Page 40 of Protect and Serve

“It’s true. Both ways.”

He nodded and took a bite of his dinner. “Mmm. This is delicious. Did you make it?”

Claire forced an innocent look on her face. “Mmm hmm.” But she found she couldn’t lie to him. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“Molly left it in the freezer for us when she went on vacation. But I followed the directions.”

“Did you?” It was cute the way he cocked his head and praised her as though she were a puppy who’d finally peed outside. So romantic. “And how complicated were the directions?”

She closed her eyes and thought back. “Let’s see. Reheat at 350° for forty-five minutes.”

He took another bite. “Pretty impressive.”

“I was impressed with myself.” She leaned closer. “I usually burn things.”

“So you’re not much of a cook?”

She couldn’t answer because a peal of laughter overcame her. And then she sobered. “Oh, I do hope that’s not on your list.”

“My…list?”

“You know. Things you’re looking for in a wife.”

Well, crap. She should have kept her mouth shut because suddenly he went still and stared at her and she realized she’d really overstepped her bounds. This was—kind of—their second date and they’d already talked about children, which was a no-no. Asking him what kind of wife he wanted was absolutely—

“It’s not.”

“What?”

“It’s not on my list. Whether or not a woman can cook. Besides…” He grinned. “I can cook.”

“Oooh. Can you?” Excellent.

“I’m looking for someone who’s funny and loving and has good values. Someone who makes me happy and loves children and occasionally lets me tie her up in the bedroom.”

He said it as a joke.

Maybe.

Their gazes caught and something shimmied down her spine. She took a gulp of wine and said, through the lump in her throat, “Only in the bedroom?”

And damn, she loved the look in his eye. A little wicked and a whole lot horny.

“We can talk about the wheres and whens later. Right now, we better eat because I don’t know how long I can wait.”

Wait? “For what?”

“To kiss you again.”

And yeah. That was pretty damn encouraging.

It was probably impolite to wolf down his food, but he felt like a wolf…on the prowl. And he was impatient. He’d prepared for this night, dreamed about it, fantasized about it for as long as he could remember.

He had every intention of making this the most romantic seduction, the most glorious encounter he could. The thought that he had condoms burning a hole in his pocket spurred him on.

But he didn’t leap on her the moment they finished eating—the romantic seduction thing and all. Instead, he helped Claire clear the table and load the dishwasher, but they didn’t talk much. It wasn’t necessary. Besides, he knew what they were both thinking about. The tension sizzling between them was exquisite torment.