Page 13 of Dangerous Lover

Sooner than she could have imagined possible, he was knocking at her window.

He bent to put his mouth close to the glass. “Do you want me to drive?” he shouted, his deep voice carrying above the howl of the wind.

Oh, God, yes!Yes, yesyes!

The hell with politically correct. The hell with duty. The thought of driving in this weather over black ice with her bald tires made her break out in a sweat. It was another accident just waiting to happen.

Caroline met his eyes through the glass and nodded.

“Scoot over and buckle up.” His hands were cupped around his mouth, but even so, his words barely carried.

He wasn’t going to make her get out and circle the car. Bless him. Caroline managed to make it over to the passenger seat without breaking her hip on the stick shift. Jack waited until she was in the seat and pulling the seat belt over her chest before opening the door.

He could barely fit his legs in the footwell and had to ratchet the seat back to its fullest extent, bringing it even with hers. He started the engine, letting it warm up.

Caroline turned to him, a large dark shadow in the dark. “That was quick. It would have taken me an hour in this weather, if I’d even be able to manage it at all.”

He looked over at her. One corner of his mouth lifted in a half smile, just a quick flash of white teeth. “I’ve changed a lot of tires under enemy fire. You learn to be fast.”

“I’ll just bet you do. Listen—” Caroline breathed deeply. She owed him an apology. “I want to thank you for changing the tire. That was my responsibility and—oh, goodness, you’re hurt!” Something dark and liquid gleamed on his right hand. “Heavens, first you change my tire for me and then my car bites the hand that feeds it. I’m so sorry.” She fumbled in the glove compartment and came out with tissues, which she held against his hand. The tissue turned immediately dark red. He’d gashed his hand badly. She changed tissues. “Hold that against your hand for about five minutes until the bleeding stops. You might need stitches, that’s a nasty cut. We can stop at the emergency room of the hospital on the way.”

“No.” The deep voice was gentle as he covered her hand with his. He squeezed lightly then lifted her hand away. His hand was strong, the touch light. “I heal fast, don’t worry about it. We need to get going now, or we won’t get home at all.”

“But your hand?—”

“Is fine.” He switched the overhead light off, put the car in gear and stepped on the accelerator. In a moment, they had crossed back over to the right side of the road. “Don’t worry about my hand. Just direct me to your house. We need to get there as quickly as possible. Where do I turn?”

He did heal quickly. The deep gash had almost stopped bleeding.

Caroline peered out the window uncertainly, though visibility was nearly zero. It was impossible to tell where the intersections were. The only way to find out would be by crashing into a car.

“Keep on straight down this road for three quarters of a mile, then turn right. I’ll try to navigate for you.”

“Okay,” he said calmly. He was driving much faster than she had dared to. She would have said something—fast driving scared her—but he was clearly in total command of the car and the more quickly they got home, the happier she’d be.

She peered out the window, trying to discern landmarks. It was haphazard at best. At times, a ferocious gust of wind lifted the snow curtain for just a second. She saw the benches outside the railing along Grayson Park, then the big Christmas tree at the corner of Center Street and Fife, then—“Here,” she said suddenly, relieved. “Turn right here.”

He took the corner so smoothly, they might have been driving on a balmy summer evening. Caroline counted off lampposts and started to relax. Another five minutes, ten tops, and they’d be home. “The first left, the second right and it’s the fourth driveway on the right.”

The car pulled to a stop right in front of the garage. Caroline closed her eyes and breathed deeply for the first time since she’d gotten into the car.

Home. She was home.

Well, not quite yet. She stared ahead at the rusted garage door with near hatred.

Time for another apology. “I’m sorry,” she said contritely, digging in her purse for the keys, hands still shaking. “The remote doesn’t work. The door has to be opened manually. I’ll do it.”

“No.” He reached over and took the keys from her hand. “Don’t get out. I’ll take care of it.”

Her boiler was temperamental, but the garage door was utterly reliable. You couldcounton it not working. It took her muscle and time and many a chipped nail to turn the key in the rusty lock and lift the door.

Lit by the headlights, she watched him bend and lift the door as if were brand-new, freshly-oiled and weightless. A second later, they were safely in the garage.

Home. For real, now.

Caroline got out of the car and had to order her knees to stiffen. Her legs were shaking. All of her was shaking still from the near accident, a deep, almost uncontrollable tremor. The keys were rattling in her hand. She had to clench her fist closed to stop the noise.

“Thank you,” she said again to the big man, over the roof of the car. She met his eyes, dark and inscrutable. “I owe you?—”

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