Perfect Timing

“Doctor?” the girl said. “Am I okay?”

Dr. Williams stood up, stroking his chin. “Your pulse is a bit fast, but not of a level to raise concern. Your pupils are responding properly to light and your reflexes are perfectly normal. Except for your dizzy spells and your inability to remember how you got here, I’d have to say you seem like a perfectly healthy young woman.”

“Thank you,” she said, with obvious relief.

“I do need to ask you some questions now, though. I conducted the physical examination, first, to rule out any injuries or illnesses. But now—”

“You want to check my head. I get it.”

Williams’s smile was gentle, and Tucker found himself grateful he was treating the woman with such care. Intellectually, he knew that was a ridiculous reaction. The woman had appeared mysteriously in his drawing room, dressed in dark clothes and unknown to any of his friends or guests. A logical guess was that she intended to steal from them, just as Jonathan had suggested. Their kiss, however, had told him otherwise. The press of her lips against his had been a reaction filled with need and desire, but also with honesty. And the longing that had fired his blood had been like nothing he’d experienced before.

Logic, therefore, had very little hold on Tucker at the moment. He was, quite simply, infatuated. More, he knew—from her face and from her touch—that she did not intend any harm for him or his family. She was in trouble. She needed him.

And, in truth, he needed her, too. He didn’t understand the depth of feeling that coursed through him, but he knew that it was real.

“Ask me anything,” the girl was saying to Dr. Williams.

“Do you know what your name is?”

“Sylvia,” she said, and Tucker couldn’t help but notice that she didn’t volunteer her last name.

“A pleasure to meet you, Sylvia,” Dr. Williams said. “Do you know our president?”

The girl laughed, a little nervously. “Do I look like a girl who moves in those social circles?”

Tucker laughed, and the doctor joined in.

“I don’t mean to be flip,” Sylvia said. “But I’m fine. Truly. Just a little dizzy. I was disoriented, but I’m better now.”

“But you came for Louisa,” Blythe said. “And we don’t know a Louisa.”

“I met her at a party,” Sylvia said. “Perhaps I misunderstood her last name. Or perhaps she was playing a trick on me.”

“Why would she do that?” Tucker asked.

“I don’t know.”

“Can you stand?” That from the doctor.

She drew in a breath. “I think so.” She started to climb to her feet, taking Tucker’s outstretched arm when he offered it to her. “Yes,” she said. “See, I’m much better.” She kept clinging to his arm, though, a fact that didn’t trouble Tucker at all.

“And do you know where you live, my dear?” the doctor asked.

“Doctor, of course. You’re acting as if no one has ever fainted before,” she said with a charming smile. To Tucker’s eyes, though, the smile didn’t seem to reach her core. She was, he realized, lying. Or at least not telling them the full truth.

“How’s your head?” he asked. “Anna will have made a place for you by now in one of the guest rooms. We should let you get some sleep.”

“Oh,” she said. “I couldn’t. I mean, I should…” She trailed off with a frown.

“You should?”

“I was just going to say that I should go home. But—”

“Later,” he said, determined to keep her there. “It’s late, and I wouldn’t feel right letting you travel in your condition. She should stay for the night, shouldn’t she, Blythe?”

Blythe’s eyes shifted with remarkable speed from surprise to delight. “Absolutely,” Blythe said. “You can stay as long as you need until you’re feeling better.” She took Sylvia’s other arm and shot a triumphant smile toward Tucker.

He wanted to tell her not to be melodramatic. He was simply concerned for the girl. He was acting out of chivalry, not romance.

But even had they been alone, he couldn’t have said any of that. Because the truth was that from the first moment he’d seen her on his floor, Sylvia had fascinated him more than any of the women giggling and dancing in his ballroom or on his veranda. Until he knew why—until he’d explored the possibilities with this woman—Tucker didn’t intend to let her get away.

TIME TRAVEL.

Sylvia sat at the foot of the bed, her silk-clad knees hugged to her chest, as she let the words flit through her head one more time.

Time travel.

Could it really be possible?

Considering she was sitting here in a bedroom of the Greene mansion—which was clearly not doubling as a museum—wearing silk pajamas and listening to the dying strains of “Has Anybody Seen My Girl” played on a scratchy phonograph somewhere in the house…well, she had to admit that the idea of time travel was feeling pretty damn plausible.

She got up and paced, loving the feel of the soft pajamas against her skin. Blythe had told her to help herself to anything in the room, and she’d taken the girl at her word, pulling on the decadently soft outfit, like something she’d find in a vintage-clothing store, and certainly not like the ratty T-shirt and panties she wore to bed in her own time.

No, these pajamas made her feel feminine. Sexy even, and she felt her cheeks heat at the thought—and at the image of the man that flashed into her head. Tucker Greene. And not the vague concept of him, either, as some force in Hollywood. No, this Tucker Greene was flesh and blood and devilishly sexy. Their kiss had fired her blood, heated her soul. And although she’d not been thinking clearly when she’d put her mouth to his, now her thoughts were focused and clean. She wanted him. She wanted him with a fury like nothing she’d ever felt before.

She’d been attracted to many men in her life, but none so strongly—or so instantaneously—as Tucker. Under the circumstances, the attraction seemed bizarre. After all, she was time-traveling here. Sex should be the last thing on her mind. And, honestly, it was. But even through the haze of confusion, her body had tingled with his proximity, and she’d mourned a little when Blythe and Anna had escorted her to this room.

“God, you’re as bad as Tina,” she whispered to herself, getting up to pace the room and force the prurient thoughts from her head. She was in another decade. Another millennium, for that matter. Best she focus on that, and forget about the supersexy man of the house. At least for the moment.

Resolved, she made a quick pass of the room, confirming what she already knew: no television, no digital alarm clock, not even a radio even though she was certain radios existed in the twenties. But back then the family had gathered around it, right? And they all sat together like a family listening to The Shadow or Jack Benny or whoever it was that was around during that time. Honestly, if she’d known she was going to be time-traveling, she would have paid more attention in history class. Or at least watched The History Channel more often.

Time travel. Now that was something for the Discovery Channel, and unfortunately she hadn’t watched much of that, either. She still couldn’t quite grasp it, despite all the evidence. Her hesitation probably made sense. After all, the whole concept wasn’t exactly within the realm of normal.

She should be in shock. Freaking out. Borderline hysterical. That was the proper way to act when the unimaginable happened to you, right? Except she wasn’t any of those things, because to Sylvia, the situation wasn’t unimaginable at all. Instead, it was the culmination of all her dreams.

That was the real reason she couldn’t quite wrap her head around the concept. Because if it were true—if she had really traveled through time—then all of her hopes and fantasies really had come true. And that seemed like too much to wish for.

With a sigh, she sat back on the bed, the intricately embroidered pillows propped behind her back. It was true. Being here meant that all those afternoons of wishing she could be swept away to a different land—of wishing she could find the magic wardrobe and Aslan the King—had paid off.

Dear God. She’d finally gotten her childhood wish, but it had come too damn late. Martin had been dead for years now. If Fate was going to toss her backward by almost a century, then why in hell couldn’t it have happened when she truly needed the escape?

She got off the bed and started pacing again. She had to get back, of course. She had a fabulous job she was supposed to start in the morning. Not that she had a clue how to get back.

Still, she had to figure out a way. She had obligations and a life that she’d fought for tooth and nail despite the specter of Martin always hanging over her shoulder. He may have tried to screw up her life—both literally and figuratively—but in the end she’d come out on top. She’d aced every school she’d attended, and the bidding war when she’d graduated law school had been a beauty to behold. She was a success now—one hundred percent—and that was all in spite of Martin Straithorn.

Of course, just thinking his name made her shiver, and she rubbed her hands over her arms, trying to make the goose bumps disappear. “So much for coming out on top,” she whispered, the sound of her voice making her feel a little crazy because, honestly, who talked to themselves?

All of a sudden, she wished Tina were there. That wish, however, wasn’t going to come true. Sylvia was all alone, just as she had been so much of her life. Alone, and always running away.

She paused for a moment, her mind in a whirl as she thought about how she’d run toward academia and work, even while she was running away from Martin and the memories. She’d used her work to substitute for a relationship because she couldn’t handle the intimacy. She couldn’t handle the give and take that came with an honest relationship with a man, because all Martin ever did was take. She knew that. Her motivations were so clear any Psych 101 student could see them.

But knowing and changing were two different things. Blame the man, sure. But she still had to wriggle out from under his thumb.

She just wasn’t sure how to do that.

She’d reached the window and now looked blankly down toward the manicured lawn, watching the men in suits and the women in colorful dresses flit away into the night.

One turned, looking up toward her window. Tucker. She gasped, realizing her heart had started pounding double time. She didn’t even know the man, and yet his touch had fired her blood.

Pheromones. She’d learned all about them in biology. Their effect on fruit flies, animals and, of course, people.

Sexual attraction, chemistry, lust at first sight. Whatever you called it, it was real. Scientifically established. Her body chemistry reacted to his. That was all. That was what had compelled her to kiss him.

But she couldn’t help wondering if his body reacted the same way to hers, although she was pretty sure it had. There’d been real passion in his kiss, after all.

She smiled a little at the possibility, at the same time thinking that she must be an idiot. Because how many girls who found themselves thrust into the 1920s spent their time lusting after a man instead of trying to figure out how to get back home?

She didn’t know the answer. But even with the question hanging out there, she knew one thing—she wanted Tucker Greene.

The thought took her a little aback. Sure, she’d been attracted to guys on and off all her life. After all, Martin may have screwed up her ability to communicate sexually, but he hadn’t put a dent in her ability to lust after a man. But she’d never felt for a guy anything like what she now felt for Tucker. A desperate longing. An almost physical need. The sense that if she couldn’t touch him again, the world would never shift back and everything would be slightly off-kilter from now until the end of time.

Melodramatic, but that was how she felt. And because of that, she took a deep breath and allowed herself to consider the decadent little thought that had been seeking entrance to her mind: Tina’s words, loud and clear in her head. “Find a man you want and take charge. No strings, no expectations. Just make it all about Sylvia. Get exactly what you want from the guy. And once you do that, you’ll be free of Martin. I promise.”

Tina’s plan 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!”

“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.

SYLVIA COULDN’T believe she’d done it.

After he’d left her room, she’d cursed herself, trying to talk herself into following him. She’d never expected to convince herself, though. And the fact that she had—that she’d actually ended up outside Tucker’s door—both delighted and baffled her.

Fantasy, she reminded herself. She wasn’t even born yet. This wasn’t real, no matter how much it might feel real. This was just a chance. A chance to be in charge. A chance to work out the demons of her personal past here in the temporal past. Because right now she should have no demons. Martin didn’t exist any more than she did. All that mattered in this world was her and Tucker and that zing of desire she’d felt arc between them.

Fulfill the promise embedded in that zing, and she could go back to her own time with a new confidence. The kind of confidence she’d wanted to take with her to Los Angeles, leaving her sexual shyness behind with Dwight in San Francisco.

That had to be why the guard had sent her here, after all. Because she was certain he had sent her. All that talk about the past, and then the business with the coin. She didn’t know how he did it. But she was absolutely certain that the exhibit guard was responsible.

Only time would tell if she should thank him or curse him. But as she stood there looking at Tucker, her heart was filled only with gratitude. And desire.

“I convinced myself I needed to come after you,” she said, distilling the lecture she’d given herself in her room to its most basic components.

“I’m glad you did,” he said.

“Are you?” she moved toward him, her voice low, her body humming.

“You may think me very ungentlemanly, but I’ve craved you from the first moment I saw you.” He’d moved even closer to her as he spoke, and now he was mere inches away, so close she could feel the heat of his skin, and the scent of him made her light-headed.

More than his proximity, though, it was his words that thrilled her, firing her confidence. “Kiss me,” she said boldly, forcing the demand out before she could stop herself.

He didn’t give her any time to change her mind. The request had barely left her lips when his mouth blocked any further words. His lips were soft, yet firm, and captured her fully. One hand snaked around her waist, and the other held the back of her head, holding her captive as his tongue sought entrance and explored the heat of her mouth.