her stomach. There was only one reason for that.
She was going with the man who had literally made the world fade away when he’d kissed her.
Okay, so he’d kissed her and she’d liked it. Really liked it. But there was no reason, she told herself, to believe anything of that nature was going to happen again. It was an aberration, a once-in-a-lifetime occurrence. Peter Wilder was a healer, not a lover, even though he had a lethal mouth that had melted her like drawn butter.
Professional, she silently insisted—it was all going to be strictly professional. If there was anything she was, it was professional.
She was still silently clinging to this belief, repeating it over and over again like some kind of mantra, as she went shopping for “the right dress.”
It turned out to be a gown, a gown like no other she’d ever owned. The moment she saw it on the alabaster mannequin, she’d fallen in love with the gleaming creation.
Because the gown wasn’t her.
It was the kind of gown that belonged on a socialite, a jet-setter, someone who was accustomed to frequenting parties on both coasts and collecting heady, over-the-top compliments.
Depending on the light, the gown, suspended on two thin gossamerlike straps, was either silver or gray-blue, and when she put it on, it adhered to every curve she had. Moreover, it somehow miraculously awarded her more cleavage than she was accustomed to having and the material swayed provocatively with every step she took. Simultaneously, the material played peekaboo with the slit that ran from her ankle to halfway up her thigh, drawing the beholder’s attention to the fact that whatever other attributes she might possess, Bethany Holloway, former card-carrying ugly duckling, had stunning, killer legs that seemed to go on forever.
Because she was ordinarily governed by more than her share of logic, Bethany put the gown back on the rack three separate times before she finally snatched it up and fairly trotted to the register.
In most cases, the purchase price of the designer gown would have been prohibitive for someone earning the kind of salary she did. But money had never been a problem for Bethany, never the bottom line that proved to be a deciding factor. What her family lacked in warmth and nurturing attributes it made up for with money. Specifically, a trust fund that was passed on through her mother’s family. Martha Royce, her mother’s mother, had been obscenely wealthy. The woman believed in giving her descendents a sizable jumpstart in life, not out of any sort of affection but because she believed her lineage was better than anyone else’s and should be rewarded for that.
Her grandmother died the year before Bethany graduated from college. At the funeral, which included both her parents and Belinda, she was the only one who shed any tears at the woman’s passing.
As she looked at herself now in her wardrobe mirror, Bethany couldn’t help wondering what her grandmother would have said if she’d seen her in this gown.
You go, girl.
Bethany smiled to herself, pressing her hand to her unsettled stomach. If the stories she’d heard about the woman’s youth, mostly through relatives other than her parents, were true, Grandmother had been a rebel and a hell-raiser. She only wished she had inherited a little more of the woman’s spirit instead of her money.
Then, at the very least, she wouldn’t feel as nervous as she did about wearing this gown.
Really, darling, this kind of a gown should be worn by someone who can carry it off, don’t you think?
This time it was her mother’s voice that had popped into her head to haunt her. Her mother who, even when she was seemingly praising her always made Bethany feel as if she were lacking.
Bethany set her jaw, deliberately shutting her mother’s perpetually condescending voice out. She really liked the gown, liked the way she looked in it. She looked, she thought, like someone special.
She fervently hoped she wasn’t just deluding herself.
The doorbell rang, breaking into her thoughts. The next second, she could feel her stomach seizing up and her heart beginning to race.
Maybe this was a mistake. What was she trying to prove? This backless, almost strapless silvery revelry wasn’t her. She belonged in subdued colors, quiet shades that didn’t call attention to all the things she lacked. Her nerves spiked to incredible highs as she looked toward her closet.
But it was too late to change, too late to surrender to second thoughts on their third pass-through. She was going to have to wear this.
Here goes nothing.
Taking a deep breath, Bethany walked out of her bedroom and to the front door on legs she willed to be steady.
Opening the door, she summoned her brightest, most carefree smile—or some reasonable facsimile thereof.
And then she saw him. Peter was wearing a formal tux. God, but he looked handsome.
“Hi,” she heard herself murmur through lips that felt frozen in place.
The next moment, she saw Peter’s dark eyes slowly travel down the length of her before returning to her face. Unable to tell what he was thinking, she held her breath, waiting for the verdict.
He already knew, even if she professed not to, that Bethany was beautiful. But in this dress, she transcended anything that had come before. The word vision didn’t even begin to cover it, but it was the only word his numbed brain would come up with.
Realizing that he was staring, Peter cleared his throat. He was stalling, searching for his voice. There was a very real danger of it emerging in a squeak. She did take his breath away.
When he smiled, she could feel warmth spreading all through her.
“I should have brought my portable defibulator,” he murmured. When she raised a quizzical eyebrow, he explained, “I think my heart just stopped.”
Was he teasing her? Telling her it was inappropriate? Rather than become defensive, she bowed to his experience. This was her first fund-raiser at Walnut River General and she didn’t want to look out of place.
Bethany looked down at her dress. “You think it’s too much?”
He laughed at the innocent question. “On the contrary, I don’t think it’s enough.” He saw the uneasiness enter her eyes and quickly added, “I mean, it’s fine with me, but I’m not sure I’m up on my dueling techniques.”
“Dueling techniques?” she repeated, confused.
He nodded. “The way I see it, I might be called upon several times this evening to defend your honor.”
He was teasing, but in a nice way. Pleasure whispered through her.
Bethany caught her lower lip between her teeth in an unselfconscious, endearing way that just further evaporated his breath. At this rate, he was going to need an oxygen tank before they reached the hotel ballroom.
“I could change,” she offered.
He didn’t see that as an option. She was almost too beautiful to bear. “And break the hearts of every single male
