Blythe, perhaps Mr. Bentley would be more comfortable waiting in your office,” Piper suggested, turning those incredible eyes his way.
Her tone sounded deceptively generous, but Ian suspected she actually wanted to be spared his company. The knowledge roused the perverse desire in him to remain close by. “I may be a menace, Ms. Shepherd,” he said with a slight smile, “but I’m a concerned menace. I’ll tag along, if you don’t mind.”
Her mouth tightened, but she nodded curtly.
Edmund Blythe looked at him, then her. “What exactly happened, Piper?”
Ian opened his mouth to take full blame, but she cut him off. “Mr. Bentley saw me fall in the parking lot and he…came to my rescue.”
Surprised, Ian lifted an eyebrow. Of course, she was supposed to be winning him over.
“Mighty nice of you, Bentley,” Edmund declared, holding open the elevator door when it arrived. She limped in ahead of him, on her boss’s arm. If Ms. Shepherd’s skirt dried molded to her backside, Ian knew his attention span would be seriously compromised for the remainder of the day.
Just as the doors started to close, an intercom crackled. “Mr. Blythe, please come to your office. Mr. Blythe, please come to your office.”
Edmund frowned and blocked the door from closing with one stout arm while supporting Ms. Shepherd with the other. “Sounds like I’m needed upstairs. Can you manage, Bentley?”
Startled, Ian nodded and moved hesitantly toward a wide-eyed Ms. Shepherd, whom Edmund passed over to him as if she were a slim runner’s baton. Then her boss strode out of the elevator, and the doors slid closed, shutting out curious onlookers as they craned for a better look.
They stood in silence for several seconds, he holding on to her arm awkwardly and she alternately leaning into and away from him, as if she couldn’t make up her mind. She was a small woman, of average height, but as delicate-looking as a doe. She’d probably broken her ankle falling off those ridiculous shoes. A bit irritated, Ian marveled at how different the day was turning out to be than he’d imagined. At this rate, they’d never get any work done.
Which would delay his return to Chicago, he suddenly realized, and smiled.
“You can let me in on the joke later,” she said, wobbling, “but for now I’d settle for you pushing the basement button.”
He sobered and, since his fingers were full of her shoes, pressed the button carefully with a knuckle on his right hand, setting them into motion. Tension crackled in the few cubic feet of air. Ian felt at a loss to explain how rapidly they’d gotten off on the wrong foot, but if he’d learned anything in his bachelorhood, regardless of fault, it was the man who was expected to make amends. He cleared his throat, then said, “I have to admit I underestimated Mudville—is every morning around here this exciting?”
“Oh, yeah,” she said as the bell dinged and the doors opened. “You should have seen the commotion on Main Street when Alma ran out of biscuits last Tuesday at her restaurant.”
He laughed and helped her out onto the smooth tiled floor of the basement, but she promptly slipped. Ian caught her in what resembled a low waltz dip, slamming their bodies together and bringing their faces within inches of each other. She gasped and he could feel her heart pounding. Desire surged through his body, surprising him. Her eyes grew large and startled. Her skin shone translucent, dewy from the downpour, her cheekbones high and her mouth rounded in an O. A schoolboy urge to kiss her flooded him, but overwhelming the various signals his body transmitted was the screaming pain in the third finger on his left hand. Meredith’s ring felt like a sharp, metal tourniquet.
“Ms. Shepherd,” he said in a low voice as he pulled them upright in slow motion and tried to shake off the attraction he felt for her. “It seems that you’re determined to fall again. Our progress would be quicker if you would allow me to carry you the rest of the way.”
She straightened her slender shoulders and adopted a haughty look. “Oh, you’re asking this time?”
He pursed his lips, considering the wisdom of arguing with her. The woman was a confounding mix of spunk and vulnerability. Her arrogance annoyed him—he was only trying to help, and she continued to be difficult. Still, he recognized the dangerous signs of physical attraction, and the last thing he needed was yet another woman to complicate his life. Delivering Ms. Shepherd to the infirmary and putting distance between them struck him as the best solution. “I’m asking,” he said with as much control as he could muster.
A look of defeat passed through her eyes and pink tinged her cheeks. “Well, um, since we only have a little farther to go…” Her voice trailed off and she nodded down a tunnel-like hallway.
Anxious to get her to the infirmary and take his leave, Ian bent and once again swept her into his arms. This time she didn’t squirm or wiggle, but held herself stiff and unmoving instead. As if by mutual consent, they both stared in the direction of their destination. Ian quickened his pace and lengthened his stride until he reached a doorway over which a hanging sign announced Infirmary.
The infirmary was little more than a large closet containing a cot and tall metal cabinets with glass doors, behind which were arranged an impressive array of bandages and over-the-counter medications. As Ian lowered Piper onto the cot, an inner door that read Janet Browning, R.N. opened, and a woman sporting a pink smock, braces and big red hair emerged. “Good grief, Piper, what happened to you?”
“I fell and twisted my ankle.”
The nurse leaned over and smoothed back her patient’s hair. “Did you hit your head on the way down?”
“Sort of.”
“What are you doing so dressed up anyway?” the nurse asked, impatience clear in her voice.
Ian bit back a smile and placed Piper’s shoes on the cot next to her. Had Ms. Shepherd wanted to impress him? He glanced at her flushed face, then remembering his getaway plan, he stepped back toward the door. His neck felt sticky—damn, but it was humid in Mississippi!
He fingered his collar impatiently, and Meredith’s ring pinched the inside of his knuckle. Biting back a salty curse, he twisted the band into a more comfortable position. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the thing was tighter than yesterday. This was definitely one of those times when being left-handed was problematic—and he’d never liked wearing jewelry, so the ring felt doubly cumbersome.
The nurse had lifted Ms. Shepherd’s leg to inspect her ankle, giving him an inadvertent peek directly up her damp skirt. Under her nude hose, she wore red panties. Ian swallowed painfully and fought the urge to bolt without a word. “I’ll…I’ll be in Mr. Blythe’s office if you need—”
“Thank you, Mr. Bentley,” she cut in, smiling up at him from the cot. “I’m fine.”
He glanced over her one last time, from her droopy, wet hair to her plastered clothing to her plump ankle. Ms. Shepherd was as opposite to Meredith as a woman could be. She was a total mess, but she couldn’t have been more correct—she was very, very fine. Ian felt his body harden involuntarily. He nodded curtly, wheeled and fled for his wife, er, life.
PIPER SAGGED with dismay. Mortification washed over her as she gazed at her shredded panty hose and fat ankle. The man must have thought she was a complete nincompoop. Her immediate financial
