her face, the soft brown eyes, the pale creamy skin that was full of a rosy blush, and smooth petal-soft-looking lips. Damn, she would be a delight to please in bed.

  “Okay. I’m not going to lie—I’m still freaking out. Seriously, how the hell did you get into the gallery, and why are you naked?” She gave him a respectable, safe distance. “Sane, rational people don’t go running around naked. Only crazy serial killers do, and I swear, if you try anything…”

  “What is a serial killer?” he asked. He was not a killer of any kind, except during the occasional hunt for foxes, deer, or pheasants.

  “You expect me to believe you don’t know what a serial killer is? That’s exactly what a serial killer would say.” Rebecca took another step back, and each time she did, it terrified him. She was the only thing keeping him from returning to stone, and he could not let her leave him.

  Devon raised his hands in a placating gesture. “I’m afraid you would not believe me if I told you the truth of how I came here and why.”

  She narrowed her eyes. “Why don’t you try me? As long as you don’t claim to be from the future on a mission to save mankind or something insane like that…”

  A rough chuckle escaped him. This would prove to be interesting. “Nay, I’m not from the future, but the past. Two hundred years ago, I had the misfortune of bedding the goddess Aphrodite. She cursed me for being a selfish bastard. She trapped me in the marble stone you were admiring a short while before.” He waved at the empty pedestal behind him.

  The woman’s eyes went from him to the empty pedestal. “But…that’s not possible. You can’t be…”

  “I’m afraid I am.” His tone turned gruff as he tried to stand, but his legs wobbled and he fell back down like a newborn foal.

  The woman stared at him and then the pedestal for a long moment. “Okay, so let’s pretend I believe you, just a little. Gods and goddesses aren’t exactly known for their forgiving nature. Hell, I remember reading once that a woman was turned into a spider just for claiming she was good at weaving. Cursed people tend to stay cursed. So why did Aphrodite change her mind now?”

  Devon smiled crookedly. This lass was a smart one, and he liked that. It wasn’t often in the past that he’d enjoyed the company of intelligent women. He’d only ever been focused on what was underneath their skirts, but this woman was rather refreshing. Perhaps the goddess had done him a favor when she’d chosen this woman for him.

  “I believe she thought you would be well suited to the challenge of my redemption.”

  “Redemption?”

  “It seems Aphrodite believes you are in need of an exceptional and unselfish lover. She thought I would be the answer to your amorous woes.”

  Rebecca tilted her head to one side. “The answer? What does that mean?”

  “It means that the curse requires me to pleasure you for an entire week without receiving any of my own.”

  “Excuse me?” Her voice rose sharply in pitch. “You’re not touching me, mister. I don’t want you to—”

  “Do not fret. I’ll not touch you unless you wish it.” He made another attempt to stand, and when he started to stumble she caught his arm and steadied him.

  “Look, mister, I think I should take you to the hospital.”

  “No!” he barked out. When she pulled away, he ducked his head. “I’m sorry. I cannot go there. I just need to rest, eat a bit, and sleep.” He was suddenly weary, as though he hadn’t slept in, well, two hundred years. While he’d been trapped in stone, he hadn’t been able to sleep. Ever.

  “But…” The woman hesitated. He offered her his most hopeful, non-seductive smile. And like hundreds of women before her, she caved. She looked back to the empty pedestal, as if confirming the statue’s disappearance one more time before agreeing to help. “Look, I can take you to my place, but you’re sleeping on the couch, and I swear to God if you try anything—and I mean anything—I’ll have the cops on your ass before you breathe. Understood?”

  He nodded. He had no idea what cops were or why he wouldn’t want them on his ass, but it sounded rather unpleasant.

  “Follow me.” She started to walk away, and he followed her, his legs still a little shaky, but the more he walked, the better he felt. The stiffness was coming out of his joints, and his lungs didn’t burn as much. Soon he would be at this woman’s home, in her bed, and with luck, fulfilling his promise to Aphrodite so he could secure his freedom.

  Just seven days without my own release—I can do that, can’t I?

  3

  This is insane. I’m insane.

  Rebecca tried not to look at the man who sat in the passenger seat of her small Volvo. He was naked as the day he was born, except for her spare coat, which she’d had him wrap around his waist before they’d gotten to the car. He seemed unashamed of his nudity, and every time he caught her looking, he just laughed.

  And it was such a nice laugh too. Rich, dark, full of erotic promises. The men she’d dated didn’t laugh like that, like they were thinking about how you would taste and then chuckling when you squirmed as they licked you until you screamed their name. Those were just the men in her fantasies. And yet he acted as if he was going to…

  She needed to distract herself fast.

  “What’s your name?”

  “Apologies. My unusual situation is no excuse for poor manners. I am Devon Blake, at your service. And you are?” His rich accent was music to her ears. Of course he had a name like Devon Blake. A sexy, elegant, masculine name.

  She focused on the road as she drove them to her small house, which was only a few blocks from the museum. “I’m Rebecca Clark.”

  “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Miss Clark.”

  “Please, call me Rebecca.” Her response made him smile wide and wickedly. Her heart fluttered. She shouldn’t be reacting to a stranger like this. He could be crazy, likely was crazy. He might even be a serial killer—a very hot one with a killer smile.

  Focus!

  “So you won’t tell me how you really ended up naked in a gallery or where the marble statue went. Fine. Is there someone I should call to come and get you and take you…home?” She’d have to figure out what happened to the statue soon, otherwise her boss would fire her in an instant, but she had to figure out what to do with Devon first.

  “Call?” he asked, his dark brows rising. “How do you mean?”

  “On the phone. You have to know what that is, right?” She reached a stoplight and took a second to pull her cell phone out of her purse. He took it from her, staring at the black screen.

  “Is this another one of your tricks, like this carriage that needs no horses?”

  She almost laughed. He’d been startled when she’d led him to the Volvo a short time ago, and she’d had to coax him inside. She’d had to lock the doors after she’d started the engine; otherwise, he would have leapt out of the moving vehicle. It was like he’d never seen a car before.

  “Curious piece of rock, like polished ob
sidian.”

  “Just press the home button.” She gestured to the small indent of a button.

  His elegant fingers touched upon the home screen button, and he pursed his lips, then pressed it. The screen lit up, showing a picture of her male Wheaten Terrier, Evan.

  Devon dropped the phone to the floor and recoiled as though it were poisonous. “God’s blood! What the bloody hell is that?”

  “Calm down!” Rebecca shouted, smacking his arm as he tried to make the sign of the cross. “It’s just a phone.”

  Devon crossed his arms over his chest and glared at the phone sourly. “Damned infernal device, that’s what it is.”

  “Oh boy,” Rebecca muttered. It was obvious Devon needed serious help. He was completely out of touch with reality.

  By the time she reached her neighborhood, he was staring at the houses along the street with awe.

  “So much has changed,” he whispered to himself. His voice was colored with a grief and longing she didn’t understand.

  “Um, right. We’re at my house now, so why don’t you come with me, okay? And keep the coat wrapped around your…just keep it wrapped. In case my neighbors see you.” It was dark and close to one in the morning, but still, Mrs. Lesley next door was a prying old woman who loved to stick her long nose between the blinds and peer at Rebecca’s house. If she saw a naked man wandering the streets, it might give the woman a heart attack.

  Rebecca rushed to her front door and opened it, then gestured for Devon to hurry inside. He gripped her black coat around his waist, but it couldn’t totally cover his ass. His very fine, tight-as-hell ass…

  “This is a lovely home,” Devon announced. He stood in the entryway and took in the butter-yellow walls of the vestibule covered in old photographs and the half-paneled walnut wood walls of the living room beyond.

  “Thanks.” Rebecca sighed as she leaned back against the closed door. Without warning, Evan came bounding down the stairs, streaking straight toward Devon. He barked furiously for all of two seconds before he stood up on his hind legs, placed his front paws on Devon’s bare stomach, and stretched, eagerly expecting a pat on the head.

  Rebecca rolled her eyes. So much for being a guard dog.

  Devon stroked his free hand through Evan’s pale-cream fur and smiled. “I do enjoy the company of dogs. Good creatures to have about to chase rats. Sometimes better than cats.”

  She didn’t rise to the bait and tell him that they were no longer in a century that required animals to keep houses rat free. He was just looking for an excuse to act all anachronistic on her.

  “Evan, come here, you crazy dog,” she cooed and knelt down to greet the only male she really trusted with her heart. He pounced on her, licking her face wildly, his soft cream-colored fur feeling like fleece beneath her hands. Yeah…Evan was the only male she’d ever really trust to love. She gazed into his bright brown eyes and tried not to laugh when his tongue lolled out of one side of his mouth. She’d spent many nights with her face buried in his fur coat, crying over her latest disappointing date. Evan was her furry soulmate. When she stopped petting him, he made a soft whining noise and pawed at her knee, reminding her she was forgetting to stroke him.

  “You’re spoiled, you know that? Spoiled.” Rebecca laughed and then suddenly remembered Devon was standing behind her. When she straightened, and looked his way, she saw the soft way his eyes were watching her and the dog.

  “You care about him,” Devon said quietly.

  “Yeah, he’s been with me for a long time. Seven years. He’s gotten me through a lot of breakups.”

  “Breakups?” Devon’s brows rose.

  “Breakups, you know, when you and the guy you’re dating stop, well, dating.” Geez, this guy could really play this delusional game well.

  “Ahh, in my century we call that crying off. Men who do that are cowards.”

  “Huh, couldn’t agree more on that.” She muttered. “Anyway, why don’t you come inside. The couch is this way.” She pointed to her cozy little living room that had a soft brown leather couch and a flat-screen TV. “I’ll fetch you some clothes to wear, some blankets, and a pillow.”

  She left Devon standing in her living room with Evan bounding around him like a puppy with a new toy. She raced upstairs and dug through her linen closet, relieved to find some old clothes from her last boyfriend stuffed in a bag she’d forgotten to take the Salvation Army. There were boxers, some shirts, and even a pair of jeans inside. It would have to do for tonight.

  Devon was staring at her TV when she returned, a frown curving his sensual lips.

  “Another infernal device?” he asked her, nodding at the TV. “Like your phone?”

  Rebecca laughed. “You’re probably the only man in the world who’d say that about a TV.” She then held out the pair of boxers she’d found. “Here. You can wear these tonight.”

  He took the boxers and let her coat drop to the floor. She immediately looked away, trying not to stare at how huge it was.

  “Nightclothes?” he scoffed. “I don’t require them. I prefer to sleep naked.” His gaze swept her from head to toe. “Feeling the sheets slide upon my skin. It is quite…liberating.”

  For a second Rebecca was fixated on the idea of a naked Devon in bed, luxuriating in the sensation of sleeping completely nude. She shook herself out of it. That was a dangerous train of thought she couldn’t entertain. Men were trouble, and she did not need to fall for a guy like Devon who clearly had issues.

  “You’ll wear these because it’s my couch, and I’m not having you sleep naked on it.” She bent to retrieve her coat from the floor and left to throw it in the laundry room. It gave her a second to fan her face without being seen.

  “You’ve stepped in it now, Rebecca,” she muttered. “Missing statue, crazy naked hot guy in your living room…”

  Maybe this was a dream, some wild manifestation of her inner desires. Maybe if she went to bed in her dream and then woke up, she’d wake up for real. Yeah, that sounded like a good idea. Put the naked, sexy, gorgeous crazy man to bed and then go to bed yourself…with sexy naked man beside you…

  She shook that tempting thought out of her head. He was clearly disturbed, and she had to get him some help first thing tomorrow morning. She could take him down to the police station and see what they thought of Mr. Man from the Past. She’d also have to report the missing statue and face the wrath of her boss.

  She prayed Devon wouldn’t run off in the middle of the night. He was her only chance at figuring out what had happened to the missing marble piece. If she couldn’t find it, she’d end up fired—or worse, investigated as an accomplice. Her whole life would be turned upside down when the police figured out she was somehow involved in its disappearance. The thought made her stomach churn.

  When she returned to the living room, Devon had donned the boxers but not the T-shirt. He was seated on the couch, running a hand along Evan’s head and back in long, smooth strokes. The dog gazed at him with unrelenting hero worship.

  Traitor.

  “I hate to trouble you,” Devon began, his voice soft and alluring, “but might I have some water? I’m afraid my throat is…” He rubbed at it. “Parched.”

  Rebecca rushed into the kitchen, slightly embarrassed. Ordinarily, offering a guest a drink or something to eat would have been the first thing she would have done. But then, this wasn’t exactly an ordinary social situation. She peeped around the kitchen wall back into the living room. “Are you hungry?”

  “I could certainly eat if you are preparing something,” he said, but she could tell by the way he put a hand to his stomach that he wanted food.

  “He’ll have to make do with PB&J,” she muttered as she whipped him up a sandwich and got him a glass of water. She didn’t cook that often. There was something really depressing about cooking for one, and she didn’t like keeping a ton of leftovers in the fridge.

  When she placed them on the coffee table in front of him, he glanced around.

 
“No servants to attend you? What about your parents? Surely you don’t live here alone? That’s far too dangerous for a woman.” He gulped down the entire glass of water and released a grateful sigh.

  He was back to his time travel game again, but she decided to play along. “My parents live fifty miles away. Women in this century live on their own. We don’t need to be watched over like children. And servants? I definitely don’t have any. Only really, really rich people have those.”

  Devon chuckled as he took a bite of his sandwich. “It seems not everything has changed then. But you shouldn’t live alone. I still believe it’s dangerous.” He took another bite and smiled. “This is quite wonderful. What is it?”

  “Peanut butter and jelly.” Rebecca sat down in one of her armchairs by the couch, watching him as he ate the simple sandwich as though it were a rare delicacy.

  “This is good fare,” he said and took another bite. “Sweet, yet nutty with just enough salt to complement it.” When he was done, he set the plate on the table. He looked at the plate, and then, without a word, he stood and returned to the kitchen with it.

  “What are you doing?”

  “If you have no servants to attend to your needs, then I shall clean this myself, but I…” He trailed off, looking strangely bashful. Rebecca had to acknowledge that a half-naked man in her kitchen wanting to do his own dishes was…so fucking hot.

  She got up and held out her hand. “Don’t worry about it. I’ll just—”

  He held the plate away from her. “No, just show me what needs to be done.” It was clear, however, that he was in awe, if not overwhelmed by the kitchen with its humming fridge and the sleek countertops and microwave.

  “Just pull this handle and open the dishwasher.” She showed him how to open the washer and put the dish into the rack. “I’ll turn on the washer in a few minutes.”

  Devon stared at the washer. “It washes the dishes for you? Such magic in this century—it astounds me. He smiled a little.