Wandering Soul by Cassandra Chandler

cleared her throat, and said, “The entertainment room, please.”
    When they arrived, he gently deposited her on the couch, though he was loathe to let her slip from his embrace.
    â€œThe movies you want are in that cabinet there.” She pointed to a shelf next to the large television.
    â€œI must first tend to your injuries.”
    â€œI’m fine, really.”
    â€œThen it should not take long.”
    Another bathroom adjoined the room. Inside, as expected, he found clean washcloths, which he ran under cold water. An unbidden memory played through his mind, of dousing his vest during the fire. Had it only been days ago? Or decades?
    It was too much to consider. At the moment, he needed to focus on Elsa. He wrung out the washcloths and took a towel from the rack above the sink, then returned to her side.
    She shifted away from him as he sat next to her on the couch. At first, he thought she was trying to put distance between them, but the sight of her soft smile, the rosy flush creeping up her neck convinced him it was actually an invitation.
    The doubts that plagued him faded in the light of her offer, and he found himself sliding even closer to her. He gently dabbed at her hands with the wet cloth. When he had satisfied himself that her wounds were clean, he placed her hands together with the cool cloth held between to help soothe them.
    He wondered if he dared to lift the hem of her pants to inspect her knees. Though she seemed to enjoy his touch, surely there were limits he dare not cross. Regardless, it needed to be done. Dante shifted to sit by her feet, turning so that he could see Elsa’s face. He needed to watch her expression.
    Her eyes were wide as she watched him slide his hands along the sides of her shapely calves. Her skin was like silk. Her lips slowly parted and her breath became uneven. When her legs were exposed up to the tops of her knees, she finally glanced at him.
    Her eyes were heavy-lidded, smoldering. They burned like embers, and the heat of her gaze raked Dante down to his soul.
    As quickly as the look appeared, it vanished, leaving him to wonder if it had been nothing more than a flight of fancy. Returning his focus to his task, he took two more wet cloths and laid one on each of her knees. They bore red marks from her fall, but the skin had not broken.
    He lifted her legs carefully, then placed the towel beneath her knees for support. His hands trailed down her calves, a lingering touch that he could not resist. Elsa never shrank back. She never looked away.
    He could feel his heart hammering in his chest. She had brought him to her time, her home, to assist with her book. It made a certain sense that she would want to hear from him what his life had been like, but after Rachel’s words, he wondered if it was possible that Elsa wanted more. Could she be seeking to create new moments between them to use as inspiration?
    If so, Dante was uncertain he would even try to resist.

Chapter Ten
    Telling Dante about the legends surrounding him had always been part of Elsa’s plan, but not so soon. He needed to adjust, to adapt to his new world and get to know her. He needed to trust her first.
    From his perspective, they had only met a few days ago. She was surprised he was still talking to her after what Rachel had told him.
    â€œShall we begin, then?” Dante was kneeling right next to her, his hands lingering on the backs of her legs. Her skin felt electrified, tingling heat pooling low in her body.
    Before she could respond, Winston wandered into the room, an empty glass in his hand. Dante leapt up, then walked several steps away from Elsa. He cast a guilty look at Winston.
    â€œNot interrupting anything, am I?” Winston asked.
    â€œWinston…” Elsa said.
    He chuckled. “I heard a car a bit ago and thought you might need another glass for tea.”
    â€œThe tea!”
    Dante gestured for her to stay in place. “If I may—our