Marriage by Contract. Sandra Steffen
“Did I mention that they’re expecting a baby in three months?”
“As a matter of fact, you didn’t. It must have slipped your mind.”
Beth rolled her eyes. Subtle, Jenna wasn’t.
“That Barry always was a fast worker, wasn’t he?” Jenna sputtered. “Didn’t even wait for the divorce to be final. Of course, this means my curse would be a little late. I could still do it, but now it would be more for enjoyment than actual revenge.”
After a momentary silence, Jenna said, “Did it hurt? Running into Barry, I mean. Is that why you’re so quiet tonight?”
Beth moved on to the next display. “It’s nothing I won’t get over, if that’s what you mean. It just hasn’t been a red-letter day, that’s all. I had an appointment with Mrs. Donahue at Social Services right after work. She told me she’d love to let me adopt Christopher, but those silly old courts prefer two-parent homes.”
“Geez, Beth, have you been breaking mirrors or walking underneath ladders or throwing black cats over your shoulder, or what?”
This time, Beth cracked a smile. “Actually, there’s something else.”
Other than the traffic outside on the city’s main thoroughfare, the room became utterly silent. Without turning to face her friend, she said, “I sort of asked one of the doctors at the hospital to marry me.”
Jenna broke the long stretch of silence with a loud whoop of glee. “Bethany, honey, I do believe you’re finally coming out of your shell.”
“It’s not funny, Jenna. And I am not.”
“Sure you are, and yes it is. But tell me, what did this doctor sort of say?”
Running her hand over the brightly colored skirts hanging on a rack in the corner, Beth said, “Actually, the only noise I heard was the thud of his jaw hitting the floor.”
Beth didn’t turn around. Not when Jenna made a sympathetic sound. Not even when the chimes over the door jingled with the arrival of a late customer.
“Uh, Beth?” Jenna asked.
“Hmm?”
“Did this doctor you mentioned look as if he could have just stepped off a steamboat from Italy?”
“You could say that, why?”
“Oh, it’s nothing, but unless doctors have gone back to making house calls, I believe your fiancé just walked through the door.”
Chapter Two
Her fiancé?
Was that what Jenna had said? That her fiancé had just walked through the door?
Beth stared at a shelf containing books of old Romany curses, wishing with all her might that she could make herself vanish into thin air. But there was no way out. She was in a corner, literally and figuratively. Sooner or later, she was going to have to turn around to see if Tony was really standing in this very store.
“Bethany?”
Her mind went blank for a moment, then scrambled like a radio picking up more than one signal. There was no doubt about it. That voice belonged to none other than Tony Petrocelli himself. She took a deep breath for courage, then turned around to face the music and the last man on earth she was prepared to see.
She glanced at Jenna, who was suddenly all eyes and ears, then slowly raised her gaze to Tony’s. Although she couldn’t quite manage a smile, she nodded in greeting and said, “Dr. Anthony Petrocelli, this is Jenna Maria Brigante, my best friend.”
Tony heard the regal formality in Beth’s voice, and wondered where she’d acquired her manners and her style. He didn’t doubt that she was strong; nurses had to be—in spirit and in body. But even the grouchiest nurses at Vanderbilt Memorial could flirt with the best of them. He enjoyed playing along, but he’d never had any trouble dismissing the overtures as fun, and nothing more. Beth Kent had intriguing looks and a willowy body that rivaled any nurse’s in the building. Yet he’d never seen her so much as wink at one of the doctors. She obviously didn’t believe in small talk or casual flirtations. Oh, no. She’d cut straight to the quick when she’d asked him to marry her, in so many words. And he simply hadn’t been able to dismiss that.
Tony cast a sideways glance at the dark-haired woman who was watching him openly. Jenna Maria Brigante, he thought to himself. Oh, boy. A woman with three 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