Perfect Timing: Those Were the Days / Pistols at Dawn / Time After Time. Nancy Warren
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had seemed unlikely and frivolous while standing in the museum, now it seemed not only palatable but promising.
Tucker Greene could be the focus of her Grand Experiment. A chance to follow Tina’s advice and to take what she wanted. Not her usual behavior, to be sure, but nothing about this situation was usual. She could be gone in a split second, right? For that matter, she wasn’t even really here. After all, she wouldn’t even be born for another sixty-some years.
So why not—as Tina said—take what she wanted?
She took a deep breath, steeling her resolve. She was going to seduce Mr. Tucker Greene. And for the first time in her life, she intended to be the one in charge between the sheets.
Scary to be sure. But mostly, Sylvia simply couldn’t wait.
SYLVIA COULDN’T SLEEP.
She tried. Everything from counting sheep to singing lullabies to herself.
Nothing worked. She told herself that she simply wasn’t tired. For all she knew she’d been blissfully asleep for the equivalent of days as she traveled back through time. It wasn’t as if she understood the physics of going back, after all. For all she knew, it had taken a full month of “her” time to get here.
A nice theory, but probably not true. More likely, she couldn’t sleep because she couldn’t get her mind to calm down. Having come up with a plan, now she wanted to implement it.
Trouble was, she wasn’t very good at first steps. At least not where men were concerned.
A soft tap at her door startled her, and she jumped. Probably Blythe, come to check on her. She drew in a breath, slid out of bed and called, “Come in.”
A rattle and then the door pushed open. Sylvia’s heart did a skittering number as she saw that it wasn’t Blythe standing there at all. It was Tucker, and her pulse immediately picked up its tempo. This was her chance, she thought, even as she wondered if she could see it through.
“Ah,” he said, looking at her, then immediately at the floor. “I beg your pardon, Sylvia. I thought I heard you say come in.”
“I did,” she said, wondering what was wrong with him. The thought had barely entered her mind, when she realized the answer. She was in pajamas. True, they covered up more of her body than many of the outfits in her closet at home, but they were pajamas nonetheless. Intimate apparel. And this was, after all, another era.
“I’m so sorry,” she said, slipping into a robe she’d found earlier. “I don’t know where my head is. Please, I’m decent now.”
He looked up then, and the heat she saw in his eyes sent a trill of power through her. Without a doubt, he’d had the same reaction to her that she’d had to him. And if she wanted to take advantage of the situation, now would be a perfect time.
The trouble, of course, was that she had no clue what to do. She took a step toward him, wishing she had Tina’s bold confidence. How could she be so confident in the courtroom and so muddled with a man? It really defied explanation.
“Did you—” She broke off, cleared her throat, and tried again. “Did you need something?”
“No, I…” He moved closer, and she matched him step by step until they were separated only by inches, the air between them crackling with need. She wanted to touch him, but although she had the desire, she couldn’t quite find the courage.
“I saw your light on,” he said. “I just wanted to make sure you had everything you needed.”
Not everything. But she couldn’t say the words aloud. Instead, she nodded. “I’m fine,” she said, watching his chest rise and fall. His eyes stayed on her, dark brown and intense. Filled with concern and something else, too. A familiar heat that she was certain was matched by her own steady gaze.
Do it! Walk one step toward him and kiss him. You’ve already kissed him once. Just do it again. Take control, just like Tina said.
Right. She could do that. This was fantasy. She was in a world not her own, and when would she ever have such an opportunity to be bold again?
Before she could stop herself, she shifted her weight, starting to take the last step toward him. She froze, however, when he started to speak.
“I also wanted to make sure you weren’t uncomfortable.”
She peered at him, confused, and something in his tone making her wary. “Not at all. It’s a lovely room. Blythe gave me carte blanche with the closet. And these pajamas are awesome.”
“Yes,” he said, clearing his throat and not quite looking her in the eyes. “I noticed.” He cleared his throat again. “Ah, what I mean to say is that I understand you were a bit dizzy and delirious earlier. I hope you don’t think that I would be so bold as to presume any intentions on your part because of our earlier, ah, kiss.”
It was Sylvia’s turn to blush. “Oh. Right.” Damn. So much for her ability to read men. In the moment, she’d thought he’d been enjoying the kiss. Apparently, he’d only been indulging her particular neurosis. “Um, thanks for telling me.”
“You’re welcome,” he said. It was essentially an exit line, and she expected him to turn and leave.
Except he didn’t. He stood there, looking at her, his expression soft, his eyes warm and inviting. So inviting, in fact, that she almost took another step toward him.
She tried to channel Tina. Tried to conjure up some semblance of control. Of a woman who could, in fact, have the upper hand with a man.
But whatever confidence she’d gathered only moments ago had vanished, and she found herself unable to meet his eyes. Even as she cursed her hesitation, she heard herself say, “Thanks for coming to check on me. That was very sweet of you.”
“Of course,” he said. “You’re our guest. We want you to be comfortable. If you need anything during the night—”
Butterflies fluttered in her stomach, riding waves of hope. “Yes?”
“—Blythe’s room is the last door on the left. Or you can ring for Anna.”
“Oh. Sure. Thanks,” she said, the butterflies turning to lead weights.
He turned then and left, his departing gesture nothing more sensual than a smile.
Sylvia stood there, staring at the door and cursing herself for her failed attempt to take control. Even in the twenties, she thought, some things never seemed to change.
TUCKER PACED THE length of his room, not sure if he should be thanking his parents or cursing them. Because it was only their constant drilling of manners into his head that had made him walk away from Sylvia.
Damn.
He’d wanted her—still wanted her. And it had cost him dearly to walk away.
Even now, he could imagine the way the soft silk of those pajamas felt under his hands. The buttons hard against his fingers as he made short work of them. The softness of his skin against his palm and the beat of her heart pounding in time with his own.
He pressed his hands to his head, cursing himself. It was as if the woman had worked a spell on him. She was beautiful, yes, but she was also confused, possibly sick, and most definitely lost. He wasn’t a scoundrel. And only a scoundrel would take advantage of a woman in her condition.
He paused in front of his window and looked down at the yard. Only a few stragglers remained. Understandable since it was almost four in the morning. Still, if he went down now, surely he could find someone to share a drink—or five—with. He needed to sleep. And with Sylvia on his mind, sleep wasn’t going to come without a bit of gin to help it along.
Armed with a plan to keep his mind off the girl, he crossed to his door and yanked it open, then gasped as he saw her standing there, her hand raised as if she were just about to knock.
“Sylvia!”