Nancy Warren - Perfect Timing - Those Were the Days / Pistols at Dawn / Time After Time

“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!”

“I—Oh, I didn’t realize you were stepping out. I’m…I’m sorry.”

“No, no. It’s—”

“Wait.” She closed her eyes, drew in a breath. When she opened her eyes again, she seemed calmer, less confused, and certainly more in control. She squared her shoulders, lifted her chin and pointed at him. “You,” she said, her voice trembling just slightly. “Back in the room.”

“Pardon?” But she was already stepping toward him, and he had no choice but to move backward. As soon as she cleared the threshold, she kicked back, catching the door and slamming it shut. “Does it lock?”

“Yes,” he said, then watched with increasing fascination as she engaged the lock and handed him the key.

She drew in a breath, looking nervous and determined and positively delicious. “I hope I’m not intruding.”

“No,” he said, feeling himself harden, and hating himself for so desperately hoping that she’d come to him in that way. “Not at all.”

“Good.” Her features relaxed a bit, and her mouth curved into a smile. “I had second thoughts,” she said.

“About what?”

“About letting you leave my room.”

Heat coursed through his veins, and he felt a wave of relief. He’d been right. Thank God, he’d been right. “I see,” he said, hoping he really did.

“Did I misunderstand?” she asked, her voice losing some of its power and taking on a vulnerable tone. “I thought you had wanted to stay. That you’d only left to be polite. Proper.” She licked her lips. “Was I wrong?”

He could practically hear his parents screaming in his head for him to send the girl back to her room. She’d had a difficult evening. She was confused. No gentleman would take advantage of her in that state.

Tucker, however, wasn’t concerned with being a gentleman. Not then. Not with her.

Slowly, he shook his head, his eyes never leaving hers. “No,” he said. “You didn’t misunderstand.” And then, when he saw the flare of heat in her eyes, he knew that he’d said exactly the right thing.