Love of Her Lives Read Online Free Page A

through her mind. Giving her head a little shake helped to dispel his charm.
    “Ah, well the name Bethia means life. As life goes, there are many paths to choose, Beth, and if you’ve a care to stay out of harm’s way, you must be sure to choose well.”
    Okay, that was a strange thing to say. “Actually, Beth comes from Elizabeth. I was named for my great–grandmother, but thanks for the sage advice. What can I do for you, professor?”
    He leaned back on one heel, unruffled by her sarcasm or the look of irritation she’d sent him. Instead, his beautiful lips formed another rousing smile that reached clear to those eyes of blue. “‘Tis a fine name for a lovely lass. I’m visiting summer students to conduct a study on risk–taking behaviour.”
    He still held her hand. In his right hand a clipboard rested against his thigh. “May I come inside and ask you a few questions?” He gazed at her mouth, at her hair, and then scrutinized her from top to bottom. Geez, this man had a way about him — a way of bewitching a woman, fully confident of her surrender — no mistaking the sensual heat of an attempted conquest there.
    He had to be kidding.
    She pulled her hand free and probably should have shut the door in his inappropriate face, but she couldn’t help giving him a taste of his own ogling.
    She ogled him right back. The man was built like a warrior, tall, wide in the shoulders with a chest broad enough for a woman to spend the afternoon exploring. Warrior? That was an odd association to pop into her mind, as if you couldn’t go anywhere these days without bumping into a warrior. Whether he was a university professor or not remained to be seen, but he definitely looked good in those jeans and mocha turtleneck.
    His fingers drummed the curve of an impressive biceps as he regarded her, regarding him. She took her time scanning the square jaw and feline angles of his face, but this guy was no tabby cat. Tabbies weren’t warriors. He was cut from the mountains — solid muscle, graceful lines, and eyes smooth as still water.
    “No, Professor Cunningham, you may not come inside.”
    He shot her a satisfied smile and leaned down to pull a pen from the pocket of the briefcase at his feet. “Very good. I’m glad to know you’re a sensible lass.” He lowered his head toward hers. “Never let strangers into your home.”
    “So I’ve been told.”
    His smile enchanted, like he kept a secret just behind it she might like to know. He was enchanting all right, subtle enough not to be overdone, but she saw through that tactic. This guy was one of those raw, masculine, Tarzan types who could throw a girl over his shoulder like she was lunch.
    After a quick notation, he let the clipboard rest against his thigh again. “This study examines two opposing schools of thought. I would appreciate your honest opinion. Some people believe those who take risks are motivated by nothing other than a death wish, while others believe partaking in perilous undertakings make a person feel more alive. Consider both theories for a moment please and then tell me what you think?”
    Perilous undertakings? As in the retrieval of the Roots backpack on her kitchen table? Well, sometimes people had to take risks for the good of others, although her father didn’t seem to think she need be one of those people. “I think, Professor Cunningham, if you risk nothing, you fail to grow. The degree of risk is also a factor. What might be considered risky to one person could be a walk in the park for another. For instance, I skydive, yet I don’t consider myself a person who takes unnecessary risks.”
    As he glanced skyward, a look of puzzlement crossed his face then quickly melted into a frown. “Diving from the sky? I can’t imagine why a lass would need do such a thing. Unless the lass has a death wish. What then, would you consider a necessary risk, Beth?” Her name slid off his tongue with a lilting brogue that settled in her as a silky