The Wilders: Falling for the M.D.

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So why did he feel like separating Bethany from her admiring throng and keeping her all to himself?

Where the hell were all these primitive feelings coming from? Moreover, where were they going to lead him? He wasn’t all that certain he wanted to know.

When the orchestra began to play after dinner, Peter decided that maybe it was time to stop trying to figure out what was going on internally and just make the most of the moment.

Coming up behind her chair, Peter bent down until his lips were next to her ear and asked, “Would you care to dance?”

Bethany abruptly ended her conversation with the neurologist who had been monopolizing her for the past ten minutes and looked at Peter quizzically. She seemed surprised. “You dance?”

He inclined his head in silent assent. “That would be what my question implies, yes.”

Bethany had trouble wrapping her mind around the concept. She thought of Peter as intelligent, capable, generous and kind. Fluid and graceful, however, did not enter the picture.

“Funny,” she said, rising. “I never thought of you as someone who would enjoy dancing.”

“How did you think of me?” Taking her hand, he led her to the dance floor. “Besides the obvious.” When he turned to face her, he smiled, prodding her memory. “I believe you said something about my being a stick-in-the-mud?”

Bethany’s smile was rueful. “I was wrong,” she admitted freely. Then, as anticipation flared within her veins, she added in a quieter voice, “About a lot of things.”

Taking her hand, he tucked it against his shoulder, then placed his other hand at the small of her back. His palm came in contact with her bare skin. He’d forgotten that there was no material there. Desire shot out to the foreground.

“Such as?” he prodded gently after a beat.

They were swaying to the music, their bodies all but merging. All sorts of feelings were swarming inside of her, feelings that hadn’t visited before—except perhaps since he’d kissed her.

She found herself aching for a repeat performance. Aching for a great many things. Everyone around them began to fade away.

Raising her head, Bethany looked up into his eyes. “Some things are better left unsaid.”

“I can appreciate boundaries,” he told her indulgently.

Until just now, he’d thought that his own were fairly well defined and in place. But now, suddenly, they felt as if they were crumbling. Holding her to him like this, feeling the heat of her body mingling with his, he could feel those barriers shattering like so much glass being struck by a stone. When she leaned her head on his shoulder, her hair brushing against his chin, he could feel everything within him tightening as heat traveled up and down his body, making him aware of every single inch of hers.

As they continued to dance, he tried not to breathe in the scent of her hair, tried not to let his mind wander down paths that would ultimately lead nowhere, but his thoughts refused to be bridled.

When the musicians stopped playing, Peter and Bethany were still dancing, their bodies moving in time to a melody all their own.

Bethany laughed, then covered her mouth to lock in the sound. It was late and all the lights of the houses that surrounded hers were off. The neighborhood was asleep.

It might be asleep, but she felt wide-awake. Wide-awake and ready to go. Anticipation pulsed all through her like a horse at the starting gate.

“We could buy two MRI machines with the money that was raised tonight,” she declared.

Peter had driven her home and she was now vainly searching for her keys in a purse that should have given her no trouble because of its minute size. She still couldn’t locate them.

“I had no idea there were that many well-off people in Walnut River. Walnut River,” she repeated. Another infectious laugh, quieter this time, escaped. “That sounds like a quaint town that should be down the road from Little House On The Prairie.” She looked at him to see if he agreed, then went back to swishing her fingers around the bottom of her purse, seeking to come in contact with metal.

“Henry knows a lot of people.” Amusement curved his lips as he watched her rummage. The lady, he thought, had had a few too many. Uninhibited, she was adorable. “People who like to feel good about themselves because they give to good causes. By the way, that was a sizable donation you offered,” he pointed out. She’d made the pledge after having her second or third glass of wine. She was new at this sort of thing, he judged. People who didn’t ordinarily drink tended to be a little reckless when they did imbibe. “At the risk of being indelicate—”

Her head shot up. Was that hope in her eyes? Couldn’t be.

“Yes?”

He didn’t want to see her embarrassed when it came time to make good on the pledges. “Can you actually afford it?”

God, but he was proper. She’d thought he was about to say something a lot more personal, a lot more intimate, than ask about her financial state.

“Sure. I’m rich.” And it had been more of a burden than a boon most of the time, she thought sadly. “Didn’t you know that? Got a trust fund and everything. But it’s a secret.” To underscore the point, Bethany placed her forefinger to her lips, as if to seal in the sound of her words.

He wasn’t quite following her and wondered if the wine was jumbling up her thoughts. “Your trust fund’s a secret?”

Still searching through her purse, she nodded. “Don’t want anyone to know,” Bethany said, then sighed. “People don’t believe you’re serious about your work if they know you’re well-off. They think you’re just slumming, amusing yourself,” she announced, saying it as if it was the latest cause that needed to be taken up. And then her eyes brightened. “Ah, here it is.”

Triumphantly, she pulled the key ring from her purse and held it up.

Getting said key into the lock proved to be yet another challenge. Bethany missed the opening twice, hitting the door instead. On her third attempt, she dropped the key ring altogether.

She looked down at the keys as if they’d escaped. “Oops.”

Peter bent down and retrieved her key chain. Rather than hand it to her, he decided it would be simpler if he just unlocked her door, so he did. Turning the knob, he opened the door, pushing it so that she could walk in first.

He followed her into the house, then placed the key on the small table next to the door. She swayed a little as she turned around to face him. He caught her by the shoulders to steady her. “I think you had a little too much wine.”

Unfazed, she looked up at him and said, “I did.”

She made it sound as if she’d done it on purpose. He couldn’t fathom her reasoning. “Why?”

She took a heartening breath before answering. “Because if I hadn’t, I wouldn’t be able to do this.”

“This” turned out to be wrapping her arms around his neck and sealing both her lips and her body to his as if her very life depended on it.

Caught off guard, Peter’s initial reaction was to tighten his arms around Bethany’s waist, kissing her back with as much fervor as she was exuding.

An urgency traveled through his body, making demands he knew he couldn’t, in all good conscience, follow through on.

So after allowing himself a heady, breathless moment, he summoned a surge of strength—not exactly as easily as he would have liked—and placed his hands on the inviting swell of her hips. Rather than give in and mold her to him the way he really wanted to, Peter gently pushed her back, away from him.

Bethany blinked, dazed, surprised and bewildered. Why had he stopped? “What’s wrong?”

The innocent question squeezed his heart. “Nothing.” He tried to make her understand his reason for backing away, wishing that either she was clearheaded or he had no conscience. But neither was true. “Bethany, you’re tipsy.”

Her smile was quick, sinking him like a stone. “We’ve already established that.” But as she tried to drape her arms around his neck again, he stopped her. His hands on hers, he lightly disengaged her hold. “What?” she cried. Didn’t he want her?

Peter shook his head. This nobility was killing him. “I can’t take advantage of you like this.”

“You’re not taking advantage,” she pointed out, frustrated. “You’re just standing still. I’m the one taking advantage.” Standing on her toes, she laced her fingers together behind his head. “So stop giving me an argument and let me do it, damn it.”

He laughed. He’d always sensed she was aggressive, but not in this vein. It would take so little to give in, to stop trying to talk her out of it and just enjoy what was happening. It had been a long time since he’d been with a woman and she was the first one who had aroused him in eons. It felt as if there was lighting in his veins.

“Bethany,” he protested, knowing he had to protect her from herself, “this isn’t you.”

“Well, it should be,” she insisted, pouting so adorably he was sorely tempted to nibble on the lower lip she stuck out. “The sober Bethany is repressed. She’s afraid to feel anything because once she opens up those doors, she knows she can also feel pain. Feel the hurt when others talk about her.” She lowered her eyes and he thought he saw tears shimmering in them. “Feel inadequate because she’s always falling short.”

She got to him. The sad look in her eyes, the heartwrenching downward twist of her mouth, it all got to him. Slipping one arm around her shoulders, Peter lightly ran the back of his hand along her cheek, her mouth.

“There’s nothing for you to feel inadequate about, Bethany,” he told her softly.

“Then why won’t you kiss me?” she cried. “Don’t you want to?”

So badly that it hurts. “You have no idea how much I want to.”

“Then why won’t you do it?”

He could feel her breath along his skin, could feel himself capitulating even as he struggled to hold on to his control.

“Because if I kiss you, it won’t stop there.” He moved a soft curl back from her forehead. “And I don’t want you waking up tomorrow morning, regretting what you did.”

“I won’t,” she insisted.

He almost believed her. Almost. He’d never known what temptation meant until this very moment. “You have no way of knowing that. You’re not in any position to make that kind of decision.”

She shook her head, feathering her fingers through his hair. Shaking up his soul. “You sound like me. Weighing, measuring, debating and, ultimately, doing nothing.” She turned up her face to his, imploring him to not turn away from her. “I don’t want to be that way anymore. I want to ring the bell, reach for the stars.” She took a breath and said it. “I want you to make love with me.”

Did she have any idea what she was doing to him? “Bethany …”

A smile moved the corners of her mouth. “Unless, of course, you’re some kind of alien and this is going to lead to your secret identity being uncovered.”

Where did she get this kind of stuff? Serious one second, adorably silly the next? He was losing ground and he couldn’t hold out much longer, noble thoughts or no noble thoughts. “I’m not an alien.”

She nodded her head a bit too hard. “Good, because I wouldn’t have been up for that.”

“You’re not up for this, either.” He was going to have to carry her up the stairs, he thought. She just wasn’t steady on her feet. “Go on to bed, Bethany. You’ll thank me in the morning.”

Rather than turn toward the staircase, Bethany latched onto his lapels and yanked, drawing him down closer to her level.

“Only if you’re in the bed with me,” she breathed. And then, before he had the opportunity to say anything else, to turn her down again, Bethany raised her mouth to his.

She caught his lower lip between her teeth and ran her tongue along it. When she heard the low moan escape, she knew she’d won.

Peter knew he damn well should have been stronger than this. He wasn’t one of those men who went from conquest to conquest, thinking of sex as the greatest indoor sport ever invented. He had no love life to speak of and, other than an occasional moment of loneliness, he was fine with the path he’d chosen.

But this was different. She was different and, try as he might to resist her, he couldn’t help himself.

There’d been electricity humming between them, possibly from the first moment they’d stood on opposite sides of the takeover. He liked the way her eyes flashed when she talked and the way every fiber of her being seemed to be brought into the argument, even if he ultimately did disagree with her.

Her passion stirred him then and it was certainly doing a number on him now. Any reserve he thought he had went completely out the proverbial window.

Especially when he felt her hands tugging his jacket off his arms, her fingers fumbling with the buttons on his shirt.

In comparison to her, he was wearing much too much in the way of clothing.

Still kissing her, he began helping Bethany remove the various cloth barriers that kept her soft, tempting flesh from his. Shucking out of his trousers, flinging off his shirt and the cummerbund that made his attire so formal.

His body thrilled to her touch, to the feel of her fingers against his skin. It was with great self control that he refrained from working her free of the shimmering gown until the very end.

It was the prize at the end of the rainbow.

She had no idea where this frenzy was coming from. It was as if something inside of her, something that had been waiting patiently and quietly to be set free had just taken over.

When he pressed his lips to the hollow of her throat, she moaned, her knees all but buckling. The next moment, she felt the shadow-thin straps of her gown being coaxed in unison from her shoulders. Within a heartbeat, the gown had left her breasts, sinking seductively to her waist. Instead of material, his hands covered her, igniting a fire within.

Bethany kissed him over and over again, unable to get enough, afraid to stop because she was afraid that she might disintegrate into a million little pieces if she did.