Flirtinis with Flappers (5 page)

"Hurry!" I whispered. I could hear the police shouting at one another, and they didn't sound that far away. Finally, Sam found the right key, and the lock clicked. He pushed on the door, and it reluctantly creaked open, revealing a set of stone stairs descending into blackness.

"It may be a little dirty down here," Sam apologized with a rueful grin. "But it's better than the slammer."

Yup, dirty basements trumped slammers every day of the week in my book. Still, it wasn't the dirt that bothered me—it was the lack of light. After spending all those weeks in that dark Iraqi prison, I'd developed a pretty severe aversion to darkness, to say the least. But this was no time to succumb to my fears. Not with the cops so close behind. So I took a tentative step and began my descent into the blackness, praying there were no rats this time around. Sam followed, pulling the door closed behind him.

Pitch black. Great. Just the thing to remind me of that no-electricity jail cell. The nights had been so long. So dark. So scary…

I stopped midway down the staircase, frozen in panic. My
heart thumped in my chest, and my lungs squeezed, as if in a vise, making it almost impossible to suck in a breath.

"I—I can't see," I quavered, hating how squeaky and pathetic my voice sounded. After all, I was supposed to be a fearless, kick-butt, back-in-time secret agent girl, right? And here I was,
this
close to bawling like a baby. And not for some noble, understandable reason like being in a totally foreign time period or because there were angry cops hot on our tail. No, I was simply afraid of the dark. We could have been in the Tunnel of Love, and I'd be freaking instead of making out.

The Men in Black were going to be extremely disappointed in me. I really hoped they weren't watching all of this through some time portal window or something. I didn't want them judging my performance before I even had time to rally.

"Hang on," Sam replied from the top of the stairs. In a moment, I could feel him come up behind me, his hot breath suddenly singeing the back of my neck. It was a strange, almost erotic sensation and, oddly enough, helped to get my mind off my fears.

"Give me your hand," he whispered in my ear. His mouth was so close it tickled the lobe.

I pawed through the darkness until my fingers contacted flesh. He wrapped his hand around mine and eased past me on the staircase, then led me downward, seeming to feel out each step carefully before pulling me along. At the bottom, he drew me down to a crouching position on the floor. The cement was cool and clammy against my already sweaty palms.

"I think we're safe," he informed me in a low voice. "They won't be able to break that lock, and the door's about a foot thick. We can hang here till they leave."

"Okay," I said, trying desperately to will my breathing back to normal. My heart banged against my ribcage. My hands trembled.

It's just darkness. Darkness can't hurt you.

You know, I used to be so cool. So in control in every situation. Even crazy ones like this. Too bad even in Louise's body I was still stuck with Dora's hang-ups.

A match scraped, and a spark of light pierced the darkness. Using the glow of Sam's match, I rose to my feet and scanned the room. Spotting an old lamp in one corner, I ran over and switched it on. A dim, orangey light bathed the room. Phew.

I leaned over, hands on my knees, and sucked in a deep breath in an attempt to control the impending panic attack. I ran through my shrinks suggested affirmations in rapid order.

I was fine. I was safe. No one could hurt me. I could get through this. It was all in my head.

So, why could I not stop trembling?

"Hey, hey, are you all right?" Sam asked, scrambling to his feet. He studied me with worried eyes, his face inches from mine. "You're shaking like crazy. What's got you so upset? Aren't you used to raids like this? It's not like the coppers don't show up here every time they're feeling poor and need a bribe."

I swallowed hard. Of course. My fear must look absolutely ridiculous to this guy. But what was I supposed to tell him? Certainly not the truth.

"Um, yes, sorry. I…" I babbled, my mouth choosing unintelligible stammering instead of clever explanations.

Luckily, he let me off the hook. "Come here," he said instead, holding out his arms. I stared at him for a minute, not sure what I should do. Then I gave in and leaned closer to him. I mean, what the heck, right? It was just a hug.

He pulled me into an embrace, his strong hands wrapping around me and his fingers stroking my back. "Shhh,
"
he comforted. "We're safe. It's okay. You're okay."

Against my better judgment, I cuddled a little closer. He felt so warm. So solid. I buried my face in his shoulder, and he began to stroke my head, his nails lightly scraping my scalp. I hadn't been held in a long time. Hadn't wanted to be held by anyone but Nick, and I'd determined that that would never happen again. But this seemed okay, somehow. Even though the guy was a complete stranger. Weird.

I pulled my head away from his comforting shoulder to get a better look at him. He smiled back at me, still looking concerned. He really did have amazing eyes. Even in the dim light I could see their soft blue, with flecks of green and yellow all swirling into some kaleidoscope of color. A girl could lose herself in those eyes. Not that I was going to. After all, I had a mission to complete. A jerk ex-boyfriend to find. A…kiss from a stranger to contend with.

For a moment I wasn't sure what I should do as he leaned in, eyes closed, lips pressing against mine. His touch was far gentler than I'd anticipated. Light, soft lips, caressing mine. Like the wisp of a butterfly's wing. In an instant, tingles shot straight to my toes and other extremities.

Wow, didn't take much these days to get me completely turned on. How pathetic.

His tongue lightly darted at my lips. Gah. What should I do? Was this okay? I mean, I didn't want to go and be as bad as Nick—changing history and all with stranger make-out sessions—but at the same time, I hadn't been kissed in nearly a year. (Well, except that one time at Speed Dating where the man leaned across the table. Evidently he was a kiss-on-the-first-minute type of guy. Bleh.)

But this—I had to admit, it felt good. Really darn good. My insides warmed, and my head went all gooey. Who knew I'd have to go back nearly a century to find a man who made me want to purr like Nick used to.

Eh, screw it. History could take care of itself for five minutes.

I parted my lips slightly, allowing him to deepen his kiss. His tongue flicked at my mouth as if testing my taste, then delved in for deeper exploration. I kissed him back, rejoicing at the adrenaline rush shooting through my veins, the chills tripping down my spine.

First kisses were always delicious. Even if they were taking place with someone else's body.

Um, ew. Okay, that was a definite buzzkill thought. How could I be enjoying this? He didn't want me. He didn't care about me. He only wanted the body of my alter ego. He wanted Louise. Beautiful, unscarred Louise. And for me to take willing advantage of this—well, that was just weird and dirty. Plus, I had a mission I was supposed to be accomplishing. There would be no time for romantic field trips, no matter how delicious the tour guide.

It took every ounce of willpower to push him away. "Stop," I commanded, my voice sounding a bit froggy.

To his credit, he did, though he didn't look too pleased about doing so. He raked a hand through his tousled hair. "What?" he asked.

"I can't do this," I replied, trying to catch my breath. Man, I was so turned on it wasn't funny. Sexually frustrated much, Dora? "I'm… I belong to my boyfriend…" Crap, what was the dude's name again? "Tommy Gun."

Yup, I can't justify making out with a total hottie, 'cause I've got some guy with a semiautomatic weapon as his first name. Classy, Louise. Real classy.

Sam cocked his head in confusion. "Tommy Gun?"

Classy and one hundred percent wrong.

"Um, Machine? Gun?"
I bit my lower lip in frustration. What was Louise's boyfriend's name again? The sexually charged air was screwing with my memory—and with my sentence-forming ability if we're being completely honest. "Tommy's just a…nickname I have for him."

"Oh." Sam took a deep breath and nodded. "Right. Okay. I understand. Sorry." He turned and started pacing to the other side of the room. "It won't happen again."

I had to bite down hard on my rebellious tongue to stop from telling Sam exactly how much I would
like
it to happen again. In fact, how much I wanted it to happen again right this very second. But no, that wasn't a wise thing to do. I had broken the kissing spell, and it needed to stay broken. No matter how much I was dying to taste him again.

"What is this place, anyway?" I asked, scanning the room, desperate for a subject change. It looked sort of like an ancient wine cellar, glass bottles of yellowish liquid stacked floor to ceiling.

"Looks like this is where Jack stores his gin," Sam said, appraising the area himself. "The secret room the coppers are dying to locate."

Ah, that made sense. Even I, with my perpetual C+ in history class (who had time to memorize all those dusty facts when there were hot boys to run after?) remembered the Roaring Twenties was the time of prohibition. Alcohol was illegal, so people made their own. From private home bathtub gin to big distilleries. And then there were those who carted the stuff in from other countries, like Canada. Bootlegging, they called it. And it was a very big, very black market business. "Who's Jack?" I asked curiously.

Sam turned to stare at me, an are-you-crazy look on his otherwise handsome face. Oh dear. Jack was evidently someone Louise knew. I quickly feigned a just-joking smile, and he laughed. "Funny," he said. "You almost had me for a moment."

Jack's your boyfriend, you moron!
my brain reminded me suddenly.
Jack "Machine Gun" McGurn.
Jeesh. You're not
very
good at this secret agent stuff, are you?

"I'm a funny girl," I quipped, desperate to prove my brain wrong.

"Yes, you are." Sam said. His grin faded to a more serious expression as he reached out to trace the side of my cheek.
Oh no. Here we go again.
"Or maybe you just don't like to think about Jack when we're together," he murmured, his voice lowering to a husky whisper.

I stared at him, willing my mouth not to drop open like some cartoon character's. Now, wait just one time-traveling second. Was what we'd experienced a few minutes ago Sam and Louise's first kiss? Or had there been others? Were the two of them actually having an affair or something? 'Cause if they were, then I would technically be guiltier of changing history by
not
kissing him. I mean, I wouldn't want to break out of character by refusing his advances, right?

If Louise was getting it on the side from Adonis here, well, then I'd have to as well. It was only the right thing to do. After all, the FBI told me I was helping out my country. And that meant supreme sacrifices would have to be made.

Heh.

"What I meant to say, was, um…" I lowered my head and looked up demurely. I could totally do this. "When we're alone, all I can think of is you."

Sam raised an eyebrow, looking surprised. Hm. Had I misjudged the nature of their relationship after all? Or perhaps I was coming on too strong? After all, this was the twenties. Maybe women played harder to get.

Or maybe, my brain theorized wildly, he was simply a commitment-phobe who freaked out when women admitted their true feelings. A commitment-phobe like Nick the Prick used to be. Even in the twenties, show a guy you cared and he'd start running a marathon in the other direction—bad knees or no.

"I'm glad to hear that," Sam said, recovering quickly. Hm. Smooth. Very smooth. "I can't stop thinking of you either." His fingers traveled from the side of my face to brush against my lips. Then he lowered them to massage my neck. "You're a constant obsession,
ma cherie."

Oh-kay then. I pressed my lips together in disapproval. That was just a tad bit too much like a line for my taste. I mean, what, did he think Louise would just melt at some slick words, forget her boyfriend, and be all over him?

Okay, fine. She might have been. She might have fallen hook, line, and sinker. Honestly, I had no idea what the girl whose body I currently owned was like. She could have been a total slut for all I knew. But I did know that
I
sure wouldn't fall. After all, I was a twenty-first-century girl, able to dodge a cheesy pickup line in a single bound. Nick had been full of them, especially after he'd done something wrong. The guy could spout lines from freaking Shelley on the spot if he needed to derail my anger.

The worst part was, the tactic usually worked. I mean, how could one not swoon when said boyfriend quoted lines from the Romantics?

As for Louise, she needed to be careful not to get her heart broken by this guy. Like I had with Nick. And as current guardian of the organ in question, I wasn't going to let that happen.

"Oh please," I groaned, rolling my eyes to show him what I thought of his tactics. "I bet you say that to all the flappers."

His face fell, and for a moment, I wasn't sure if I should feel bad for him. But no, that was just his good looks frazzling my brain. Stupid good-looking guys. If we girls were smart, we'd grow up looking for geeks in shining armor who wanted nothing more in life than to play
Magic: The
Gathering
and worship us like the goddesses we are. Instead, we always go for the jerks whose butts looked good in Levi's. Or tuxes, in this particular case.

"You're one cruel dame, Louise," Sam muttered, turning away to study the bottles on the wall. Great. Now I'd ticked him off.

"So, um, Sam?" I ventured, wanting to change the subject again. We had to get back on target here. I had an ex-boyfriend to find, and this melodramatic episode of
As
the Twenties
Turns
was not helping one bit. "Have you noticed anyone acting weird these days?"