Strength Under Fire. Dana Nussio

Of course she would be on the lookout for him. She’d avoided him throughout the rest of her shift, delaying the awkward moment when she would have to face him again after her embarrassing comments. But now she had this disturbing, heavy sensation she refused to define as anything other than relief.

      Only three empty chairs remained at the far end of the table, so she took the one in the center, which gave her a buffer on either side. She was making an appearance as the lieutenant had suggested without the extra effort of actually holding up her end of a conversation. A win-win situation as far as she was concerned. No one seemed to pay attention to where she sat, anyway, so she opened her menu and started reading.

      “Hurry up and figure out what you want,” Trooper Warner said. “We waited to order, and we’re wasting away from starvation down here.”

      “That’ll take a while for you, Shane.”

      Delia’s breath caught, forcing her to cough into her sleeve to cover it. She didn’t need to look over her shoulder to confirm who’d spoken from somewhere behind her. The shiver feathering up her spine did a fine job of that all by itself. But she couldn’t resist turning to the door any more than she could stop the unfortunate dance in her tummy when she did.

      Now that she couldn’t explain at all.

      She’d seen Lieutenant Peterson out of uniform before as they all changed after their shifts, but he looked different tonight. As if it wasn’t dramatic enough that he’d skipped wearing his glasses, he was also dressed like a fashion model. He’d paired dark jeans with a gray cable sweater, and his black wool coat hung open. Strange how his shoulders and chest looked broader than she remembered. That could have been the sweater. He looked taller, too, though it didn’t take much to tower over her, especially when she was seated.

      He would hate to hear it, but without his glasses and with his dimples flashing, his eyes crinkling at the corners, he looked even younger than normal. Boyishly handsome. The descriptor that popped into her head with no permission whatsoever had her turning back to her menu with a jerk.

      Trooper Warner pushed his burly self away from the table, stood and crossed to the door to shake Lieutenant Peterson’s hand.

      “If you were trying to offend me, you failed.” He did a biceps flex. “I take that as a compliment.”

      “Whatever gets you through the day, man.” Lieutenant Peterson patted the trooper’s shoulder, his eyes alight with mischief.

      The lieutenant seemed as different outside of work as he looked. Not as formal. Or serious. But then everyone was more relaxed when they were here together. Well, everyone except for her.

      “Glad you made it, Ben,” Lieutenant Campbell called from the other end of the table.

      “Guess we should feel privileged that you squeezed us in with all of your public appearances,” Sergeant Leonetti chimed as he waved him over.

      So much for this new, relaxed Lieutenant Peterson. He stopped at the end of the table, his posture suddenly stiff.

      “Can we not make this a repeat of this afternoon?” He covered his face with his hands, staring at them through his splayed fingers. “If my head gets any larger, I won’t be able to fit into my shoe box. Er... I mean office.”

      Lieutenant Campbell shook his head. “Or if you don’t stop, he’ll shoot out of here faster than an IndyCar at Belle Isle.”

      The two men exchanged a meaningful look, and Lieutenant Peterson shrugged. As if by unspoken agreement, the others returned to their own conversations. Delia might have done the same if she’d been speaking to someone or if the lieutenant hadn’t started walking again. Right toward her.

      The idea of having an empty seat on either side had seemed clever at the time. Now...not so much. He was left with no choice but to sit next to her. And if her stomach had been unsettled before, it now moved on to a gymnastics routine.

      What was the matter with her? Their earlier conversation was no excuse. Her nerves were on full alert, and this wasn’t even a crisis situation. She was vacuous, all right. What would she do next, bat her eyelashes at him?

      He stopped behind the seat to her left and shrugged out of his coat, hanging it over the back of the chair. The sporty, masculine scent of his cologne drifted in her direction. She had this ridiculous temptation to close her eyes and breathe it in until her lungs ached when she should have been holding her breath. She didn’t care about things like cologne, whether it smelled incredible or not. She didn’t even own a bottle of perfume.

      Without looking her way, he opened his menu.

      She cleared her throat. “Lieutenant Peterson.”

      “Delia.”

      He caught her sidelong glance and smiled. “We don’t have to be so formal off the clock.”

      “I know.”

      Not that she would ever be comfortable addressing any of them informally. Skipping titles was like ignoring the chain of command. Something she never did. Yet now she found herself rolling his first name around on her tongue. Ben. Because it tasted a little too nice, she again returned to her menu, deciding between a ham-and-Swiss panini and a Caesar salad.

      “Glad you decided to come.”

      She blinked. Of course, she’d said she planned to come, but he’d been right to doubt she was serious. She searched madly for a safe topic and then blurted the first thing that came to mind.

      “I’ve never seen you in contacts before.” That wasn’t what she was going for. She’d just admitted to watching him when he wasn’t wearing them.

      “Yeah, I just wear them when I want to look about eleven.”

      “Are you kidding? You look every bit of thirteen.” Why couldn’t she stop herself? Now he knew she’d noticed his baby face. And maybe even that she liked it.

      At the brush of his arm against hers, Delia startled and whacked her other elbow against the side of the table. She crossed her arms, as much to brush away uncomfortable tingles as to rub her smarting joint, and give her nervous hand something to do.

      “Sorry.”

      “No big deal.”

      He leaned in close and spoke again in a low voice. “Just promise you won’t compliment me again.”

      She tried not to shiver as his warm breath tickled her ear and neck. She forgot about the pain in her arm altogether. “Oh, I promise,” she choked out.

      If only she hadn’t opened her big mouth earlier today, then maybe she wouldn’t be on sensory overload now. She wanted to believe that, but she had the uncomfortable feeling that even if she’d shut down her primary senses, she would still be every bit as unsettled by his nearness.

      “Good. Of anybody, I knew I could count on you to keep this in perspective.”

      Of anybody? His words ripped her right out of her off-limits daydream, leaving a path of irritation in the gaping tear. Was he praising her or slamming her? Did he know that she’d been watching him to see how he would handle his moment in the spotlight? She expected him to look back to her with a knowing expression, but instead he turned to the waitress and ordered a bacon cheeseburger.

      Without saying more, he leaned in to listen to a conversation farther down the table. Apparently, this was just like any other day for him. She was the only one who’d worried that there had been a shift in their professional relationship. Had she overreacted? She might as well have called in the bomb squad for a one-block power outage. With a frown, she turned to the waitress and ordered the salad.

      Ben, whom she’d suddenly started thinking of as Ben, was oblivious to her discomfort as he spoke to the other lieutenant across the table.

      “What did you think about that Red Wings game last night? Killed the Avalanche, didn’t they?”

      Lieutenant Campbell shook his head, chuckling.