And Able. Lucy Monroe

It’s on the way, or I wouldn’t ask.”

      His brow furrowed. “Why do you want a ride to the light-rail station?”

      “Because it will save me a bus ride and two transfers. I’ll only take a minute changing clothes. Really.”

      He didn’t doubt it. Claire did not primp, but his libido rebelled at the thought of her changing out of the entirely feminine and extremely sexy dress she’d worn in the wedding. Though he didn’t mind the idea of her taking the pins out of her silky red hair. The style was elegant, but not her. He liked her wild mop of auburn curls.

      “I don’t mind waiting for you, but if you need a ride somewhere, I’ll take you.” He wasn’t dropping her off at some mass transit station at night.

      “That’s not necessary. It’s only a short ride on the Max to Belmont Manor.”

      “Why are you going to the nursing home?”

      “It’s not a nursing home. Belmont Manor is an assisted living care facility.” She grimaced. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to get all politically correct on you, but the management has been really cracking down on how we refer to it.”

      “No problem, but you still haven’t told me why you’re going to the assisted-care facility tonight.”

      “I have to work.”

      “Josie didn’t say anything about it.” And that surprised him, almost as much as her not sending Claire home from the reception in time for her to take a nap before going in to work.

      “I didn’t tell her.”

      “Why not?”

      “She would have insisted I take the night off.”

      “Considering the circumstances, that would have made the most sense.”

      “Maybe, but I can’t afford to take off two nights in a row without pay. If I’d told Josette, she would have offered to pay me and then we would have argued. I didn’t want to have a fight with her before her wedding.”

      “But you haven’t slept.” And if he knew women as well as he thought he did, she hadn’t gotten much sleep the night before, either.

      Her mouth curved in a quirky smile, though the shadows around her eyes betrayed her weariness. “Well, no…but sleep is overrated, anyway.”

      “Like hell it is. You have to take care of yourself.”

      “Oh, come on…don’t tell me you’ve never gone without sleep on a mission.”

      “That’s different.” He’d trained his body to function on very little rest.

      Claire was a civilian and a sweet, fragile one at that. Even if she didn’t seem to realize it.

      “You’re right. It is different. Your missions are dangerous, and lack of sleep could impede your reaction times, putting your life at risk. For me, it’s no more than a matter of maybe being tired and heavy-eyed. I don’t even administer meds. So, nobody is at risk if I get a little groggy.”

      “How are you getting home in the morning?”

      “Mass transit. How else?” she asked as if she thought a few of his synapses had malfunctioned.

      “I’ll pick you up.”

      “That’s not necessary.”

      He ignored her disclaimer. He’d be there to pick her up and because she was a reasonable being, she would accept the ride. “What about dinner?”

      Now, she looked confused. “What about it?”

      “You haven’t eaten.”

      “I ate at the reception.”

      “That was hours ago.”

      She rolled her eyes. “I’m fine. Now, if you are done grilling me on my eating and sleeping habits, I’ll go change. These shoes are killing me.”

      His gaze skimmed down her legs to the sexy heels that were killing her feet. “My mama always said beauty comes with a price.”

      “No doubt your mother would know.”

      His eyes flicked back up to her face.

      Her mouth was twisted wryly, her eyes teasing, and the look made him want to kiss her about ten times more than he had wanted to a second before. “Are you implying I got my good looks from my mama?”

      “Did you?”

      He grinned. “So you admit you think I’m good-looking?”

      “Don’t be vain, and it’s impolite to answer a question with another question.”

      “Did your mama tell you that?”

      “No, my mother wasn’t one for wise bits of advice.” And her expression said she wasn’t going any further on that subject.

      “So, you think I’m hot.”

      “I did not say that.”

      “You inferred it and in answer to your question, yes, my mother is a very beautiful woman. But, sugar, you clean up real nice yourself.”

      “Meaning I look like a slob most of the time.” She sighed. “I know I do, but I just can’t make myself care about clothes and makeup and all that girlie stuff.”

      “I didn’t say you looked like a slob.” But she was probably the sloppiest dresser he’d ever met, certainly the least put-together woman he’d ever wanted to bed. “Besides, like something else my mama used to say, beauty is as beauty does.”

      “A lot of people never look beyond the surface.”

      “You do.”

      She shrugged. “Yes.”

      “I do, too.”

      “That’s nice to know,” but she sounded like she doubted his words.

      If he argued about it, they’d probably end up kissing like they had at the reception and no way was he going there. “Go change.”

      She saluted smartly. “Yes, sir. On my way, sir.” She turned and marched away, her delicious bottom swaying in a sexy rhythm.

      He shook his head and went into the kitchen to make her something to eat in the car on the way to the nursing home. If she wasn’t going to get any sleep tonight, she’d need all the energy she could get.

      True to her word, he’d barely finished the quick meal preparations before she was back and saying she was ready to go.

      She’d put on a pair of faded jeans that hugged her curves like a second skin and sent his blood pressure into the danger zone. The tank top she wore under a short-sleeved blouse clung to her generous breasts and he could tell she’d put a bra on. He should be relieved…her braless state had given him a perpetual boner at the reception. But all he could think about was peeling away her clothes and cupping the now modestly contained, but no doubt soft and resilient, flesh.

      Something must have shown on his face because her mouth parted on a small gasp and she stepped back, putting distance between them.

      “I’m not going to jump you, though you do make a tempting picture.” She’d taken her hair down, as he expected, and it sprang around her head in a silky, curly mop he was dying to bury his fingers in.

      She shook her head. “Did you have too much champagne at the reception? Maybe you shouldn’t be driving.”

      “I had one glass and it was a long time ago. The only influence I’m under are my male hormones.”

      “Has it been too long since you had sex?” she asked in the same tone of voice she’d use to query how many gigabytes he had on his hard drive.

      No matter how prosaic she was about it, having her ask