Color flooded her face.
How could she have planned something so sleazy? Bought a man. Let him—let him do things...
Oh, hell.
She shot to her feet and walked into the garden. It was her province. Neither her father nor Carl had understood why she'd want to get her hands dirty, tending her flowers, but they'd both tolerated it, even shared amused, masculine smiles over what they'd referred to as her hobby. But it was more than that, to Alex. There was something wonderfully restorative about trimming the impatiens or coaxing the roses to bloom. She loved the riot of colors, the crimsons and pinks and deep yellows. And the flowers' perfumes were wonderful, better by far than any of the scents trapped in the expensive designer vials lined up on the vanity table in her bedroom.
The impatiens were a bit ragged. Alex bent down and began snapping their heads. The phlox needed tending, too....
She went still. Then she puffed out her breath and stood up.
Who was she kidding? She could prepare a dozen more breakfasts, tend her flowers until the sun was high in the sky, but she still wouldn't get rid of the memories. Travis Baron was still lodged in her head, damn him. Those knowing eyes. That little smile. Was the humiliation of last night going to haunt her for the rest of her life?
Probably.
People had seen. Not what had happened in that doorway, thank goodness, but the rest of it—her outrageous bid, the way he'd held her when they danced, that kiss...
Oh, goodness, that kiss.
People had seen, and they'd talk. They'd laugh. They'd tease. And she'd have to laugh right along with them, smile and think of something suitably clever and outrageous to say so no one would have reason to imagine either the man or the kiss had meant anything to her, because they hadn't.
"They didn't," Alex said. She sat down at the table and picked up her cup.
Those things he'd done to her. Cheap things. Awful things. She'd never have let him do them, if she'd been thinking straight. What women would? Well, some women, maybe. But she was not one of them. And if Carl-if any manwanted to call a woman frigid because she wouldn't lie and pretend sex was more than something-something men wanted that was vaguely unhygienic ... well, that was the man's problem. Not the woman's.
No intelligent person could really believe that a woman who'd never cried out in a man's arms was, somehow, less than she might be.
She had cried out, though. Last night, in Travis Baron's arms, she'd cried out, she'd felt things, wanted things....
The cup shook in Alex's hand. She put it down carefully. There was no sense in thinking about it. Hadn't she wasted most of the night, doing exactly that? All the recriminations in the world wouldn't change what had happened.
"Well," she'd say, with a big smile, when people teased her, "it was for charity, after all."
There'd surely be those who'd noticed the way she was dressed, that she'd never worn anything so-so obvious in her life, but no one in her circle would be indiscreet enough to comment.
Not to her face, anyway.
And she'd survive. Thorpeses always did. People would forget, and so would she. Soon, she wouldn't remember any of the details of the night. None of them. Not Travis Baron's name, or his face, or the way he'd kissed her. Or the way that cruel-looking mouth had managed to take hers with such heart-stopping hunger. He'd be out of her head, out of her dreams...
Her dreams.
Alex folded her trembling hands in her lap. She had just remembered her dream. And, God, she wished she hadn't.
She'd dreamed she was standing in the entry hall of Thorpe House...
Only it wasn't Thorpe House. It was a castle, and she was alone in the hall, waiting for something. For someone. Her hair streamed over her shoulders. Her feet were bare. And her heart, beneath her plain white gown, beat so fast, so hard, she could feel it in her throat.
Suddenly, the massive doors of the castle burst open. A huge black charger filled the doorway. On its back was a knight in black armor. His hair was sun-gilded, his eyes emerald-green.
The Black Knight was Travis Baron, and he had come for her. He was heaven and earth, he was all the fires of hell, and in her dream, Alex had known, without question, that she'd be destroyed if she let him take her...
"Ms. Thorpe?"
Alex swung around.
"Luisa." She gave a choked laugh. "You, ah, you startled me."
"I'm sorry. I only came to see if you were done with your breakfast." Luisa's lips thinned. "I've cleaned up my kitchen but I'd like to tidy up out here, if it's all the same to you."
"Don't worry about the patio, Luisa. I'll take care of it."
"Oh, no, senora. Ms. Thorpe. I could never allow you to—"
"Luisa," Alex said brightly, "how's that sister of yours in—was it Santa Barbara?"