In a dangerous time before her own…a dangerous attraction. Amelie Besson is on the cusp of attaining the life she’s dreamed of—until she finds herself stuck in pre-war France, fifty years before her time. The country is about to be under German rule, but her most immediate problem is Henri Durand, the arrogant and infuriatingly handsome vineyard owner upon whom her survival depends. The fiercely protective Henri challenges everything Amelie holds true—particularly her hatred of the gift that brought her there in the first place. As the bond between them grows, Amelie will begin to wonder if the life she’s returning to is actually the one she wants, and if her connection to Henri might be strong enough to surmount any obstacle…even time itself.
*Across Time is Book Three in the Parallel Series and ends in a cliffhanger.
Buy the series here:
The Parallel Series (4 book series) Paperback Edition (amazon.com)
Love Words from Henri to Amelie
Little Thief,
I’m writing words I doubt you’ll ever read. You’re in your own time again, some future I can’t begin to imagine, and you’ve been gone two weeks, which I suppose means you’re not coming back.
Only now can I admit how much I hoped you’d choose to stay. That you’d risk the coming war, all the inconveniences of our small life on the farm. That you’d give up the luxuries of your own time, and Mark, who I refuse to believe you care for.
There were so many times—our sunset rides, our chess games, our final night together—when I thought I wouldn’t be able to stop myself from begging you to remain, from demanding you remain. I was the worst version of myself in those moments, fighting an impulse that was abominably selfish.
And my God I wish I’d given into it.
These two weeks without you have felt like months, like years, and some of the worst of my life. If I could go back in time, as you do, I’d return to the night when we made the pie. When I stood against your back, desperate for you, feeling as if I’d give up a decade of my life simply to press my lips to your neck, to run my hands over the curves that have possessed my dreams.
If I could, I’d go back, and I’d do those things. I’d do more, and more, until you were gasping beneath me, begging me to continue. That’s when I’d have asked you to stay, Little Thief.
If this letter ever finds its way to you, fifty or sixty or seventy years hence, just know there was a man you left behind in 1938, dying for the want of you. And if you are so inclined, after you’ve read it and thought things through…come back. Please, please come back.
Henri
About the Author
Elizabeth O’Roark has a bunch of degrees she does not use and gave up working as a medical writer to craft grumpy, alpha heroes and the flawed women who love them. When not writing, she likes to spend time with her three kids, who are now teenagers and wish she’d find a different way to spend time. She can be found on Facebook feverishly debating whether or not “Die Hard” is a Christmas movie and telling people to read “The Hating Game”, which she did not write but wishes she had.
