I don’t know how many breaths past that we stood motionless in the rain before she smiled, and lightning struck again.

Figuratively and literally.

She jolted in my arms, face turning up to the sky in surprise. Instinctively, I held her closer.

“Are you all right?” I asked over the rumbling rain, leaning back to inspect her for injury.

“Yes, I-I think so. Just very wet and embarrassed. Did I hurt you? Oh! Your briefcase!”

I glanced in the direction of her gaze to see my attache—which was Italian and leather and more expensive than I’d ever admit—as someone tripped over it, leaving a filthy boot print on its pristine, if not wet, surface.

With an infinite sense of loss as we separated, I righted us and let her go. “It’s not important. Come on, let me get you out of the rain.”

She stood there uncertainly as I swept up my briefcase and wiped it off as best I could with my palm. But I didn’t wait for an answer. Instead, I snagged her hand and towed her toward the coffee shop up ahead.

We trotted our way there, me doing my best to arch over her with my briefcase, which wasn’t hard. The Bennets were a large breed where it’s men were concerned, and I towered over her by a foot at least, a useful trait in many instances, this one being mercifully convenient.

I wanted to be as close to her as I could get and for as long as I could.

It was strange and foreign, an unlikely meeting with an improbable outcome. The rarity of such things happening to me was undefinable. My brothers, maybe. But I found most people tedious, and with my mother parading me around her garden club, its members salivating at the thought of yoking their single daughters to me, I generally mistrusted women’s intentions.

A chance meeting in Manhattan was its own marvel. Never mind with someone who affected me so elementally.

And there was only one path I could take, only one way to proceed.

We ducked into the crowded coffee shop, panting and shaking off the rain.

She laughed, running a hand over her hair self-consciously. “I must look like a cat crawled out of the East River.”

“Not at all,” I answered a little too quietly, covering it with a smile. “I’ve never met a human cannon before. I think you might have dislocated one of my ribs.” I patted said ribs, which felt nothing more than the ghost of her body against me.

Her face softened. “Oh, I’m so sorry. Are you sure you’re all right?”

“I’m fine, just wet.”

A shiver wracked her, and my smile slid into a frown.

“Let’s get coffee. Warm you up.”

Her brow furrowed, and she checked her watch. “I’m going to be late for a meeting.”