“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