Perfect Timing: Those Were the Days / Pistols at Dawn / Time After Time

“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.

Her body reacted, melting against him even as her head screamed for her not to give in, to take charge. To take him.

But the connection between mind and body had been severed. She was losing herself to the sensations. His mouth. His hands. The way his fingers stole down the pajama top, managing to combine skill and fumbling as he unfastened the buttons and freed her breasts.

His hands cupped them, his thumbs rubbing her rockhard nipples. She tilted her head back and lost herself to the pleasure. And it was good. His touch, the heat that coursed through her, the trembling in her belly. Nothing dangerous. Nothing scary.

But also nothing in her control.

It’s okay to give up control when you want to. The words ricocheted through her head, and she told herself they were true. Martin had taken her control away. Here, she was giving it freely to Tucker.