Alex stood there, looking at the coffee can. Suddenly she reached for it.
"It's only coffee, Alex," she muttered impatiently.
She read the instructions with great concentration, then spent a few minutes searching for the filters. Minutes later, the coffee was gurgling merrily into its glass carafe in the pot on the granite counter.
"Understanding" number one broken, she'd thought, almost giddily. Why not number two? There really wasn't any reason to go back upstairs and dress. Luisa was still in her rooms. She was alone here. And surely somewhere on the West Coast of the United States, another woman was about to violate the laws of civilized behavior and have her breakfast in her nightgown.
Laughter bubbled up in her throat at the silly thought. Still smiling, she padded into the dining room, to set a place for herself at the enormous black walnut table. Just then, a finger of buttery-yellow sunlight had streamed through one of the arched windows.
"To hell with it," Alex had said to the dining room, and she'd marched back into the kitchen, made herself toast, poured juice, put a cup and the pot of freshly brewed coffee on a tray and carried it out to the tiled patio, to one of the glass tables that had never held anything but cocktails and hors d'oeuvres. Her father had thought eating out of doors was a lower-class convention. Her husband had thought it uncomfortable, and she didn't even want to think what either would have said about her sitting here, in her nightgown at six something in the morning, eating a breakfast she'd prepared with her own hands.
Orange juice had never tasted sweeter, or toast more crunchy. And the coffee, when she took a first, tentative sip, was rich and delicious on her tongue.
She held the cup in two hands, letting its warmth seep into her blood, and smiled. It was foolish to feel so good about such a little series of events, but she felt good about them, anyway, as if she were taking the first steps toward reclaiming her own life.
Alex's smile slipped.
She had to stop thinking about last night, that was all. What she'd done, what she might have done, with a stranger, in a doorway-a doorway-if she hadn't come to her senses, didn't matter. She had come to her senses; that was what mattered. Wasn't it?
"Good morning, senora."
Coffee sloshed over the rim of Alex's cup. "Luisa," she said, and forced a smile. "I hope you don't mind, but I invaded your kitchen."
Luisa minded. Alex could see it in the look that flashed over her face just before she covered it with a polite smile.
"Certainly not, Senora Stuart. But if the senora was hungry, she should have awakened me."
"There was no need. And, Luisa? I know I've mentioned this before... Would you please stop addressing me that way?"
"Senora? "
"I am Ms. Thorpe, Luisa. Or Ms. Alex. Or just Alex, if you like. But I am not `Senora Stuart."'
"Oh, of course." Luisa flushed. "It's just that it was your father's preference. And your-and Mr. Carl's."
"Yes, well it's not mine," Alex said, struggling to sound pleasant.
"I'll make it a point to remember. May I bring you anything else?"
"Nothing, thank you. I'll call if I need you, Luisa."
So much for "understanding" number four, Alex thought, as the patio door swung shut. Never surprise the servants. Well, she hadn't surprised Luisa, she'd shocked her. The truth was, she'd shocked herself, too. What was wrong with her this morning? She was feeling contrary. Restless. As if what she needed to do was turn the world upside down.
Alex lifted her cup to her lips.
She'd come close enough to doing just that, last night. But that craziness, whatever it had been, was over. And she wasn't going to waste time thinking about it. It was just that she'd behaved so foolishly, setting herself up for one embarrassment after another from the moment she'd over heard those two harpies talking in the ladies' lounge at L'Orangerie.
Whatever had possessed her, to hurry to Saks and buy the clothing she'd already dumped in the corner of her closet? The lace that masqueraded as underwear. The garnet dress. And... Alex blushed. And those-those come-and-get-me shoes? She groaned and put her hand to her forehead. All of that, and for what? To prove that she could turn a man on?
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."