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.