Page 82 of Angel In Armani

“And it’s full-on black tie?” She didn’t hold out much hope that it wouldn’t be. She thought about her wardrobe for a moment. She had one simple long black gown that had seen her through a couple of wedding receptions and an army shindig or too. She hadn’t pulled it out of her wardrobe in a while, though. God knew what shape it was in. Or even where it was. She thought of the boxes that she’d dumped temporarily in her parents’ garage while she settled into this apartment. Hopefully it was somewhere in there. She couldn’t even remember if she’d seen it in her city place since she’d gotten back from deployment.

She could afford a new dress; she could spend some of the money the Saints were paying her. But she couldn’t spend the sort of money a designer ball gown cost.

“Yes,” Lucas said. “Penguin suits and gowns all around.”

She made a face. “They didn’t want to buck the trend and do a denim and sneakers ball?”

“You have to look like money to ask for money,” Lucas said.

It sounded like a quote. She wondered who from. Alex, perhaps?

“And,” Lucas continued when she didn’t say anything, “it’s only fair. You already got to see me in a tux. I think it’s only fair that I get to see you in a gorgeous dress.” He stopped and tilted his head at her, humor gleaming in his eyes. “You do own a gorgeous dress, don’t you?”

“Yes, I own a dress.” She narrowed her eyes at him, but to be fair, he’d only ever seen her in her uniform, yoga pants, or jeans and casual things. It was warm in Florida but not yet dress weather. Not when she had to fly helos anyway.

“Just one?”

“More than one.” She stuck her nose in the air. “And I look good enough in them to give you a heart attack, rich boy.” Lies, damned lies, but he didn’t have to know that. Though she did scrub up quite nicely.

He smiled then and waggled his eyebrows at her. “Oh good.”

“What will you be wearing? That tux you wore to the Hamptons?” She assumed he probably had more than one, though it was hard to imagine he had one that made him look better than he had that night in the chopper.

He shrugged. “I guess. Why, did you like that tux? Is that why you jumped me?”

“I didn’t jump you.”

He snorted. “Yeah, you did.” He poured more wine—the same red he’d used in the pasta—into his glass then topped hers up with water. She didn’t drink if she was flying.

“It was a momentary lapse of reason,” she said.

The glass tilted in her direction. “To momentary lapses of reason, long may they continue.”

“I thought surgeons were all about logic and reason.”

“Not when it comes to getting beautiful women into their beds, they’re not. Then it’s whatever works.”

She rolled her eyes. “Like you ever had to work that hard.”

“You might be surprised. And speaking of jumping me, if you need another incentive to come to the ball, then let me offer this. We’re going to have to fly in and then fly out afterward. So if you want to drag me into a supply closet to have your wicked way with me, then the ball is going to be your only chance that weekend.”

The vision of Lucas and a small dark room derailed her train of thought. “What?” she said, suddenly thinking of his hands sliding over her in the dark.

He laughed. “I said, it’ll be your only chance to have your wicked way with me that weekend. If you’re sticking to your no-sex-in-Florida rule.”

“Yes, I am. I’d rather not deal with everybody I work with knowing about us just yet. So. You think I can’t live without you for a whole weekend?”

His mouth quirked. “As much as I like our hotel phone sex, I prefer the live-action version. I think it’s more like I can’t live without you and I’m hoping I don’t have to. So Cinderella, do you want to go to the ball?”

She forced her mind back to somewhere near the vicinity of rational. As lovely as balls and supply closets sounded and as much as she definitely didn’t want to go a whole weekend without getting some quality naked time with Lucas, she had to be sensible. Even though it was killing her. She took another swig of water, wishing that it were wine. “Cinderella wants to sleep on it.”

Chapter Eighteen

Lucas tracked Sara down near the front of the bleachers halfway through Monday’s game. She was munching popcorn and following the action with an expression of fierce concentration that was kind of adorable. A Saints cap shielded her skin from the sun. She looked pretty cute when she was so engrossed. He stood still and watched her for a minute or two.

When the batter connected solidly and the ball went flying across the park like a rocket, the crowd—small but not too bad for a Monday game playing the Pirates—erupted. Sara applauded, grinning and whooping along with the rest of the crowd.

Ha. The baseball bug was starting to bite. He made his way along the row and slid into the empty seat next to her. “You know, we have this nifty owners’ suite back there.”

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