She’d dated a little in the past year, mostly men she’d met at fundraisers or parties connected to the dance company, but nothing had ever turned into a relationship.

And then there was Quentin. But she sure wasn’t counting that. Reed’s kiss, on the other hand, she would definitely count. Quentin was a member of Liberty Ballet’s board of directors. Close to twenty years older than Katrina, he’d been dogging her since she’d become a principal dancer. Frustrated by her lack of uptake on his intense flirting, he’d finally cornered her in his office two weeks ago, forced a slobbery kiss on her mouth and baldly propositioned her. When she’d broken away, firmly telling him she wasn’t interested, he’d grown angry and threatened to destroy her career.

She didn’t know how or if he’d be able to make good on that threat. But he certainly knew the movers and shakers of the ballet world.

She ran a brush through her wet hair, gazing into the dresser mirror in the Terrells’ guest room. Odd, the differences between Quentin and Reed. Quentin was urbane, educated, fastidious and debonair. Reed was raw, passionate, assertive and unruly. But there was no contest over who she’d trust.

Her fingertips went reflexively to her lips. She could swear they were still tingling from Reed’s kiss this afternoon. He’d been the one to call a halt. He’d broken away and given them both a moment of sanity. If he hadn’t done that, she was sure she would have lost her virginity to a rugged cowboy right there in the middle of a Lyndon Valley meadow.

She shook her head, even as her smile and the warm glow remained. Like any woman, she’d fantasized about her first time making love. It had always involved a posh hotel suite, and a man who’d laid his bow tie and tux over a French provincial armchair before joining her in a lacy, canopied bed. Lyndon Valley, blue jeans, an imperfect nose and a beard-rough chin weren’t even on her radar.