Sanctifying Grace (Resurrection) Read Free Page A

it.
    As I brooded I rooted around in the first bedroom I came to and found some women’s clothes stuffed into a cupboard. Grimacing, I pulled on a badly creased skirt and a blouse, together with a long cotton petticoat. Again, no knickers. There were never any knickers. I don’t know whether panties had been invented yet , but I certainly missed wearing them.
    I slipped the petticoat over my head and was relieved to see there wasn’t an excessive amount of fabric. The skirt was considerably less bulky than I was used to wearing whenever I was with Roman: navy, high-waisted, narrow over the hips, falling to just above the ankle. The blouse was a cream lace-and-silk affair with a square neckline and three-quarter sleeves. Not yet the clothing from my era, but getting there. The one thing that had definitely attracted my attention was the quality of the fabrics and the workmanship. This felt like high-end designer and not the mass produced high street chain stuff I bought in my own time. That didn’t stop me from wishing I had a pair of jeans and a hoodie though – I was ever the tomboy.
    I dug out a pair of button-up ankle boots from the bottom of the cupboard and pulled them on, then went in search of my lover.
    He was still playing soldiers. It didn’t seem to matter how old a man was, thirty- five or one thousand and thirty-five (Roman was actually older than that), they didn’t really seem to grow up.
    I sighed loudly and dramatically, but it made no difference. He knew I was there and he ignored me. Completely. He was busy seeing how quickly he could load and shoot, and to my eyes , he was nothing more than a blur.
    Eventually , the box of ammunition on the ground next to him was empty. I prayed he wouldn’t go fetch any more. He didn’t. Instead he swaggered over to the target and retrieved it, waving it at me, and like women all over the world when faced with a pleased-with-themselves, tail-wagging male, I made ‘well done’ noises.
    Finally , we retreated to the house, but not before he turned to look longingly at the now empty board where the target had hung. I gave him a gentle shove through the French doors, my exasperation beginning to show. Roman appeared not to notice and I wasn’t sure whether it was an act or whether he really was oblivious. I suspected the former: Roman noticed everything and even if I wasn’t easy to read (I was), he’d had centuries of studying humans. He knew alright: he just wasn't bothered.
    I finally got mad when he pulled out a pistol and said ‘Smith and Wesson,’ with the sort of overtones a man used when talking to his lover.
    ‘Right! I’m off!’ I announced. ‘You obviously don’t want me here, so I’ll go and find something else to do until I go back to my own time.’
    I flounced into the hall, skirt swishing most effectively as I twirled away from him. He was there before me, laughing.
    ‘Grace,’ he chuckled. ‘Don’t be so cross. I am pleased to see you, truly I am. You caught me unawares, that’s all.’
    I was only a little mollified. I always caught him unawares , but he had never reacted like this before.
    ‘I am sorry,’ he said, slipping his arms round me, but I refused to relent and remained rigid even as his scent, that erotic, evocative smell, swirled around me, filling my head with the sweetness of summer meadows, the fresh tang of  ocean-salt air, the mouth-watering aroma of chocolate, the –
    The bastard was seducing me! Even as I knew what he was doing, I was powerless to stop him. Though he could not enthral me, he had no need to. His nearness was enough to render me helpless. I don’t know if he was able to consciously manipulate the scent he gave off or not, but either way, he was reducing me to nothing but a puddle of hormones without any conceivable effort on his part.
    I relaxed into him and his grip tightened. My lover was back. I could tell he no longer had guns on his mind as an entirely different sort of weapon pressed