An Original Sin (2 page)

He was
real
.

For the moment, it didn’t matter who he was or where he’d come from. His untainted sperm could bring males back to a dying human race. She blinked away sudden tears.

Me first. Me first.
She shoved aside the selfish thought. “Who are you?” Her whispered question carried all the hushed awe due the most important human on earth.

His dark scowl dismissed her question. “Leith Campbell, as ye must well know.” He turned and strode toward the door.

“Wait! Your clothes. Don’t go off half-cocked…” Poor phrasing.

His pointed gaze swept the room, then returned to her. “Do ye see my plaid? I grow tired of this playacting, witch.”

Cautiously opening the door, he peered left and right, then slipped quietly from the room.

Where did he think he was going? He couldn’t just…“Come back! Millions of women need—”

“Shush, witch.” He appeared in the doorway again. “Yer blather will lead our enemies to us.” With that cryptic whisper, he silently closed the door on any further arguments she might muster.

Frantic, she leaped from the sleeping pad, then rushed to the bureau. She couldn’t let him get away. The future of the human race depended on her.

Pulling open the drawers, she searched for something, anything she could wear. Empty.

Glancing up, she met the cat’s stare. He winked. No, she hadn’t seen that. It must’ve been a trick of the lighting.

She slammed the drawer shut, then closed her eyes, breathing deeply.
Don’t panic
. Her eyes opened wide, and she stopped breathing altogether as the telltale squeak of the door announced Leith’s return.

She didn’t need to turn to verify his identity because she could
feel
him; his gaze was as potent as a trail of fingertips down her spine. Sudden heat and the urge to clench her thighs tightly made her swallow hard. How could his mere entrance into the room do this to her, make her feel as though her body belonged to someone else, someone filled with fierce, primitive hunger?

“Why…why did you come back?”

In the sudden stillness, she could hear his breathing—harsh, rapid with an unnamed emotion.

“Where would I go? ’Tis all like this room.”

She could almost feel his frustrated gesture.

“Ye’ve entranced me, witch, and only ye can release me.”

She breathed deeply, and wondered who had entranced whom.

“I brought ye clothes. Ye must cover yer body so ye dinna tempt…a weaker man.” His voice was sandpaper rough, deeply thick with something that spun her around to face him. For a moment, his stare burned with the green flame of a Norian cantu pit, then was banked as he looked down at the clothes he held.

“ ’Twas all I could find. The woman cleaning the room across the hall foolishly left the door open while she went elsewhere.”

“A thief. Wonderful. I’m stuck heaven-knows-where with a thief.”
Where
was the operative word.

“I do what I must to survive, witch.” His words held a warning.

Some footwear he’d wrapped in a towel and slung
across one shoulder fell from his grasp. He turned, closed the door, then bent to retrieve them.

Even as she rushed to the sleeping pad, yanked off the cover, then wrapped it around herself, snatches of thought fought for attention. Before he’d shut the door, she’d glimpsed the inside of the room across the hall, exactly like theirs—archaic yet new-looking. That meant something, if she could only focus. And the cat, where had it come from? Where had Leith come from?

Automatically, she scooped her chain from the floor and secured it around her neck. Beloved and familiar, it felt like a talisman, protecting her from the craziness surrounding her.

Her logical, reasonable self screamed for her to think. Something strange and potentially dangerous lurked, waiting to pounce. But the part of her that pulsed with need, that cried tears of deprivation, wouldn’t let her concentrate. Not with an unobstructed view of Leith Campbell’s strong buttocks—smooth, hard, silently begging for her to run her hands over them. Following the path of least resistance, she slid her gaze down the backs of his muscled thighs, lingered hopefully as he spread his legs a little more to reach the fallen objects.

“Yer gaze could draw blood, witch.” He straightened and turned to face her.

“What?” Regretfully, she steered her attention away from his lower body.

His heavy-lidded glance raked her, leaving a trail of unexpected goose bumps. “Ye could drain a man dry wi’ only yer stare. Verra strong, verra tempting.” He scowled. “But ’tis dangerous to lie wi’ a witch. If I dinna please ye, I might leave yer bed wi’ my manhood a wee shriveled berry. Release me from this enchantment so I may go.”

She huffed and puffed, ready to blow him away with her denial, even though it would be a false one. What did he
know about desire? Wherever he’d been, she’d bet he hadn’t been without sex for twenty-eight years. “A wee shriveled berry’s too good for you. How about an organ transplant? We could take your berry and put it…Oh, never mind.”

He smiled coldly and she lost her train of thought.

“Cat and mistress have much in common. Ganymede enjoys a wee peek now and then, too.” He nodded toward her feet.

Glancing down, she gasped. A black tail stuck out from beneath her trailing cover. Mesmerized, she watched it twitch back and forth, back and forth.

With a horrified squeak, she yanked the cover up to expose the black cat. He peered at her, then yawned.

Pulling the cover more tightly around her, she stepped away from the animal. When she looked up, she saw that Leith had dumped everything on the sleeping pad. He stared at the pile for a moment, then picked up one piece of clothing. “Men wear these?”

How would she know? “Men wear nothing. They’re—”

His coldness vanished as his eyes lit with laughter, and he grinned. “And do women wear nothing, also?”

Wow!
Talk about a meteor-shower smile.
OK, forget the smile. Focus.
“Extinct. Men no longer exist. They haven’t existed for more than fifty years. Scientists thought they were so successful with their cloning until…”

She blinked. Of course they weren’t extinct. She was talking to one. “So where
did
you come from? I—”

He heaved an exasperated sigh. “Cease yer babbling, witch. My head aches with yer false tales.” Before she realized his intent, he strode to the window and drew back the covering to peer outside.

“Ohmigod! Get back. You’re naked. Everyone will see you.” She prayed the window was high enough to cover the obvious.

Instead of returning to her, he stood staring out the
window. Dozens of emotions whirled in her head as she watched his sun-bathed silhouette. He reminded her of a warrior from some distant past.
Some distant past.
Taking a deep breath, she glanced around the room, thought of the room across the hall. Antiquated.

For an eternity of time, he continued staring at the outside world while she waited behind him—afraid to ask, afraid to know. Terror settled at the back of her neck and squeezed. This felt like her first visit to Hanus when she was seven years old. She’d hidden her face the entire trip, then screamed like a warren cat when she’d seen the planet’s natives.

“Come here.” His command vibrated with an emotion she couldn’t identify, feared to identify. He didn’t turn from the window.

No!
She didn’t want to face the reality that waited for her beyond the window. If she ignored it, it might dissolve into the bright light of morning; then she could have a laugh with her friends over her dream.

“Fear is a shadow lie. Drag it into the light, and it isna so fearsome,” he murmured, then turned to face her.

She swallowed hard.
Easy for him to say.

His expression didn’t encourage her. In the dim light of the room, his face appeared harsh, dangerous. She could imagine him a warrior, viewing the carnage of battle, with the same expression—a mixture of horror, fear, and fierce determination.

Slowly, she forced herself toward the window, step by torturous step. She sensed, in the dark, hidden places of her mind where frightening truths huddled, that each step took her toward…What? The unknown.
Please, please let me look out the window and see something familiar!

She reached the window and stared at the view below. She spoke no words; none were needed. The street was
alien, a scene from centuries ago, one she’d seen only on history disks. But one detail riveted her attention. Men. Dozens of men walking on both sides of the street. Men driving four-wheeled vehicles that had disappeared from earth hundreds of years before.

And in the distance, a lake. She knew the lake—its shape, its color. Clear Lake. But God help her, that was all she knew.

The heart of fear was a cold place—no one around to soothe her with promises that this was all a misunderstanding, that everything would be fine in a little while. She grasped the windowsill in an attempt to still her shaking hands.

The sudden warmth of Leith Campbell’s body against her back was such a relief she wanted to cry.
Not alone.
She wasn’t alone in her empty terror.

She allowed him to turn her into his embrace, and it seemed natural for her to lay her head against his chest. The solid pounding of his heart calmed her.

“Release me, witch,” he murmured, then gently raised her head to meet his kiss. She never considered rejecting him.

She closed her eyes. Amazing how weird thoughts hit you at the strangest times. She was the first woman in fifty years to kiss a real man.

Then all thoughts fled, and she allowed her senses to drift free on a current of discovery. His lips, soft yet firm against hers, moved in a way that demanded a response. He traced her lips with his tongue until she softly moaned and opened her mouth to him. He explored her, and she tentatively returned the touch.

A world of sensation blossomed, the rhythmic caress of his hand on her back, the male scent she’d never known—had always known—and the exciting hardness pressed against her thigh.

She stood tottering on the edge of a new and startling universe when he released her and stepped away. She fought against a feeling of abandonment.

“I dinna need to do this.” He stared at the ceiling and raked his fingers through his hair. “Ye are no witch, so I dinna need to pleasure ye to gain my freedom.”

She breathed deeply, trying to control her anger, her need, her…disappointment. She’d kissed him only to take her mind off what she’d seen outside the window. He’d more than succeeded as a diversion.

“Just to satisfy my curiosity about how the savage mind works, would you tell me why you decided I wasn’t a witch?”
Uh-oh
. She stepped back. She’d better watch her insults. A true savage could crack her head like a Coro egg.

With something suspiciously like a smile touching his lips, he nodded and his hair settled like a cloud across his gleaming shoulders. “I saw this when I kissed ye.” He reached between her breasts and lifted the Celtic cross from where it lay partially hidden by the cover. “A witch wouldna wear this.”

“Oh, so you thought you could kiss me, and I’d melt away like the Wicked Witch of the West?” Even furious with him, she couldn’t control the hopeful pebbling of her nipples. It seemed she didn’t control any part of her world right now.

“Wicked Witch of the West?” Frowning, he clasped the cross in his palm and rubbed his thumb across the intricate silver design, then gently laid it back between her breasts. She absorbed the heat from his palm, a brand seared into her memory.

“Forget it.” He’d treated her like a booster rocket—use it; then lose it.

Amusement flickered in his glance. “ ’Twas only a wee kiss.”

“A wee kiss? It felt like all systems were go to me.”

He studied her with narrow-eyed intensity. “Is it that I kissed ye or stopped kissing ye that has ye bleating like a sheep?”

He held her with his gaze, too intimate, too disturbing. “I wanted to believe ye a witch rather than…” He gestured toward the window. And for an unguarded moment she glimpsed fear in his green eyes, a fear that touched the woman in her more than a hundred fierce denials ever could. She forced down the urge to lay a comforting hand against his cheek, pushed away the picture of him turning his head until his lips touched her palm and—

She didn’t want to soften toward him. Tearing her gaze from his, she walked to the door and opened it. A woman pushing some strange machine hurried past in the hall. Four-Two-N cleared her throat of the rock that seemed lodged there and called to the woman. “Excuse me, can you tell me the date?”

The woman stared at her blankly. “What the heck you doin’ in there, sugar? Room three thirty-three’s supposed to be empty.” Then as the woman’s gaze swept over the cover she wore and continued on to where Leith stood behind Fortune, her expression cleared. “Never mind; I get the picture. He must be one hell of a man if you’d take a chance on being caught makin’ love when you oughta be working. Better be out in fifteen minutes, though. Big convention comin’ in at noon, and this room’s gonna be occupied.”

“The date?” Fortune reminded her weakly.

The woman laughed. “He must be damn good if he made you forget the date.” She winked at Leith over Fortune’s shoulder. “Gorgeous, you ever get tired of your lady, look me up. When I’m finished with you, you won’t even remember your name.”

She glanced back at Fortune. “Today’s October tenth, and I’ve got this whole floor to do, so I better get movin’.
Remember, out in fifteen minutes.” She started to turn away.

“The year?” Fortune prodded.

The woman looked at her strangely before answering. “Two thousand.”

Fortune slammed the door shut and leaned against it.
Stay calm. Don’t hyperventilate.
“It can’t be 2000! When I went to sleep last night it was 2300. There’s no such thing as time travel. Oh, scientists have played with the idea, but…” She must be the victim of some gigantic hoax. But what about Leith Campbell? What about the world outside their window?

She glanced at Leith to see his reaction.

His curse was low, graphic, and—she suspected—physically impossible. He closed his eyes for a long moment, and she watched his expression change. When he finally opened his eyes and stared at her, she wanted to turn and run from him, from his battle face. She had no doubt this
was
his battle face—all shadowed planes and hard, gleaming eyes.