Leonora Harris fled her newly wedded husband’s home in Georgian England, 1725, and took shelter in a cave during a rainstorm. She woke up in a cold, barren land and a handsome stranger with a mechanical carriage offered her shelter.
Undercover American operative Rodger Ramsey never expected to find a runaway bride in the magnificent Salar de Uyuni. Assigned to Bolivia to investigate Communist activities, he just wrapped up his two-year mission in 1963 and followed his heart to the salt flats one last time.
Sparks flew and attraction sizzled. The lost, stubborn woman kicked his protective instincts into overdrive. Rodger took her home with him, determined to help her before he returned to the States, and Leonora flourished under his guidance. Their hearts intertwined. He wanted her, needed her, but could he truly love a woman who believed she jumped two hundred years in time?
Will they find a way to stay together, despite the obstacles between them, or will Leonora survive in this strange new world alone?
#TimeTravelRomance #1960s #ContemporaryRomance #AgeGap (10 years)
“May I make a suggestion about your clothes?”
Rodger’s soft plea drew her attention. He stood in front of her, she didn’t even see him move around the coffee table, and he reached out as though to stroke a few tendrils of damp hair away from her face. Heat curled in her womb, her heart skipped a beat, but he stepped back before contact and clasped his hands at his sides.
“Certainly.” Leonora swallowed hard to steady her voice as she glanced down at the thick bands of braided yarn and ribbon woven into the skirt. “Is something the matter?”
“You should tuck in your shirt. That’s how the native Bolivian women wear it.”
“Oh?” She turned away from him for a modicum of privacy, grasped the hem and sucked in her stomach to push the excessive fabric beneath the waistband of the skirt. “Is this right?”
A low hiss echoed behind her. Rodger clasped her waist with his strong hands and held her still as she tried to face him. Delicious warmth enveloped her despite the thick cotton between them and his fingers trailed from her waist to the small of her back. She gasped as he grazed her bare skin, his touch seared her, and he tucked the back half of her shirt into the skirt.
“Th—thank you,” Leonora stuttered as she peeked at him over her shoulder.
“Face me, dearest.” He turned her gently around in the cage of his arms until she stared up into his eyes. “That’s a good girl.”
Air thundered through her lungs and not even a hurricane could propel her away from him. She yearned for the heat of his kiss, the feel of his skin against hers, but Rodger likely considered her too young. Several of her friends back home already married, their husbands were little more than strangers to some of them before they wed, but Leonora didn’t expect a declaration of matrimony from Rodger. Despite her uncertain situation and future, she only wanted to experience pleasure in his arms.
The want embarrassed her, but she couldn’t help the way she felt.
“I’m shocked you like your new clothes.” His voice sounded as rough as a carriage that traveled on a gravel road. “None of the women in those magazines wore clothes like this.”
“I noticed that, but the fashions in England aren’t the same in France, Spain or anywhere else. Each country has its own style of dress. Isn’t Bolivia the same?”
His throat bobbed. “Yes, very much so.”
She braced her hands on his chest, his wool sweater cushy under her palms, and she traced one of the ribbed designs from his broad shoulder to his hard stomach. Strength coiled beneath the surface, his body thick and solid, and his chest heaved under her exploration. She slowly lifted the hem of his sweater but Rodger grasped her hand and pulled it back.
“Yes?” Leonora licked her dry lips and could barely breathe as he teased his fingers up and down her spine in a slow caress.
“I can’t do this, Leonora.”
“Because of my age?”
“No, because of mine.”