What would it feel like to have that finger stroke the source of those flutterings? Would she ever have the courage to suggest an experiment? And if she did, would he be willing? “Yes,” he said, and drank wine, smiling, as Beth’s intellect scattered to the winds. “I—um—I beg your p-pardon?” she stammered. “Whatever that dreamy expression on your face is about, yes.” “But you don’t know what I was thinking.” He set the wineglass down and leaned forward across the table. “I’ll always say yes to you, Miss Pickering.” In that sizzling, breathless moment, Beth’s brain ran around desperately trying
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