in his chest before it burst from his lips. The up-and-down movement was soothing and erotic at the same time. So he did have a sense of humor, she thought, relieved. Thank God for small favors.
“One takeover is about all I can handle right now,” he told her amicably. It was obvious that he wasn’t talking about NHC—he was referring to what had just happened between them.
Confusion, enhanced by nerves, echoed in her head. The only thing she was certain of was that she wanted to kiss him again. She was even more certain that she shouldn’t.
Placing his hands on her arms, Peter gently moved her back so he could sit up. When he did, he drew in a long, deep breath, then exhaled. Slanting a look at her, he apologized. It seemed like the thing to do.
“I’m sorry about that.”
“Are you?” Was he sorry that he’d kissed her? The second she thought that, she felt this odd pin-pricking sensation around her heart. What was that? Rather than deliberate over it, she struggled to block it.
Peter’s eyes held hers. “The fall,” he clarified.
Her breath had stopped in her throat and she had to force it back out again, had to consciously make herself breathe.
“And the kiss?” she asked softly.
Peter slowly moved his head from side to side. “I’m not sorry about that.”
She looked at him for a long moment. He wasn’t lying, she realized. An unexpected wave of happiness suddenly drenched her.
“I’m not, either,” she confided. And then she smiled at him, really smiled. “Finally, something we can agree on.” Was it her imagination, or had his smile just deepened?
“I have something else we can agree on,” Peter told her.
A leeriness slipped in again. She reminded herself that this was the man who opposed her ideas, whom she had to win over. She knew he was no pushover.
“Oh?”
He nodded. “That we should get up before someone comes by and sees us.”
A wave of regret came and went. She couldn’t begin to understand it. “Right.”
Bethany was about to spring to her feet, but he was faster. Standing up, Peter extended his hand to her. She looked at it, then raised her eyes to his face.
“Isn’t this what got us in trouble in the first place?” she reminded him.
He continued holding his hand out. “Lightning rarely strikes in the same place twice.”
She had a wealth of extraneous knowledge in her head, retaining everything she’d ever read, even in passing. “That’s a fallacy, you know. Lightning’s been known to strike twice in the same place. Sometimes even three times.”
“I said ‘rarely,’” Peter pointed out, trying to keep a straight face, “not ‘never.’”
“Good enough.” Wrapping her long, slender fingers around his hand, Bethany held on tightly as she rose unsteadily to her feet. Once up, she took a step and felt her feet begin to slide dangerously beneath her. Instantly her hand tightened on his. She wasn’t pleased about coming off like some damsel in need of rescuing. “This is what I get for not wearing my boots,” she murmured under her breath.
“I’ll walk you to your car,” he offered. “I’m not in any hurry.” For once, he added silently.
She had an independent streak that was a mile wide and she considered it one of her chief sources of pride. It almost made her turn him down. But she also possessed more than her share of common sense and, in this case, common sense trumped independence.
So Bethany murmured, “Thank you,” and then tried to make light of the situation by adding, “I’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
He looked at her and she could all but feel his eyes delving into her. He was probably wondering what she was talking about, she thought. And then he surprised her by commenting, “Streetcar Named Desire. You’re a lot younger than Blanche DuBois.”
She nodded, impressed. “You’re familiar with the play?”
The corners of his mouth curved in amusement. “We’re not entirely backward here. Town’s got a library with books on the shelves and everything.”
She hadn’t meant to insult him, or be patronizing. It was just that she wasn’t accustomed to people who were versed in the arts. Her world had always revolved around business and she’d naturally assumed that his did the same around medicine.
A pink hue overtook her cheeks as Bethany pointed out her vehicle. “The car’s right over there.”
He gave her his arm to hang on to. They proceeded carefully. His shoes were rubber soled and he was far more sure-footed than she was, but he took small steps to match her pace. The snow crunched beneath their feet as they went.
“Is it true?” he asked, breaking the silence just as they reached her sedan.
She wasn’t sure what he was asking about. “That it’s my car?”
They’d reached their intended destination, but he was in no hurry to reclaim his arm. He rather liked the way she held on to it. “That you’ve always depended on the kindness of strangers.”
Maybe that had been giving too much of herself away, even though it had sounded like a flippant remark. “Well, I’ve moved around a bit, so most of the people I interact with are strangers.”
Which brought up another question in his mind. “Why did you move around so much? Army brat?”
The question made her laugh. Her father in a uniform, now there was an image. “Hardly. Both my parents made their mark in the corporate world.” Nannies had raised her and her older sister because her parents put in ten-, twelve-hour days, seduced by the promise of success, then working even harder once it came. “For the most part, I lived in New York until I went away to college.”
“And afterward?”
“Afterward, I moved around.”
“Which brings us back to why?” He looked into her eyes. “Unless you think it’s none of my business.”
It wasn’t, but she answered him anyway. “I was looking for the right fit,” she replied, and then asked a question of her own. “Is this part of some psychological workup, Dr. Wilder?”
He shook his head. “Not my department.” And then he looked down into her eyes. “We’ve kissed in the snow, Bethany. I think we can dispense with the formalities, don’t you?”
She shrugged, looking away. The parking lot had thinned out a great deal. What was left had a layer of snow on it. “I guess maybe we can. Does this mean you’re going to use my first name when you growl at me at the next meeting?”
“I didn’t growl,” he protested. “I just raised my voice a little.”
She
