With trembling fingers, she reached down and took him in her touch. He sucked in a sharp breath and closed his eyes, growing hard beneath her hand. As she stroked him, her confidence grew and she became acutely aware of the power she held over him. By just a simple caress, she could stir the embers of his passion until they flamed bright again.

"God, Merrie, what you do to me," he murmured, his eyes closed, his expression tense with tightly held longing.

Slowly, she lowered her head and kissed him, the heat of his erection branding her lips. He moaned and twisted his fingers through her hair, holding her still for a moment above his finely muscled stomach.

She knew of the things that could be between a man and woman, yet never thought she would want to try them herself. But now, it all seemed so natural. She wanted to love him in this way, too, to experience every facet of intimacy with him.

Gently, she ran her tongue along the ridge of his desire, then took him in her mouth. As she moved over him, she listened to the sounds he made deep in his throat, taking her cues from his reactions. And then, as her movements quickened, his breathing followed suit, and she knew he was close.

In one smooth movement, he pushed himself up and grabbed her around the waist, whispering her name in a soft, urgent voice. Drawing her body above his, he spread her knees to straddle his thighs. His hands pushed down on her hips until she impaled herself on him, slowly, exquisitely, sinking onto him until she felt the whole of him deep inside her.

"Oh, my," she cried, breathless.

"Be still." His words were more a warning than a command. He held her there, keeping her from even the slightest movement. She shifted, trying to escape his iron hold. "Don't, Merrie," he breathed. When she stopped, he pressed his hand between them and gently touched her where they were so intimately joined.

Their gazes locked and she began to rock against him, drawing closer and closer to her peak. She felt herself slipping over the edge of the precipice and twisted above him, aching for more of his touch, allowing him a deeper thrust, knowing her release was near. And then, in the instant before it came, she felt her body tighten around him. She watched a myriad of reactions cross his face, pain, pleasure, surprise, but he refused to close his eyes and break their wordless connection.

He spoke her name once, and then again, the syllables borne on a desperate moan. She saw him tense, ready for his release and then, she let go, falling and falling, then swept aloft on a gentle draft of air, taking him with her in a soaring flight of sensual deliverance.

When they had both floated back to reality, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face between her breasts, his breath still coming in hard gasps. She smoothed his hair with her fingers and smiled, content to stay as she was, joined with his body, touching his soul.

"No woman has ever done that to me," he murmured, his words hot against her skin. He drew back and looked up at her, a sheepish grin twisting the corners of his mouth. "'Twas…astonishing," he said. "Truly extraordinary."

"I'm glad I was your first," she replied, drawing her finger down his damp chest.

He took her face in his hands and kissed her, long and hard. "And I am glad I was your first, Merrie."

She grinned and turned her blushing face to the side. "I used to think I was silly for waiting as long as I did," Meredith admitted. "But now I know, I was waiting for you. Somehow, I knew you would come for me. First in my dreams, and now in real life. I think we were always meant for each other, Griffin."

"That is hard to dispute after the beauty we have shared together, love," he said.

Her heart skipped at his simple endearment. They hadn't said the words yet, but she knew how she felt. She loved this man, more than she ever thought it was possible to love. And whether he could tell her the same or not, it didn't matter, for she knew deep in his heart, he loved her, too.

"Are you hungry?" she asked.

"I could use a soda pop," he murmured, nipping at her shoulder. "And some of that cold pizza."

"For breakfast?" Meredith laughed. "It hasn't taken you long to develop a taste for twentieth-century food, has it? I'll make you something more nourishing. We have to keep up your strength."

She slipped naked from the bed, breaking their carnal connection with a soft sigh. She felt his eyes follow her as she moved about the room, picking up his clothes scattered over the floor. Yet, she made no move to cover herself, for she felt no embarrassment at his silent appreciation.

"It's chilly out here," Meredith said, rubbing her arms.

"Then come back to bed," Griffin said. "I'll find a way to warm you."

She picked up a pillow as she passed the bed and tossed it at his head. "I'm hungry. Why don't you close your eyes and go back to sleep. I'll make some breakfast and we'll eat in bed."

He held the pillow over his face and spoke in a muffled voice. "I vow I'll need all the rest I can get in order to keep that sweet smile upon your face, Merrie-girl."

Merrie walked across the bedroom and opened the closet door. As she reached for her robe, her foot struck a cardboard box at the back of the closet, and something fell on her toes. She bent over and picked it up, then froze, a familiar musty smell touching her nose.

A wave of anxiety overwhelmed her and she grabbed the door to steady herself. Suddenly, all the events of that fateful night came rushing back at her, the wind, the rain, the fear. Everything coalesced in her mind until all she could see was the book she held-the gold inlaid letters, the worn leather-bound cover, the strange warmth seeping into her fingers and the vibrations. Rogues Across Time. She repeated the words silently to herself, her lips forming the words. Across time… across time.

She glanced furtively at the bed, relieved to find Griffin's face still buried beneath the pillow. Then she snatched her robe from the closet and tugged it on, tucking the book into the pocket.

"Would-would you like coffee?" she asked, trying to keep her voice light and even.

He pulled the pillow from his face and grinned. "Mmm," he replied. "Coffee. And orange juice. And some of those toaster waffles with jam."

She forced a smile in return, then hurried out the door. When she reached the kitchen, Meredith finally let the breath she was holding escape her lungs. "No," she murmured, throwing the book into the tall wastebasket beside the refrigerator. "No, it can't be. Not now. Please, not now!"

She sat down at the kitchen table and pulled her feet up, never taking her eyes off the wastebasket. A shiver raced through her, and she wrapped her arms around her legs and hugged her knees close.

"I just won't tell him," she said. "He never has to know that I know." She felt a tear spring from the corner of her eye and she angrily wiped it away. "He's come so far for us to be together. He's happy here now. I can't give him up. Please don't make me give him up."

She sat alone in the kitchen for a long time, trying to rationalize her behavior, trying to convince herself that what she was about to do was right. But no matter how she tried, her conscience told her differently. In the end, she retrieved the book from the trash.

The decision was not hers to make, it was his. And if their love was meant to be, then it would be based in truth and trust between them. For she knew, if she kept this from him, it would return to destroy them someday. Besides, she couldn't be certain that he would choose to return. After all that had passed between them, maybe he would want to stay.

As if in a trance, she walked back to the bedroom, every step she took tearing at her resolve. She pushed open the door, then stood and watched him silently. He slept again, his arm thrown over his eyes, the sheet twisted around his waist. Her heart tightened painfully and she could barely breathe. But she moved into the room and sank onto the bed beside him.

With a sigh, he pulled his arm from his eyes and turned a sleepy gaze in her direction. "Is breakfast ready?"

She shook her head and held the book out in front of her, praying that he wouldn't take it.

"What is this?" He glanced up at her and frowned. He reached out and touched her cheek and stared at his damp fingers. "Merrie, you are crying! What is wrong?"

She nodded at the book. "That's it," she said, her voice shaking with emotion.

"What are you talking about?"

She bit down on her lower lip to keep it from trembling, then reached down and clumsily opened the book. He levered himself up in bed and she placed it in his lap. "There," she said, stabbing at it with her finger. "The picture of the pirate. That's how you came to be here."

He stared down at the illustration. "I don't understand. This is just a drawing."

"You see, I forgot all about this," she said, her voice sounding as if it belonged to someone else. She drew a ragged breath. "I was looking at this picture the night of the hurricane. I focused on it, trying to forget how frightened I was. And then the book turned warm and it seemed to hum with life. The wind stopped and I crawled out of the closet and I walked outside." She brushed a tear from her cheek with the back of her hand. "And-and then I found you on the beach."

He stared down at the book, then ran his palm across the yellowed page. "This is how I came to be here? This book?"

"I-I'm sorry, Griffin," Meredith said. "I forgot all about it. I was so scared during the storm and then you turned up and I never thought about it again. And-and then, it just dropped on my foot while I was getting my robe from the closet."