names always spelled trouble. “Brigante,” he repeated. “Is that Italian?”
Her eyes danced with a peculiar light, her hair swishing as she shook her head. “Romanian Gypsy.”
He cocked his head slightly. “That would explain how you knew that I was a doctor.”
The woman stared at him, then burst out laughing. “Bethany,” she exclaimed, “I do believe your taste is improving.”
Jenna Maria Brigante obviously didn’t let a man’s size intimidate her. She raised her chin and stared him down, pointing one red-tipped finger directly at him. “Since you and Beth undoubtedly have a lot to talk about, I’m going to let her lock up here and I’ll leave you two alone. But I’m warning you. If you hurt her, you won’t like the repercussions.”
He looked her straight in the eye. With a significant lift of his brows, he said, “Believe me, any curse you put on me would be pale compared to what my Grandma Rosa would do to me.”
Obviously satisfied with his statement and with what she saw in his eyes, Jenna turned to leave. At the door, she said, “Call me later, Beth. I want details. Lots and lots of details.”
The moment she opened the door, the room came alive with the faint purl of a dozen different wind chimes. She cast one more long look over her shoulder without saying a word. With a rustle of skirts and the rattle of the door, she was gone, and he and Bethany were alone.
Glancing from Beth to the airy scarves draped over a pole covered with climbing ivy, he said, “Interesting place. Is your friend really a Gypsy?”
That won him her first smile of the evening, which in turn sent a shock of attraction chugging through his bloodstream all over again. This was crazy. The fact that he was here was crazy. He didn’t believe in Romany curses, and he couldn’t believe an honest-to-goodness nurse did, either. So it wasn’t a hex or a magical spell that drew him closer. It was intrigue, and quite possibly the strongest flare of desire he’d experienced in his entire life.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
Tony raked his fingers through his hair. “Let’s just say that Jenna Maria Brigante was less formidable than the super in your building.”
“So you’ve met Mr. Willoughby.”
“Oh, I’ve met him, all right. But I have to tell you that it was easier to convince a first-time mother that she could deliver a nine-pound baby than it was to convince Mr. Willoughby that I’m not Jack the Ripper.”
She looked up at him, her eyes searching his face, for what, he didn’t know. He’d seen her in her nursing uniform at the hospital, and he’d imagined her wearing nothing at all in his fantasies, but this was the first time he’d seen her exactly like this. She was wearing jeans and a black tank top, her dark auburn hair waving past her shoulders. He didn’t know how she did it, how she managed to pull off looking sexy and regal at the same time. It was one helluva potent combination.
“What was it?” she asked.
Tony wasn’t surprised that he had no idea what she was talking about, not when most of the blood in his brain seemed to be making its way to a place straight south of there. “What was what?” he asked.
“The nine-pound baby you mentioned.”
“Oh. It was a girl. If she’s half as ambitious as her parents, she’ll either be a linebacker for the Broncos or the president of the United States.”
His attempt at humor didn’t have the effect he’d hoped for. Although Beth’s lips lifted into a smile, it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Why did you come here tonight, Doctor?”
There was a question. And the truth was, he wanted to give her an honest answer. He just wasn’t exactly sure what the answer would be. Taking his time meeting her eyes, he finally said, “I’ve received my share of propositions, but I have to say it’s been a long time since a woman has come right out and proposed marriage.”
Beth was vaguely aware of screechy brakes and smooth-running engines on the street outside, but most of her attention was turned inward at the sensation flickering to life in her chest. It could only be one thing—hope; tiny maybe, and precarious for sure, but it was hope just the same. Not trusting herself to move, she said, “Does this mean you might consider it?”
He stared back at her for a long time. She wished she had Jenna’s uncanny knack for reading people’s expressions, because for the life of her, she didn’t know what was going on behind Tony’s dark brown eyes. The way he raked his fingers through his hair could have been fatigue, it could have been unease or it could have been indecision. There wasn’t much Bethany wouldn’t have done for an inkling as to what she was dealing with. Unfortunately, all she could do was wait.
A dozen images and sensations crowded through Tony’s mind. The memory of the pouty expression on his patient’s face earlier today when he’d backed from the room, stupefied that the woman thought she could seduce him in his own office. The sound of Noah’s voice when he’d mentioned the promotion and the hospital board’s position on marriage. The disastrous blind date his younger sister had felt obliged to send him on last week, and his parents’ desire that he pass on the family name. As strange as it sounded, the heat that seemed to have taken up permanent residence in the very center of him was stronger than all those other things combined.
But marriage?
The thought brought him up short, another idea close on its heels. Beth Kent was pretty and hard-working, and had a kind of class and sophistication that couldn’t be learned. A woman like that could have her pick of men. All she would have to do was say the word and men would line up for her attention.
It suddenly occurred to him that she didn’t seem to want suitors. She wanted a husband. The question was why.
He strolled forward, looking at her intently. “I don’t honestly know what I’m considering, but I know I’d like to understand. Maybe you could start at the beginning.”
For a moment, Beth studied him, measuring, appraising the situation. She supposed he had a right to want to understand. The question was, what should she say? How much should she include? And exactly where was the beginning?
One thing she’d acquired the summer she and her family had spent in England was an appreciation for the tradition of sipping tea. And because brewing tea gave a person something to do with her hands, Beth decided this was the perfect time to prepare a pot.
Without preamble, she strode to the doorway in the back of the room. Lifting the beads aside, she glanced over her shoulder. “Won’t you come this way?”
Tony followed her to a tiny kitchenette. Since he doubted his legs would fit underneath the ornate, glass-topped table in one corner, he leaned against the counter, ankles crossed, one hand in his pocket, watching as Beth filled a kettle with water and removed two tea bags from an airtight jar.
“First of all,” she began tentatively, “I want you to know that I don’t make a habit of asking men to marry me. Now I know why.”
Tony settled back, strangely intrigued by her subtle wit and the way her lower lip was slightly fuller than the top.
“Anyway,” she continued, turning on the gas beneath the kettle, “I wouldn’t have asked you today, but I’m desperate.”
