Page 49 of Baby It's Cold Outside

“Right,” she said vaguely. “Well that’s...good, right? Sensible...”

He nodded, amused at her attempts to make conversation. “That’s me,” he said. “Mr. Sensible.”

She rolled her eyes. “Oh yeah. You ooze sensible.”

Luke laughed. “Yes, ma’am.” She frowned at him and he apologized on another laugh. “Sorry.”

She folded her arms. “Any New Year’s resolutions?”

He admired her persistence with the small talk. She reminded him of hi

s high school biology teacher, Miss Squires. Now, she’d been a real hottie.

He shrugged. “‘Don’t get dead’ has been my go-to resolution for the last few years.”

She gasped and all the haughtiness fell from her features. “Oh, God, I’m so sorry.” She reached for his hand and he was touched by the genuine distress he saw in her troubled gray gaze. “I should have been asking about your life. About what you’ve been through. About Afghanistan.”

Luke was aware of a tension creeping into his muscles. A tension that a beer, a sleep, a roaring fire in a familiar hearth, and the company of an uninhibited woman had temporarily dispelled.

“Actually, I really don’t want to talk about it,” he muttered, pulling his hand away.

She gave him another distressed look. “A couple of the kids I teach, their dads are deployed at the moment... I’m sorry…I must seem so trivial to you.”

Her insight and compassion were touching. He’d bet she was one hell of a teacher. “Trust me, after nine months over there, trivial is nice.”

He watched her watching him, her eyes roaming his face as if she were trying to soothe him with her gaze alone. He liked the sound of her voice and didn’t want her to stop talking. He’d just prefer a different topic. Like her and kissing. He quirked his eyebrow as his gaze dropped to her mouth. “Anything else?”

The way her eyes widened slightly, he knew she’d figured out he wasn’t talking about inane conversation. She shook her head. “I got nothing.”

He grinned. “Suit yourself. I’m going to watch a game. I’ll be over there if you change your mind.”

And then he rounded the bench, opened the fridge, grabbed a beer and headed for the couch where a remote, a football game, and a half-eaten bag of Cheetos awaited him.

Chapter Five

Eight hours ’til midnight

Three hours later the game was done and Luke was even more aware of Tamara. She’d joined him, eventually, but only after complaining about the idiocy of big buff men in giant shoulder pads running around a field. She’d plonked herself down on the far end of the couch, all prim and proper and kindergarten-teacher-like.

He, on the other hand, had cooked them two rounds of grilled cheese sandwiches, drunk another beer, stoked the fire, changed channels during the ads, and occasionally yelled at the defense for being morons and to move their good-for-nothing asses. At one point, he’d even shared another bag of Cheetos with her.

And the whole time, he’d been excruciatingly conscious of her presence in her skinny jeans and turtleneck, sitting cross-legged on the couch, looking soft and warm and desperately in need of kissing. Her words had flickered at his brain like the flames crackling in the hearth and not a second had gone by that he hadn’t wanted to drag her down to his end and inflict a few of those wet, hungry kisses he’d been craving ever since she’d described them.

It had been a long nine months and Tamara was too damn tempting.

He gripped the remote hard and flicked through the channels, checking on the latest from Times Square. It was hard to believe the crowd was already reaching capacity despite the atrocious weather.

“Not even nine months in a desert dulls the innate skill of the American male to drive a remote control, I see.”

Luke looked over to see her smiling at him and lost his breath for a moment. Her gray eyes seemed huge in the firelight and he wondered briefly what the hell was wrong with the men she’d been seeing. He’d never met a woman quite like Tamara, but after just a few enjoyable hours in her company he knew he wanted to get to know her a hell of a lot better.

He shrugged. “It comes with the chip in our head.”

“Ah, that’s why little boys are different from little girls,” she said, playfully slapping her forehead.

It was on the tip of his to tongue to point out the other differences, but the mood was mellow between them at the moment and he didn’t want to ruin it. “So…what do you want to do now?” he asked.

Tamara’s smile faded and she looked away quickly into the fire. Damn. He’d ruined the mood anyway. “More television, I guess.”

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