Time Enough for Love

New York Times bestselling author Suzanne Brockmann casts a spell of fantasy, suspense, and romance in this classic tale of a woman whose one chance at true love could not only shape her destiny but alter the course of history itself. Level-headed Maggie Winthrop never expected her love life to turn into science fiction. Then a Navy SEALutrained scientist named Chuck Della Croce turns up one day in her backyard naked and with an impossible-to-believe explanation: He has come back from the future in a time machine of his own creation in order to stop terrorist killers from laying waste to America. Maggie sympathizes with the rugged, handsome stranger but can she trust him? Chuck can't complete this mission of mercy alone. He needs Maggie to use all the wiles a beautiful woman has at her disposal to convince his younger self not to create the technology responsible for the tragedy. But when Maggie falls for both versions of the same irresistible man, she confronts a wrenching choice no woman should ever have to face: abandon a love she's waited for all her life or stay with Chuck and watch the future she longs to build with him go up in flames.

Since her explosion onto the publishing scene more than ten years ago, Suzanne Brockmann has written more than forty books, and is now widely recognized as one of the leading voices in romantic suspense. Her work has earned her repeated appearances on the USA Today and New York Timesbestseller lists, as well as numerous awards, including Romance Writers of America's #1 Favorite Book of the Year (three years running), two RITA Awards, and many Romantic TimesReviewers' Choice Awards. Suzanne Brockmann lives west of Boston with her husband, author Ed Gaffney.

Chapter One


There was a naked man pounding on Maggie Winthrop’s back door.

She did a double take as she looked out her kitchen window and realized that he was covered with dirt, as if he’d been crawling around in her garden. Dirt and . . . could that possibly be blood? Streaks of something that looked like blood were on his shoulder and arm. He was wild-eyed, with dark, shaggy hair that exploded around his face, looking as if he’d just been ejected from a wind tunnel.

And yes, he was definitely, undeniably naked.

Somehow he knew her name. “Maggie!” he shouted, hammering on the door. “Mags, let me in!”

It was locked, thank God, and Maggie ran to be sure the front door was locked as well.

She had her cordless phone in her hand, ready to call the police when he called out again.

“Maggie! God, please be home!” There was such anguish in the man’s voice. Anguish and something that stopped her from dialing the phone. Something oddly familiar.

Maggie took the stairs to the second floor of her house two at a time. She set the phone down on the vanity of the sink as she used both hands to open the bathroom window and push up the screen.

The man heard the noise, and he stopped pounding on the door. He looked up at her expectantly as she peered down at him.

“Maggie.” There was such relief in the way he said her name. But despite the strange flash of familiarity that she felt once again, she didn’t recognize him. The naked man was a total stranger.

Maggie definitely would have remembered meeting a man like this one before—even with his clothes on.

He was tall and almost sinfully well built, all hard muscles and not an extra ounce of fat on him anywhere. And in his current state of undress, she had an extremely accurate view of all of his anywheres. He had extremely broad shoulders and powerful-looking arms. He had one of those sexy washboard stomachs leading down into narrow hips, a perfect butt, and lean, long legs.

He had thick dark brown hair that he now ran his fingers through, taming it somewhat as he pushed it back from his face. He had dark hair on his chest and other places as well.

Maggie hurriedly brought her gaze back up to his face. His nose was gracefully shaped with almost elegant nostrils. His cheekbones were prominent, too, as was the firm set of his jaw and chin. He had a scar on his cheekbone, underneath his left eye, making him look faintly dangerous. But it was his dark brown eyes that held her attention. They seemed to burn her with their intensity and fire.

Without question, he was the most gorgeous naked madman she’d ever come face-to-face with. Not that she’d come face-to-face with many madmen, clothed or otherwise, in her life.

“It’s me,” he told her, holding out his arms as if that would make her recognize him. “Chuck.”

“I’m sorry,” she said. “But . . . I don’t know you.”

He stared at her, confusion in his eyes. “You don’t?”

“Maybe you have the wrong house,” she suggested hopefully.

The man shook his head. “No. Maybe I have the wrong—” He interrupted himself. “What’s the date?”

“Thursday, November twentieth.”

“No, the year. What’s the year?”

She told him.

He swore sharply, clearly upset, and Maggie reached behind her for the telephone, ready to dial 911 at the least little eruption of violence.

“The damned prototype overshot my mark by three years,” he muttered, talking more to himself than to her as he paced back and forth on her patio. His words didn’t make sense, but he was insane. His words weren’t supposed to make sense. “Okay. Okay. So here I