My Heart Will Find Yours by Linda LaRoque Page A

damn French underwear. What do you expect? No decent woman would wear such skimpy unmentionables.”
    “In 2008, all women wear underwear like mine. And they swim and sunbathe in public places in bathing suits that look much like my underwear.”
    If the situation weren’t so serious, she would have laughed at the look on his face. His mouth opened and closed trying to say something. He was so red in the face she thought he might explode at any minute.
    Finally, he bit out, “I don’t believe you. No lady would go out in something so shocking.”
    “Well, I’m not a lady, at least that’s what I thought we’d agreed upon in the kitchen.”
    His eyebrows furrowed, and he looked at her breasts. Why, the man was straining to see if she wore a chemise. She backed away from him. His eyes flashed up to hers. She turned and dashed into the house. He was on her before she made it through the door. Turning her in his arms, he locked hers down by her sides. Pressed against his chest, his forehead touched hers.
    “Don’t do it, Royce. I’m warning you.” His hand grasped a handful of her skirt and gathered until she felt air on her bottom. Tears pricked her eyes. “Please, don’t do this.”
    His big, warm hand cupped her bare buttock—her flesh quivered, his touch evoking feelings foreign to her. At her body’s response, his hand stilled, and then he groaned low in his throat and covered her mouth with his. Unable to resist, she returned the kiss, clutched his waist, and pressed her body into his.
    Texanna was melting, her body screamed for more of this man’s touch. And she wanted to touch him in return—reach inside his shirt and run her fingers through the hair on his chest, feel the muscles of his back and his taut butt.
    So, this is what it’s all about—the fire that ignites between two people. She shoved at his chest. “Stop. We can’t do this.”
    He froze and moved his hand to her head and held it to his chest. Voice hoarse, he rasped. “Why, Texanna? Tell me why.” He forced her to look at him. “You want me too, I know you do.” He planted soft kisses on her cheeks, her lips, and under her jaw. “Say it.”
    She swiped at the tears on her cheeks and cried. “Yes! I do. You’re the only man who’s ever made me feel this way, but it can’t happen.”
    “Give me a reason, dammit.”
    “Because I’m not your wife, and you don’t love me.”
    His face buried in her hair, he spoke softly in her ear. “You could be my wife. I need proof you’re not. You’re so like her, yet so different.” He yanked her head back and fixed her with a stare. “What does it matter anyhow? In a brothel, one customer is as good as another.”
    Blood pounded in her head, and flashes of light danced in front of her eyes. Shrieking like a mad woman, she struck out at him with both hands. Faster this time, he caught both fists and shoved her back, not releasing her hands.
    “Stop it. You’re acting like a child.”
    She jerked free and batted at the tears on her face. “The only proof I have I’m not your wife or a whore is the fact I’ve never been with a man. I may not be a lady, but I’m a virgin.”
    Holding in her sobs, she moved toward the door, and then turned back toward him. “Stay the hell away from me.”

Chapter Eight
    Royce sat on the front porch pondering Texanna’s words. Her declaration left him flabbergasted, and he’d been unable to come up with a rebuttal. Was it possible Texanna was a virgin?
    He shook his head. No, time-travel wasn’t possible. It had to be a made-up story, fiction like that book by Jules Verne, Journey to the Center of the Earth. That’s what Royce wanted to believe, but doubts worried him. If folks thought he’d even considered her tale, they’d think him crazy as a loon. What scared him the most was her cock and bull story began to make sense.
    Ah, hell. Sitting here worrying about it wasn’t going to change things. He stood and started for the door when he