Carrying the Blanchard ledgers and receipts Rhine wanted her to review, Portia decided to check on Regan before heading to her office. She knocked on the connecting door to her sister’s room and when Regan answered, stepped inside. Unlike her own neat-as-a-pin living quarters, Regan’s always resembled the aftermath of a storm. All the gowns she must have considered wearing last night were lying across the bed and over the backs of chairs, the shoe choices covered the floor, and her vanity table was a chaos of face paints, hair brushes, and combs. Accustomed to the sight, Portia ignored it and concentrated on the sadness in her sister’s eyes. “How are you feeling?”
Dressed in a shirt and denims, Regan, standing in front of the open French doors, shrugged. “I’ll be better eventually, I suppose.”
“We’ll all miss him.”
“He’s the first person to die that I truly loved.”
“I know.” Portia couldn’t imagine a world without the crusty old horse wrangler who’d been such an important part of their life. Fifteen years ago when they moved to the Territory, he’d given them their first mares. Because of his lessons, she and Regan could ride hell-bent for leather and clear fences without fear. She could still hear his voice in her mind. Horses don’t care if you’re girls. They just want to know you can ride! “No one will fault you if you want to spend the day in your room.”
“No, I have a few deliveries to make. He wouldn’t want me in here moping.”
Portia agreed. Because of the strength he’d instilled in them, coupled with the fearlessness they’d learned from Eddy and Rhine, she and her sister felt capable of weathering any storm, and they’d weather this one, too. “If you need me, I’ll be in my office.”
Regan nodded and Portia closed the door softly.
Seated in her office with the doors that led outdoors open to the warmth and breeze of the afternoon, Portia pored over Mr. Blanchard’s books, looking for anything that might prove problematic to Rhine’s purchase of his ranch. She knew there wasn’t, but according to her uncle, Blanchard’s son-in-law, Charlie Landry, had hired someone to review the books, and Portia didn’t want anything found that required an explanation. With that in mind, she double-checked payroll records, bank deposits, supply orders, and everything else, and when done, she was satisfied that the ledgers would pass muster. She stood and stretched to get the kink out of her spine. Hearing the ringing of an axe, she assumed Bailey Durham the wood chopper had finally shown up to do his job. He wasn’t the most reliable worker and where he’d been for the past week was anyone’s guess. Unlocking the small strongbox she kept in the bottom drawer of her desk, she counted out what he was owed for his services and left her office to pay him.
But it wasn’t Durham. It was Kent attired in denims and the shirt portion of a gray union suit. The sleeves were pushed up past his elbows and he was swinging the axe with accurate authority. Over by the breezeway she spotted Gabriella Salinas and Rosalie Cork, two of the young women from the kitchen, spying on him with girlish adoration. Portia couldn’t fault them. He was gloriously made, an attribute Portia rarely commented on even inwardly. The girls met her eyes, grinned, and quickly ducked back inside.
He worked the axe free and was preparing to swing again when he finally noticed her. Pausing, he took a moment to wipe the sweat from his brow with his sleeve. “Duchess.”
She also didn’t want to admit the way her senses fluttered when he addressed her thus, a completely different reaction from when she was twelve. “I heard the axe. I thought it was Bailey Durham.”
“He the guy who usually does this?”
She nodded. “I came to pay him.”
“Ah.” He raised the axe and lowered it again. Tossed the split wood onto the pile and began again. “How’s your sister?”
“She’s doing okay. Mr. Blanchard wouldn’t want her holed up in her room being sad so she’s going to take care of some deliveries.”
“Only met him last night, but I liked him because of the way he stood up for you when Day complained about your uppity mouth.”
His eyes were on her mouth and she swallowed with a suddenly dry throat.
He went back to chopping. “Blanchard told him you’d marry a man who appreciated your mouth and if Day didn’t, he should take himself out of the running. And I agree.”
Her senses leapt like flames. Did that mean he was considering a run for her, too? For a woman determined to remain unmarried, her reactions to him were slowly tearing down the walls she’d encased herself in and she wasn’t sure what to do with that.
His next words threw her further off balance. “Rhine asked me to be foreman once he buys Blanchard’s place. You and I will need to get together so I can learn how you run the dude ranch.”
“Of course. Whenever you’re ready we can discuss it.” She could hardly keep her walls intact if circumstances kept plotting to throw them together.
He brought the axe down again and she fed her eyes on the way his strong hands gripped the handle and the play of the muscles in his arms.
Gabriella walked up carrying a jug of water. “Mr. Randolph, Mrs. Fontaine thought you might need this,” she said. “Rather warm today.”
“Thanks.” He took the offering and the smile he turned on young woman seemed to melt her where she stood.
“You’re welcome.”
Seeing Portia watching her, she said, “I should get back to work.”
“Wait,” he called to her. “What’s your name?”
“Gabriella Salinas.”
“Thanks again, Gabriella. Tell Mrs. Fontaine thanks, too.”
“I will,” she tittered as she hurried away.
He raised the jug and took a long drink. A trickle of the water slid down the corner of his mouth and Portia, struck by the urge to lap it up, unconsciously ran her tongue over her lips.
“Do you want some, Duchess?”
His voice was as soft and filled with intent as she imagined a lover’s invitation might be. Startled, she shook her head. “No. I—I have to get back to my office.”
As she fled from him for the second time that day, she didn’t see his knowing smile when he hefted the axe and returned to work.
At dinner that evening, Portia sat across from him at the table, still thinking about her reaction to him and the water jug. She hazarded a look his way and he smiled. Whatever she was coming down with must be serious for her to imagine licking him like a tamed cat. Or a lover, quipped an inner voice she’d never heard before. That caught her so off guard, she dropped her fork and it clattered onto her plate.
“Something wrong, Portia?” Eddy asked from her seat at the table.
“No. Just clumsiness on my part. Sorry.” Embarrassed, she kept her eyes from Kent’s but his presence continued to plague her and she was at a loss as to how to make it stop.
Regan’s voice distracted her from her inner turmoil. “I told everyone on my route today about Mr. Blanchard’s wake. If all the people who said they’d be stopping by to pay their respects actually come, there won’t be enough room in his parlor.”
“He was well loved,” Rhine said.
“He was,” Regan replied somberly. “But you know each time I thought about him today, it was about something that made me smile.” She looked over at Portia. “Remember when we were chased by those hornets and had to jump in the pond to escape them?”
She laughed, “I do. Why he didn’t wait to smoke them out at night like Tana told him I’ll never know.”
Regan supplied the answer. “Stubborn.”
Portia nodded.
“Who was Tana?” Kent asked.
“An Apache who worked for him,” Portia said. “The nest was a good size and it was right under the lip of the porch, so Mr. Blanchard got a ladder—”
“Which Portia and I were holding,” Regan added.
Portia grinned. “He lit a torch, climbed the ladder, and tried to set the nest on fire.”
Regan laughed, “Those hornets came tearing out of that nest and we dropped the ladder at the same time that he jumped down. They chased us all the way to the pond.”
Eddy took up the tale, “The girls came home soaking wet from their braids to their boots.”
Regan said, “Tana laughed so hard he fell on the ground.”
Kent asked, “Does he still work at the ranch?”
Rhine replied solemnly, “No. He joined Geronimo when he escaped from San Carlos back in ’81. Blanchard said he was killed in Mexico during a gun battle with the 6th Cavalry.”
Portia remembered how saddened he’d been by the news. She and Regan had been as well. The old Apache taught them many things about life in their new home, and because he refused to speak English, they even spoke a bit of the Apache language.
Kent asked, “So what’s the situation with Geronimo now? I think every newspaper in the country covered his surrender last year.”
“Tenuous at best,” Rhine said. “There are rumors that he’s ready to bolt again. Can’t blame him. His people are penned up like animals, dying from disease and starvation—soldiers torturing them for sport. I wonder what we Americans would do if somebody with bigger guns invaded us and started stealing our land and killing our kin. We’d go on the warpath, too, I’d bet.”
Portia agreed. For the past thirty years the Apache had been doing their best to retake the land their people had lived on for as long as they could remember. Portia couldn’t condone the killing and raiding they’d been doing in retaliation, but because the government had broken treaty after treaty, the old chiefs like Geronimo and Cochise felt they had no other choice.
“Have you finished reviewing Blanchard’s ledgers?” her uncle asked, interrupting her thoughts and changing the subject.
“I have and everything is in order.”
“Good. I’ll turn them over to the Landry’s bookkeeper in the morning. Once the sale is finalized Kent will be our foreman.”
“He mentioned it earlier.” She gave him a quick glance.
“The sooner the two of you can discuss how the place is run, the better.”
“How about after we’re done here, Portia?” Kent asked.
Portia froze. Lord knew she wanted to come up with an excuse to delay it. Her reaction to him by the woodpile had left her scandalized enough to last a lifetime, but she knew she had no legitimate reason to weasel out of it. “That would be fine. We can use my office.”
“Okay.”
Again, she caught herself staring at his lips, the slope of his beard-brushed jaw, his eyes. She quickly dropped her gaze but not before noticing Eddy’s slightly raised eyebrow and the silent look she and Rhine passed between themselves. Pretending there was nothing amiss, Portia took a sip of her wine, set the goblet down with a slightly shaky hand, and returned to her meal.
After dinner, she and Regan were in the kitchen cleaning up. Portia was doing her best to ignore the amused look her sister had been wearing since entering, but unable to bear it any longer, she said, “Okay. Out with it. You obviously have something to say.”
Hands in the soapy water as she washed the dishes, Regan replied, “Who me?”
“Yes, you. Tell me before I bash you over the head with this last chicken leg.”
They shared a smile and Regan mused aloud, “I wonder how long you’d be sentenced by a judge for such a fowl deed.”
“Lord, save me,” Portia groaned in response to the terrible pun, and she shook the leg at Regan. “Tell me!”
“I was just watching you and Kent.”
“And?”
Regan mimed pulling back the string on a bow and letting an invisible arrow fly. “Right between the eyes.”
Portia shook her head. “So now you’re a mime?”
“No, I’m Cupid and don’t pretend you’ve no idea what I mean. You were looking at the man like he was a piece of chocolate cake.”
Portia put the last of the leftover chicken in a bowl, covered it with a plate and placed it in the cold box. “I was not.”
“Yes, you were. Aunt Eddy and Uncle Rhine saw it, too. It’s nothing to be ashamed of. Kent’s terribly handsome.”
Portia picked up a kitchen towel and busied herself drying the wet dishes Regan had set in the drain.
“So you aren’t going to admit he’s handsome either?” Regan asked.
“I don’t have to admit anything to you, Regan Marie.” They were playfully bantering the way they’d been doing their entire lives.
“Just wait until he pulls you into a corner and kisses you until your garters catch fire.”
“You’re always so scandalous.”
“You’re going to be scandalous, too, when he cracks your highly prized control like a dropped hen’s egg.”
“That will not happen.”
Regan studied her and said earnestly, “You need a nice man in your life, sister mine.”
“My life is fine just the way it is.”
“Okay,” Regan said softly. “I just want you to be happy, Portia. You’ve earned it. We both have.”
“I’ve been happy since the day Aunt Eddy and Uncle Rhine saved us. I don’t need anything more.”
Regan nodded and went back to washing. Her solemnity pulled at Portia’s heart but they finished the rest of the task in silence.
Seated in her office while waiting for Kent to join her, Portia thought back on her sister’s words and on the incident at the woodpile. What’s wrong with me? She was twenty-seven years old, far past the age of being rendered mindless by a man, yet here she sat. Granted Kent was more handsome than a man had a right to be, but what she sensed about him beneath the surface was attractive as well. He was funny, treated her respectfully, and unlike some of the other men she knew, he didn’t think her odd or less than a woman for managing the hotel. In fact, he seemed quite impressed by her business sense, and during the party, he’d even brought her a piece of cake. A small thing yes, but it had been a kind gesture nonetheless. However, she had life planned out with the goal of forming her own bookkeeping business at some point in the near future, and a man wouldn’t be penciled into the ledger, no matter how tempting she thought him to be. Having always prided herself on approaching difficult situations head-on she spent a few moments mulling over her options. It occurred to her that her thoughts about children building up an immunity to the pox might be a solution. Maybe if she asked him to kiss her, it would feed her attraction enough to bring about a cure for what ailed her. Lord knew she needed one because she’d never wanted to lick a man’s mouth before in her life. Her mind slid back to the image of the water trailing sinuously down corners of his lips and when her senses rose again, she hastily forced the image away. Yes, she needed a cure because the sooner she did away with this distracting attraction the better off she’d be.
Kent assumed that when he and Portia met to talk about the dude ranch, she would sit behind her desk, tell him what he needed to know, and send him on his merry way, but he wanted to spend some time with her, preferably away from her office. Even though he was supposed to be keeping his distance, he wanted to know her better. He was intrigued by both her beauty and the intense smarts underneath. She was no meek wallflower waiting to be picked and he liked that, too. He wondered if she’d be agreeable to talking outside. There were still a few hours of daylight left and they could conduct their business at one of the tables. That way he could enjoy her along with the view of the mountains and the cooling breeze. He might even be able to make her smile. He got the impression she didn’t share her smile much outside of family, so when he stuck his head in her office, he asked, “How about we talk outdoors? It’s too nice an evening to be cooped up inside.” He saw her hesitate.
She finally responded. “Sure, okay.”
Outside, they sat at the table opposite each other. As he savored the sight of her and the sounds of the breeze playing against the leaves, he said, “This is much better than being inside, don’t you think?”
“I do.”
“So, tell me what I need to know.”
Rhine had already given him a brief explanation of how the dude ranch worked, but Portia’s was more detailed. In truth though, only part of him was listening because the others were wondering how she’d react if he kissed her, what scent she wore hidden beneath the high collared blouses she favored, and how he might go about achieving answers to those questions.
“Kent? Are you listening?”
“Sorry. Got distracted there for a moment. Did you ask me something?”
“Yes. Do you know any stories about outlaws, ghosts, or lost gold? It’s something the guests look forward to around the campfire during supper.”
“I do.”
The look on her face said she didn’t believe him.
“Do you know the ‘Legend of La Llorana’?”
“No.”
He deepened his voice and slowed the cadence. “A woman in white drags helpless children to a screaming watery death.”
She looked so startled he almost smiled. “Or, I could tell the story of the hell dogs of Eldorado where large ferocious ghost dogs haunt the abandoned mines in Nevada. You can hear them dragging their chains, but you never see them.”
He continued. “El Muerte, the headless horseman. He rides the plains of Texas with his severed head hanging from his saddle.” He grabbed her arm and she jumped.
“Stop that,” she demanded with a laugh. She studied him for a long moment. “How many stories like that do you know?”
He enjoyed surprising her again. “A fair amount. I worked on a spread in Montana and there was an old cook who had more tales than a porcupine has spines. He kept us entertained on the long winter nights. Impressed?”
“Yes. That’s just the type of story the guests will want. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome. I like impressing you. Only because it seems most men don’t. Impress you I mean.”
“I want you to kiss me.”
Caught off guard, he froze. “I’m sorry. I must’ve misheard you. Say that again.”
She looked irritated. “I want you to kiss me.”
“May I ask why?”
“I need to cure myself of whatever these feelings are I’m starting to have for you, and don’t ask me what feelings. You know what I mean.”
“I do,” he said as he studied her gorgeous ebony face. She looked so put out he wanted to smile but kept his features bland. “Have you ever been kissed before?”
“No.”
“Then I should warn you that this probably won’t cure you, Duchess. In fact, it might make matters worse.”
“I don’t think it will.”
He sat back and folded his arms. “And you think this because . . .”
“Once I know what it feels like I should be able to manage it from now on.”
“Like you manage a ledger or the hotel?”
“Maybe not quite the same thing, but in a way, yes.”
“Woman, you are going to be in so much trouble.”
She refused to meet his eyes and he couldn’t help the soft chuckle that slipped out. “So much trouble.” As the silence lengthened he asked, “Are you sure about this?”
“I am.”
Kent pondered the proposal for a second or two, weighed the pros and cons and, because he couldn’t come up with any of the latter, said, “Okay. Get your horse. Let’s go for a ride. If Rhine sees us kissing, he’ll geld me.” Maybe one con. “And, Duchess, this isn’t going to be a Sunday school peck on the cheek. Do you still want to do this?”
“Yes.”
Portia left him and went inside and found Rhine and Eddy in the sitting room. “I’m going to show Kent the waterfall. We’ll be back shortly.”
Interest filled their eyes, but before they could react further, she went to her room to change into a riding skirt. With that accomplished, she quickly headed to the stables to saddle her mare, Arizona. This is going to be a real kiss from a real man. Second thoughts about her plan began to rise. What if he was right about a kiss only making matters worse? A part of her wanted to turn tail and run but she had never run from anything and was not about to start now. She could handle this.
When she rode up he was on his stallion waiting beneath the big wooden arch that held the sign with the hotel’s name.
As she neared, his roan reared in challenge, but Kent kept his seat easily. “Stop showing off,” he said to the stallion, but it reared again, eyes on the mare, and Arizona backed away.
Kent told Portia. “He’s just letting your mare know he’s interested. How old is she?”
“Four.”
“She ever been mounted?”
The question had Portia’s second thoughts flooding her mind, but she managed to answer, “No. Can we go now?”
He touched his hat. “After you.”
She turned Arizona and they rode at a slow pace away from the hotel. Her mare had never been mounted and neither had she. As the daughter of a prostitute, Portia had witnessed her mother coupling with men on more than a few occasions. Because their one-bedroom shack had been so small, it was nearly impossible to avoid. She remembered her mother’s dispassionate face as the grunting men rutted over her with their pants pulled down and their behinds bared. It was an activity she’d vowed to avoid because it hadn’t looked pleasurable or pleasant. In fact, her mother didn’t seem to feel anything at all, leaving the then young Portia with the impression that it was an emotionless exercise. But being around Eddy and Rhine showed her how wrong her impressions had been. Her aunt and uncle loved and cared for each other in a way she would probably never know. Their connection was so passionate it was almost embarrassing to be around them sometimes. But Portia didn’t want passion from Kent, just a kiss so she’d know what it felt like, and once that was accomplished, her inner curiosity would be satisfied and she’d be fine.
When they reached the spot she’d picked out, she pulled back on Arizona’s reins. The gray rock canyon was one of her favorite places because it held the waterfall she and her sister had named Carmichael Falls. She dismounted. Leaving Arizona to graze on the sparse grass she walked towards the falls.
He dismounted and came up beside her, “Nice spot.”
“We bring the guests here. Many have never seen a waterfall and they’re always awed by the sight.”
“Can you get closer to the water?”
“Only on foot. Regan and I used to come here when we were younger and swim in the pool below. It’s quite a hike to thread your way through the canyons but well worth it.”
“Never pegged you for a swimmer.”
“Why not?”
He shrugged. “You seem too serious for something as carefree as swimming.”
“I have my moments.”
“Sorry. Didn’t mean to offend you.”
Portia was terribly nervous and she didn’t like it. She was a lot more confident when in control of herself and the situation. “Let’s get this over with. I told Eddy and Rhine we’d be back shortly.” When he shook his head and smiled, she asked, “What?”
“This isn’t something you rush into if you want to do it right. I assume you do want to do it right.”
Portia didn’t know what she wanted but, grabbing hold of her nerves, she replied with a firmness she didn’t feel. “Yes.”
“Okay, come walk with me.” He held out his hand.
She glanced down at it and then back up into his eyes. Reminding herself that she’d asked for this, she placed her hand in his and the sweet warmth that slid into her blood made her tremble both inside and out. He upped the ante by gently threading his fingers through hers and it felt so natural it was almost terrifying to a woman who’d spent her entire life certain she’d never be moved by any man. When he raised her hand and placed a soft kiss on her fingertips, her emotions swelled with such force her legs wobbled and her eyes closed for a long second. When they opened again, his were waiting but he didn’t speak. Still holding her hand, he started for the canyon.
There were a few trees lining the canyon’s lip and he stopped them there. Usually the sight of the water cascading down was enough to steal her breath, but because of his presence and what was about to come, the vista barely registered.
“So,” he said softly. “Let’s give you this kiss . . .”
He released her hand and when he slowly traced a finger down her cheek, the resulting spark was so startling, she jumped.
Amusement shone in his eyes. “I can see you’re going to manage this real well, Duchess.”
She came to her own defense. “You—you surprised me. I thought you were going to kiss me not touch me.”
“Touching’s important sometimes. You don’t want a man to just grab you and plant his lips on yours. There’s no passion in that.”
“I don’t want pass . . .” The word died as his finger boldly traced her bottom lip. All thought fled.
“I don’t think this uppity mouth knows what it wants,” he husked out, and when he kissed her what little control Portia still possessed tumbled away like wind-blown autumn leaves.
“Make your lips soft, baby.”
Mindless, she complied and was swept away. He taught her thoroughly and completely just what a kiss entailed, and no, she’d had no idea. The heat in it, the fire in it made her moan in response. She didn’t know when he eased her in against his body but it felt so right she wanted his strength closer. She wrapped her arms around him and hoped the large hand moving slowly and possessively up and down the back of her blouse wouldn’t stop. Her lips parted of their own accord giving his searing tongue access to hers, and it cajoled, seduced, and tutored until she was mimicking the lesson willingly. Breathless, she wanted to be kissed by him forever, only to have him gently turn her loose and step away.
It took a few moments for Portia’s mind to climb up from wherever the kiss had sent it and for her eyes to open. When they did, he was there.
“Now you’ve been kissed . . . with passion.”
She couldn’t deny it but told herself she didn’t have to like it, even though she had. Very much.
“Still think you can manage what you felt like a ledger or the hotel?”
“I’m ready to go back.”
“Made things worse, didn’t it? Told you so. I can give you another if you think it might help.”
“I’m leaving.” If she didn’t, she’d be begging for more and she was already appalled enough by her uninhibited response.
“Okay, but I did enjoy kissing your uppity mouth. You’re a very passionate woman, Duchess.”
She turned and stalked back the way they’d come.
As they rode home in silence Kent decided he was going to have a real difficult time staying away from her after this. She had no idea how tempting she’d looked with her eyes closed and her mouth swollen from his kisses. He’d had to turn her loose to stop them from slipping into territory not ready to be explored. She was far more passionate than she knew and her uncle notwithstanding, he wanted to be the man to gently coax that passion to the surface. He wasn’t sure how to accomplish that and not be turned into a eunuch but he was thoroughly captivated by the force of nature known as Miss Portia Carmichael, so he’d figure it out. He glanced over. Outwardly, she was tight-lipped but looked none the worse for wear. He wondered what might be going on inside, though. Was the kiss still resonating within her as it was for him? Would she continue to fight the passion she’d allowed herself to enjoy, and what might it be like when she surrendered to it fully? Of course, there was no guarantee she would, but he had a feeling that she’d dug a hole for herself that she was going to have a lot of trouble climbing out of.
Later, alone in her room, Portia paced. No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t rid herself of the memory of her first kiss. He’d made her so breathless, it was a wonder she’d been able to mount Arizona and ride home. And Lord help her, she wanted more. A hundred times more. More of his palm moving over her spine, more of his hard body against her soft one, more of his seeking tongue. She hated to admit it, but he’d been right about it only exacerbating the problem. She felt as if she’d lost her mind.
A soft knock on the connecting door interrupted her inner tirade. “Come in,” she all but snarled.
Regan entered, took one look at Portia’s face and asked, “What’s wrong? Aunt Eddy said you and Kent went riding. Did you two argue?”
“No,” she replied tersely.
Regan studied her silently for a long moment and then asked with a grin. “Did he kiss you, sister mine?”
The snap in Portia’s eyes was her reply.
Regan stilled. “Without your consent.”
“No of course not.”
“Then, knowing you, I’m assuming you’re mad because you didn’t believe it would be so wonderful.”
“Let’s just say I had trouble remembering my name afterwards.”
Regan laughed. “I think I’m jealous.”
Portia blew out a breath. “What a naïve ninny I am.”
“Portia, you can look at that cowboy and know he can kiss.”
Portia threw her a quelling look.
“Sorry,” her sister offered contritely, but amusement continued to play at the corners of her lips.
“I asked him to kiss me, thinking I’d be able to control my reaction.”
“You asked him?”
“I did.”
“Some things can’t be controlled.”
“I understand that now, which means no kissing Kent Randolph.”
“If you couldn’t remember your name, I’m thinking you’re not going to have much control over the future either, but I wish you luck.”
Seeing the humor in that, Portia sighed, “I’m doomed aren’t I?”
“I believe so.”
“You’re supposed to offer me hope.”
“I’m your sister, I’m supposed to offer you the truth, so when should I begin looking for a gown to wear to the wedding?”
Portia’s eyes widened and she laughed. “Wash your mouth out with soap, you horrid girl.”
The grinning Regan walked over and gave Portia a peck on the cheek. “Good night, Portia. I used to practice my kissing on the back of my hair brush. You might want to try it.”
Portia firmed her lips to keep from laughing. “Good night, Regan.”
Regan exited.
Alone, Portia wondered what she’d do without her silly little sister. Her eyes strayed to her hair brush lying on the vanity table. Chuckling, she turned away and prepared for bed.
Later, lying there in the dark, she once again weighed her options. She decided she wasn’t doomed. All she had to do was not ask for anymore of his kisses and she’d be fine. Problem solved. A voice inside laughed, but she ignored it and burrowed down to sleep.