"But you're afraid it will break the connection. Aren't you?"
Ryan's pulse escalated both in his neck and his cock at her reference to a connection. Did she feel it, too, then?
"Yes. But I want to touch you so badly right now, I'm afraid I'm going to have to take the risk."
She took another step toward him. He drowned in deep pools of ebony fringed with the thickest, longest eyelashes he'd ever seen. Her eyebrows arched gracefully on her pale forehead, their shape somehow highlighting her animated expression, the sheer vibrancy that seemed to exude from her being.
Her gaze lowered. She held up one elegant hand just inches from his chest. Her pulse throbbed madly at her throat.
"Wait."
"What?" she asked a trifle impatiently, her hand still outstretched.
"Do you understand what's going to happen if you put your hand on me?" he rasped.
Her gaze flickered over his naked body and back to his face.
"Yes."
"Touch me, then. And be prepared to be touched. But first, tell me this. What is the date there . .. where you are?"
The hand that was suspended in the air trembled slightly.
"November the tenth of the year 1906."
Ryan's jaw tightened. In three days in her time period—perhaps sooner—Hope would be abducted. Her murder would soon follow. The untenable thought was the only thing that kept him from stepping out of that tub and pulling her into his arms. If he didn't feel her dewy, silky-looking skin slide next to his body sometime soon, he worried he might die from thwarted lust.
"Listen to me," he said, his voice sounding harsher than he'd intended. "I want you to be careful. Someone intends to harm you."
"What do you mean?" she asked, clearly confused.
Ryan studied her uncertainly. If he could touch her, hold on to her, perhaps he could keep her here with him in the twenty-first century. Keep her safe?
"Come closer," he demanded quietly.
His hands rose to just an inch above her creamy shoulders. The need to touch her felt imperative. He realized his gaze was glued on her breasts and that he was imagining his hands cradling the weight of them while his forefinger whisked over the tightening, rosy nipples. The heavy head of his cock strained for her almost as though it was made of metal and Hope was a powerful magnet.
He forced his eyes up to her face.
"If something should happen ... if this"—he glanced down to the narrow space between them—"connection should be broken when we touch, I want you to try and contact me through the mirror."
Her eyes widened. "The one in my bedroom? You were there. You saw me as well?"
"Oh, I saw you all right," he muttered grimly. He thought of the way the mirror had felt yesterday for a second when he touched it: not solid, not liquid, but not like empty space, either. More like ... a fullness, an indescribable web of possibilities. "Use the mirror, Hope. Do you understand?"
"Yes."
He frowned slightly when he heard her solemn whisper. God, she was sweet. Not to mention sexy as hell without ever intending to be. He really didn't want anything to happen to her—
"And under no circumstances should you venture out alone over the next few days.
Agreed?"
She nodded.
"Don't go anywhere with a stranger. Am I making myself clear?"
"Even you?" She looked dazed as her hand sunk toward his chest.