Rosewood Farm, Warburg, Virginia

Eighteen and no cleavage to speak of: life was so grossly unfair.

Clad in matching panties and bra, Margot inspected her image in the cheval mirror. Her boobs did seem a bit bigger with the help of the push- up bra, didn’t they? At least her legs were okay, and the high- heeled mules she had bought to go with her dress would make them look even longer. For reassurance, she stepped into the new shoes. Beneath the soft light of her bedroom chandelier, her tanned skin glowed. She’d made sure to slather moisturizer all over. She’d even

remembered perfume, spritzing a cloud into the air before walking through it, a trick she’d read in a magazine. As nervous as she was, she needed all the help she could get.

Margot gave herself a last hard look and imagined Travis standing close enough to breathe in the sultry scent she’d chosen. She pictured desire flaring bright in his flint- gray eyes, felt the heat of his passion as his dark head lowered. His breath, warm and butterscotchy from his favorite flavor of Life Savers, would mingle with hers. Then the long-

awaited touch of his lips, firm and commanding, as his strong, calloused hands reached for her. . . . A thrill coursed through her.

Yes, she thought, dizzy with excitement. Tonight, after so many nights lying in her bed and dreaming of Travis Maher, those dreams were going to become reality.

She spun around and scooped up the dress lying neatly on her double bed. A vibrant peony- pink wraparound, it was deliciously simple, held together with a single large rabbit-eared bow. She tugged it on. Once she’d gotten the bow just so, Margot pivoted this way and that in front of the mirror, pleased with how the soft fabric hugged her body. If only she were curvier. Still, the dress was a far cry from her usual attire of breeches and polo shirts. He wouldn’t be able to

ignore the way she looked in it.

Grabbing a brush from the mahogany dresser, she gave her hair several vigorous strokes and debated whether to leave it down so that Travis might see how glossy and shiny it was. No, a loose knot was more sophisticated. Her hand trembled slightly as she applied mascara, and she grimaced when a black clump stuck to her lashes. Plucking it off, she abandoned the task. Her lashes were dark enough. After coating her lips with a raspberry- tinted gloss, she gave the mirror an inviting smile. Yes. This was definitely a new Margot Radcliffe. She looked worldly and mature.... She looked hot.

Surely Travis would think so.

Tonight she was going to make Travis forget she was the boss’s daughter. When he looked at her, he wasn’t going to be thinking of the skinny kid who for years now had been trailing after him from one horse barn to the next, peppering him with questions every step of the way, thrilled when he answered, because getting Travis to talk was like pulling teeth. And when he spoke to her this evening, he certainly wouldn’t be calling her by that odious nickname he’d invented: Princess Margot. He’d have no reason to, because she wouldn’t have to resort to ordering him about, demanding he fetch her hoof pick or her longe tape just so she could get his attention and have him acknowledge her existence. Tonight she’d be gracious and charming and witty, and he’d be dazzled. Everything would be different between them.