Time Thief: A Time Thief Novel by Katie MacAlister
“By the saints,” he swore, putting away the gun and stepping into the room to examine my mouth closer. “Were you stung by an insect?”
“No! It jush happen. Mahe it stoh!”
“I had a cousin who was most decidedly allergic to peanuts. Perhaps the popsy is the same way?” Sunil continued to bob in front of me until I glared at him.
“Are you allergic to anything? Nuts? Milk? Have you eaten anything?” Peter asked, leaning forward to peer at my poor, abused lips.
I stamped my foot. “No, no, no! Jush happen!”
He shook his head. “Then I don’t know. What were you doing when it got this way?”
“Sittin’ on your beh.” I pointed to his bed. “I had a bah, too. Sorry bouh thah, buh it was thoo good tho mith.”
He glanced at the bed, then moved around me and got a washcloth, which he soaked in cold water. “Here. Hold this on your mouth. I’ll go fetch some ice from Alison.”
“Thath huthy? No thanh you.” I held the cold cloth to my mouth, which I admit did make it feel a little bit better. Peter examined his bed briefly, then the bathtub.
“I don’t see any foreign substance present in either the bed or the tub. Sit down. I’ll be back in a minute with some ice.”
“I shall stay here and guard the popsy,” Sunil declared.
Peter paused at the door, one eyebrow cocked. “I thought we discussed the idea of you keeping surveillance on the motel from the outside?”
There was a pause; then Sunil said, “It is that I am changing my mind, popsy. I will not be guarding you. Instead, Peter-ji has given me a very excellent job to watch the comings and goings of the motel. You are understanding that I am his partner in all things, and must put our investigation before pleasure time, is it not?”
“Yeth. I unnerthan.” I sat in the armchair next to the bed, so miserable that I didn’t say a thing about the subtle way Peter got rid of his light buddy, let alone argue with him over the idea of asking a favor of the motel hussy. Instead, I thanked my stars that although my tongue had swollen up, it wasn’t so bad that it blocked my airflow. Peter returned shortly with a small bowl of ice, which he put inside the wet washcloth before handing it back to me.
He sat on the edge of the bed and gestured toward me. “All right. Start from the beginning.”
“Whah beginnin’?” I asked from behind the ice pressed to my hot, swollen rolls of flesh that had replaced my lips.
“The beginning of whatever it is you did to get like that.”
I glared silently at him.
He sighed and scooted back on the bed until he was leaning against the headboard, ankles crossed, and his arms over his chest. “Start at what it is you’re doing here in my room. How did you get in?”
It took some time to tell the tale of just why I had felt it necessary to break in. I wasn’t able to articulate very clearly my plan of offering up some tidbit of important news vital to his well-being, leaving him to guess the details.
“You wanted to see me?”
I nodded.
“Because you had something to tell me?”
I nodded again, and shifted the ice to the opposite corner of my mouth. It felt so good, I sighed in relief.
“Something about my family?”
“Mrs. Faa noh happy wif you.”
“I’m well aware of that, but thank you for coming into town to tell me.” He considered my miserable self for a minute. “You couldn’t have left that in a note?”
I shook my head, and pulled out my cell phone. “Wanted to geh your nuher.”
“Ah. Oddly enough, I have wanted the same thing. Here. Allow me.” He took my phone and quickly maneuvered its intricacies to make a new entry in the phone book for himself, then repeated the process with his own phone. I accepted it back happily, my lips trying to form a smile of gratitude, but screaming instead. Hurriedly, I put the ice back on my mouth. “Your battery is almost dead.”
“I knoh.”
“That explains what you’re doing here, but not how you got into my room.” He was silent for a moment. “I find it difficult to believe that Alison let you in. She has…desires…that she’s made all too clear.”
“I knew ih! I knew she wath a huthy!” I said loudly, and thought of several things I’d like to say to her when I had my lips back.
“Therefore, you must have gained access to my room by some other means. Some illegal means.”
I batted my eyelashes and tried to look innocent.
“How did you get into my room, Kiya?”
“Can’t talk. Mouf hurths.”
“I’ll get you a tablet of paper and you can write it out,” he said, making like he was going to get up.
“Jeeth. Tho puthy. I thtole time, all wigh? I’m a Twaveller, tho I thtole time.”
He bolted upright. “You what?”
“You hearh me.”
“For the love of the saints, woman!” He leaped to his feet and began pacing in front of me, his hands drawing undefined shapes in the air. “Are you insane or just stupid?”
“Hey!”
He ignored my exclamation, rounding on me, his hands on his hips. “You do not steal time, do I make myself clear?”
“I juth dih.”
“And you can see the consequences of such an idiotic act,” he snapped.
I blinked, and removed the ice to touch my lips. They were still swollen, and now chilled, but I thought the swelling had gone down some. “Thith? My mouf?”
“Yes, that, your mouth. Now you see exactly why you shouldn’t steal time. You have no experience doing so—I thank all the gods for that small miracle—and clearly, you have no idea how to do so without suffering a karmic whiplash. I just hope this experience has taught you a valuable lesson.”
“You’re juth bein’ obnoshush,” I told him.
“What?”
“Obnoshush!”
“I can’t understand you. Are you saying that you’re nauseous?”
“Argh!”
A half hour later, the solid application of ice while steadfastly ignoring the rude, albeit annoyingly sexy, man, and my mouth and tongue had shrunk down to a level where I looked less like I’d been whacked in the face with a two-by-four, and more like a too-frequent visitor to a lip-plumping doctor.
Peter emerged from the bathroom, where he had closeted himself and his phone so he could make a call in private. He stopped in front of where I was sitting on his bed. “Are you calmed down now?”
“Yes, but only because my lips are in working order again.”
He stared at them for a moment, causing heat to grow from my belly and spread out. “Ah. I see. Yes. Much better. They look very…pink. And soft. And…yes.”
“Thank you for getting me the ice. I’m sorry I threw the bowl at your head, but you were beyond tolerable.”
“On the contrary, I am the very personification of reasonableness,” he countered, sitting on the edge of the bed opposite me. “Are you prepared to discuss the facts of your crime with me in a less emotional manner?”
I straightened my shoulders. “Crime? What crime? I didn’t break into your room, you know. I happened to have a key.”
“The crime I’m referring to is the theft of Alison’s time. At least, I assume it was Alison whose time you stole.”
“Oh. That.” I squirmed a bit uncomfortably. “I would like to say in my defense that you’re the one who told me I’m a Traveller. I had no idea about that until you explained it. So really, you’re to blame for the whole thing.”
He looked charmingly outraged. “I am in no way responsible for your reckless and illegal acts! I am a member—”
“—of the Watch, I know, you’ve told me that like ten times now,” I interrupted, taking the sting out of it by scooting over to sit next to him. I patted his knee in what I hoped he’d interpret as a friendly manner, rather than an “I really want to get you naked and lick all over you” way. Which, of course, it was, but I didn’t need him to know that. Unless he wan
“And because of that, I did not incite you to commit a heinous and morally reprehensible act.”
“Hey, now,” I said, turning so I could face him. My knee brushed his thigh. We both stopped and looked down to where my leg was pressed against his.
“You have really nice thighs. I like the bulgy muscle parts of them,” I said without thinking. As soon as the words were spoken, I clapped a (careful) hand over my mouth.
“You haven’t seen them,” he said, an interesting parade of emotions crossing his face. I particularly enjoyed the one that had him looking all seductive and sleepy-eyed. “How can you possibly judge them if you haven’t seen them?”
I pulled my hand from my mouth. “I’m sorry. That wasn’t me that said something so utterly and completely out of line. It was my id. She makes me say things like that. Please forgive her and go back to looking annoyed so I can explain that I’m really not to blame about the whole time-theft thing.”
He looked again at my leg, his fingers flexing before his gaze went briefly to my breasts, and then back to my face.
My id encouraged me to fling myself on him. The egos were rolling their respective eyes at such a thought.
“I…you really are the oddest woman I’ve ever met.”
“And you’ve met a lot of odd ones, right?” I said hopefully.
He shook his head. “Not really, no. May I return the compliment and say that you have very nice thighs, too, before we continue on to the part of the conversation where we discuss your punishment?”
I sat up straighter, still very much aware of my knee pressed against his deliciously muscled thigh. “Oh no, we are not going there. I do not like men who tell me what to do or think or when to eat, or any of that bullcrap. That’s totally abusive behavior, and besides, I am not into kinky sex.”
He looked startled. “Who said anything about abuse or sex, kinky or otherwise?”
“You did!” He continued to look startled. “Didn’t you? Wait…what do you mean by punishment if not bondage sex?”
“I don’t care for that sort of thing, either, although I will admit to having a fantasy right now wherein you—” He suddenly stopped talking, his eyes—a lovely smoky amethyst—widening as he realized what he was saying.
“It’s your id,” I consoled, and thought about patting his leg again, but felt it was better not to tempt myself. “They make you say the most embarrassing things, don’t they? Although Carla once told me it was better to have a tongue that ran away with you, so to speak, than to keep everything bottled up inside you. She said that she’d never met a psychopath who was a chatterbox about every last thing they were thinking. I’ve always taken comfort from that.”
“You took comfort from the fact that you aren’t a psychopath?”
“Yes. I think that’s an important trait in people, being connected with others. I mean, if I was a psychopath, I wouldn’t like your thighs so much.” I couldn’t help but glance down at his leg, and from there to his fly, the latter of which was looking pretty strained. “That looks painful.”
“My leg?”
“Your penis. You don’t mind if I say penis, do I? Some men don’t like women to just come right out and say the word when they haven’t first been introduced to the part in question, but you strike me as a man who doesn’t hold to conventional standards. I mean, you are a time thief.”
“I am not a thief, and no, I don’t mind if you say the word penis. I would happily reciprocate with a mention of your vagina, if it would put you at ease.”
“Oh, I’m quite at ease,” I said, leaning back slightly so as to be able to drink in all of him. There was something about him, a heady sense of danger that simmered with a sensual awareness of him on a fundamental level. He was mysterious, and different, a man who could manipulate time, a man who wasn’t mortal, and I knew I should be running as far away from him as Eloise would carry me.
And yet, I didn’t run. I decided it was his eyes that kept me sitting on the bed next to him, soaking in the exciting thought that he was just as aroused as I was. That he was as sexually interested in me as I was in him was obvious…. What was less obvious was the loneliness that I saw shadowed in his eyes. There was pain in there, as well, an acknowledgment that he was on the outside of life looking in. And it was that sense of wistfulness, that neediness, that called out to me.
I wanted him on a physical level because I’d have to be dead to do otherwise, but it was that lost, lonely man beneath the handsome covering that made me shiver with desire.
“Cold?” he asked.
“Not just yet. Maybe later,” I answered, my mind filled with all sorts of erotic pictures. Like Peter spread-eagle, naked, and welcoming my attentions.
“That doesn’t make any sense.”
Or perhaps he should be wet and naked. I glanced at the claw-foot bathtub apparent through the tiny room that contained only the tub and a sink, and wondered if he was at all interested in taking a bubble bath. I pursed my lips at the thought of spreading soap over his sleek, wet flesh. “Thanks.”
“You’re not really listening to me, are you?”
Then again, that session outside on the picnic blanket was pretty wild. I had a sudden yearning to give him a massage—a sensual massage—out there under the light of the moon, the cool, pine-scented breezes encouraging the warmth of body-to-body contact. Especially as enhanced by massage oil.
“What is it exactly that you’re thinking about?”
“Sliding around on your well-oiled body,” I answered without thinking, the mental vision of doing just that commanding every last bit of my attention.
“Kiya,” Peter said, his voice somewhat strangled.
A hint of something being wrong snapped me out of my reverie. “Yes?”
“Against my better judgment, I must ask that you leave this room immediately.”
I gawked at him, outright gawked, all the happy dreams of molesting him with massage oil dying a sad and cruel death. My cheeks went red-hot as I stammered out, “You want me to leave?”
“If you do not leave right now,” he said, his face rigid and unmoving, “it is quite likely that I will take advantage of the sacred trust placed in me by the Otherworld Watch by doing lascivious things to your delicious thighs. And breasts. And mouth, assuming it’s no longer painful. There are other parts, as well, that would come under my scrutiny, but since I am a gentleman, and gentlemen do not go into details of a personal nature with women they’ve known for such a short amount of time, I will desist from listing exactly what I plan to do to those parts. Instead, I encourage you to leave so you do not have to witness my moral downfall.”
I stared at him, my mind exploding in a wild celebration of joy and desire that left me momentarily speechless.
“You have”—he consulted a clock—“exactly eight seconds before I can no longer restrain myself. Do I make myself clear?”
I blinked a couple of times, not because it helped the thought processes, but because I honestly couldn’t think of anything else to do that didn’t involve shredding the clothes right off his wonderfully warm, hard body.
“Kiya? Do you understand what I’m saying?”
I nodded.
“You have four seconds left. Leave now if you are intending to escape me slaking my not-insubstantial lust upon your fair and tempting self.”
I blinked again. There really didn’t seem to be much else to do, to be honest.
“Three,” he counted down, his gaze on the clock. “Two.”
“One,” I said just a fraction of a second before I pounced. My action, not expected by him, resulted in us lying in a heap on the bed, Peter solid and warm and smelling oh-so wonderfully good beneath me. “You don’t happen to have any massage oil, do you? The kind that gets warm? Because I can think of a lot of places on you that I’d like to use it.”
While he spoke, he had been busy removing my shirt, his hands wonderfully warm on my breasts. I stopped stroking his pectoral muscles long enough to undo the hook on the front of my bra, doing a little moaning of my own when his hands cupped my breasts.
“You are so soft,” he murmured, his fingers doing things to what I had previously thought of as mundane breasts until I arched back, thrusting myself into his hands, glorying in the feel of him. “Soft and warm and begging to be tasted.”
“Tasting is good,” I said breathlessly. He pulled me forward and slightly up so that his mouth could capture one suddenly needful breast. “Tasting is wonderful. Tasting is to be commended. Oh lordy, yes, right there. Do that thing with your tongue again. Wait. You need your pants off.”
“Yes, yes, I do,” he agreed, but refused to release me so I could take them off. What followed no doubt would have looked to a witness like an awkward tangle of arms and legs and jeans and breasts as I struggled to get his clothing off at the same time he tried to remove mine, lavish attention to my breasts, and touch me with what felt like molten fingers of pure sexual rapture.
“You’re supposed to be a magical person,” I said at one point, my voice muffled since my hair had somehow become tangled around one of his shirt buttons, leaving the shirt draped around my head while I tried simultaneously to work free my hair and pull off his remaining shoe so I could shuck his pants. He was likewise trying to remove my jeans, and continue to molest my breasts in a way that left me utterly witless. “Why can’t you just make our clothes disappear so we can be naked together? Get with the program, magic man!”
“We are Travellers, not magicians,” he grumbled around my other breast, paying it due homage because it had complained of being left out of the fun. “We can’t make things disappear.”