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Versions of You

Page 12

by Cecelia Mecca

“Father Simon. Have you heard of him?”

I shook my head. “No. But I believe I have his chronicles, in my time.”

How did he not think I was crazy?

“Tell me about it.”

I opened my mouth to speak and then realized something. “Wait, where am I? Is this Scotland?”

His expression made me laugh. “Nay, Lady Lena. We stand in the borderlands of Northumbria.”

“So England. It’s called Northumberland now. I mean, in my time. I’ll be honest, I’m surprised you believe me. That you don’t think I’m crazy.”

His mouth curved into a smile. “Mon cœur sait ce que mes yeux voient.”

I blinked. “And that means?”

“I thought you wished to speak French?”

“I don’t know a lick of French.” He stared at me, not understanding. Still holding my hand. “I don’t speak French,” I clarified. Although him speaking it was more than a little sexy.

“My heart knows what my eyes see.”

He said it like a vow, like something older than both of us.

Maybe it was.

“What do they see?” Knowing I could be accused of fishing for compliments, I didn’t care.

“A woman not from anywhere I’ve ever been. An erudite whose intelligence mingles with her romanticized version of the world. Don’t allow your need to reconcile them hold you back, mon cœur.”

He said it in the same tone Nolan used when he called me baby.

“What does that mean?”

“Little heart.”

Okay. This was bonkers. I had to know. “Why do you like me?”

His head tilted to the side as if that was the craziest thing I’d asked, as opposed to, ‘Where am I?’

“I don’t like you,” he said finally, with another step eliminating the space between us. Our bodies touched, and if he leaned down, our lips would too. “I am in love with you, Lena.”

That made no sense. We hardly knew each other. But as his head moved toward me, my eyes closed, knowing it was going to be the best kiss of my life. Everything about him screamed protector, and a sexy as hell one at that.

It was hot.

He was hot.

And I was about to kiss him.

Or not.

Just as I felt his breath on my face, the crisp air changed to something that smelled like the perfect beach day and coconuts. My eyes whipped open.

A Bath and Body candle. My kitchen. Without even realizing it was happening, I’d come back. The book was still open on my counter, just as it had been before I left. But instead of tossing it to the side, I closed my eyes. Remembered the feeling of Rowan’s near kiss, and mustered enough courage to open them and peek down at the pages.

Sure enough, the words stared back at me as they had since the lightning strike. Modern enough to decipher. Slightly … off as I attempted to focus on them. But definitely not the same old English as the book I’d purchased.