Never Love A Stranger Part 8

Kissing James had made her feel very, very alive.

She stood up abruptly, switching the TV off. "I think it's time for bed," she said. "I'm pretty tired."

James rose to his feet and followed her down the hall. "You can take the guest room if you want," she said. She pushed the door open and flipped on the light. "It looks like the bed is made."

"This will be fine," James said.

"Okay. Well, then. I'll see you in the morning." Looking up, she saw that he was watching her intently.

She thought she could drown in the azure depths of his eyes.

He was simply beautiful. Six and a half feet of incredibly s.e.xy man, powerful and strong, with a raw,

sensual edge to his looks that took her breath away. And what was even more dangerous, he was really, really sweet. She realized she wanted to kiss him again. She was pretty sure from the way he was looking at her that he wouldn't mind. She swung around before she could do something so hopelessly stupid and headed for Kay's bedroom.

"Good night, James."

She heard his answering rumble as she went inside the room, allowing Oscar in and then closing the door. Oscar jumped up on the coverlet and regarded her through half-slitted green eyes. She sat down next to him and ran her fingers through his gray fur, causing him to purr drowsily, and wished idly that she was running her fingers through James' long, sleek hair instead.

She really needed a cold shower. James had an effect on her senses that no other man had ever had, not even Steve. She felt like she was on fire whenever she looked at him, even when he was wearing clothes. Maybe it was the danger they'd shared together earlier in the day that was making her react this way. Or maybe it was just James.

She had to admit her life had become a whole h.e.l.l of a lot less boring in the last twenty-four hours.

Chapter 6.

They spent Sunday quietly, watching movies from Kay's carefully alphabetized collection of videotapes. James asked question after question, about subjects ranging from public transportation to beer, forcing Annie to press the pause b.u.t.ton about once a minute. When he asked what lipstick was, she found she was beginning to truly believe, to accept emotionally, that he really was from another time and place.

In the afternoon, James announced his intention of making dinner. With some explanation from Annie as to how the various appliances in the kitchen worked, he was soon rapidly preparing chicken in Kay's spotless, black-and-white kitchen.

"That smells good," she said, sniffing appreciatively as the chicken began to sizzle under the broiler.

"I believe you will like it," James said, slicing carrots so quickly and ruthlessly she feared for the well being of his fingers. He looked up from the cutting board for a second and flashed a grin. "Though perhaps not as well as pizza."

"Are you making a salad too'"

He nodded. "Do you like salad'"

"Yeah, but I never bother to make it." Annie gave a short laugh. "Since Steve died, I haven't really bothered to eat vegetables. I just don't keep green things in the fridge."

"I saw quite a few green things in your refrigerator," James said, so seriously she wasn't sure if he was making a joke. She chuckled anyway.

"Yeah, well, mold doesn't count." She watched his paring knife making short work of a green onion. "You're good at that."

"I have done it for a long time."

She hesitated, then went ahead and asked the question that had been lurking at the back of her mind. "How old are you, James'"

He tossed the sliced onion into the salad bowl and started on some black olives they'd found in the pantry. She noticed he was chopping so adroitly that none of the food fell to the floor or the countertop. Kay would love this guy, she reflected, then pushed the thought aside with annoyance. James was hers, d.a.m.n it.

Hers' Where the h.e.l.l had that idea come from'

"I am thirty-five years old," James said.

"Really' I wouldn't have thought you were even as old as thirty. I guess they have good skin care

products in the future, huh'"

He gave her the blank look that meant he had absolutely no idea what she was talking about. "Something

like that." He sliced rapidly through another olive, cutting thinner and more even slices than a food processor could have. "And how old are you'"

"Thirty-one."

James slid her a thoughtful look. "How long were you married'"

"Three years." She was finding it hurt less to talk about Steve than it had just a few days ago, though she

couldn't begin to understand why. It seemed like her heart had healed more since James arrived than it had the whole past year.

"How did you meet'"

"At work. He was an agent."

"Agent'"

"An insurance agent." Annie stood up and went to the fridge in search of a c.o.ke. She pulled one out, popped it open, and continued. "I'm an insurance underwriter. The company I work for sells home and auto insurance through independent agents. Steve owned one of the agencies that represented us."

James stopped chopping for a moment and frowned. "What is insurance'"

"Let me guess. They don't have insurance in the future."

"Not to my knowledge."

"Great. Just great. So I'll be out of a job."

"I would not concern myself, were I you. My time is three centuries hence. I think it unlikely you will live

long enough to find yourself out of a job."

He took a potholder, pulled the chicken out from under the broiler, and flipped it over with tongs. "I

believe this will be edible," he said with satisfaction, closing the oven door, "although I have never used these precise ingredients."

"Well, you could have tried to find a recipe."

"A what'"

Annie waved at the neat shelf of books. "In those cookbooks there are tons of recipes. I'm sure you could have found one for chicken."

Frowning slightly, he pulled down one of the cookbooks and opened it. He glanced at it for a moment or

two, flipping pages, then shrugged and put it back. "That would not have done me the slightest bit of good."

"Why not'"

"I cannot read."

Her mouth dropped open. Her first thought was that in his time they used a different written language.

But that made no sense. He spoke English clearly enough, although a lot of idioms had obviously changed in the intervening years. She closed her mouth. "Doesn't anyone read in your society'"

"Certainly. People do. Slaves do not."

She felt a pang of pity at how casually he accepted the notion that he was not a person. Despite her a.s.surances, despite his determination to win his freedom, there was still a part of him that thought of himself as less than human. She wondered if subconsciously he always would.

"Well," she said, watching him as he carried the salad to the round gla.s.s table, "here everyone needs to

know how to read. Would you like to learn'"

He set the bowl carefully on the table, then turned to her with an expression of wonder. "You would teach me how to read'"

"Well, I could try," Annie said. "I'm not the greatest teacher in the world. Would you like to try'"

He nodded eagerly. "Please."

"Right after dinner, then."

Dinner was, as promised, edible. In fact, making allowances for James' unfamiliarity with twenty-first

century food, it was quite good. After broiled chicken, brown rice, and salad with honey-mustard dressing, Annie got up and found some chocolate ice cream in the freezer. She scooped it out into two bowls and carried it to the table. James regarded it dubiously.

"What is that'"

"Chocolate ice cream. Food of the G.o.ds."

James looked more suspicious than before. "As I recall, you said something similar about coffee."

Annie waved a hand. "Coffee is an acquired taste. Chocolate isn't. Trust me. I've never known anyone

who didn't love chocolate."

She dug her spoon into the ice cream and started eating, watching with amus.e.m.e.nt while James put a

very tiny amount on his spoon and tasted it. She saw his eyes grow wide with delight.

"It is delicious!" he exclaimed.

Annie grinned. "Told you."

James liked ice cream so much that he had a second bowl. Annie watched him polis.h.i.+ng off his second serving. "If you keep that up," she said, "you're going to get fat."