This never happened. Ever. Nick was as focused as the laser beam that every morning was aimed at the window of Worontzoff’s study. Always. As a soldier and now as a member of the Unit.

He had to get his head out of his ass and pretend he was dead from the belt buckle down from now on.

Charity turned her head to the big picture windows. Snow had started gently falling, dusting the big spotlit evergreens in the sloping lawn outside the restaurant, a scene straight out of a Christmas card. She sighed and pushed away her half-eaten tiramisú. She dabbed her mouth with the big linen napkin and placed it on the table.

She needn’t have bothered wiping her mouth. Nick couldn’t even imagine her being sloppy with her food. Her moves were all so graceful, just watching her was a pleasure.

Head. Out. Of. Ass. If he kept repeating it enough to himself often enough, it might just happen.

“Nick.”

His head snapped up. She’d pushed back from the table, body language clear. Oh God, he hadn’t pumped her at all for enough intel on Worontzoff. Again, at the word pump, his cock leaped in his pants.

Jesus.

He let his left hand drop to his lap, wondering whether he should surreptitiously pinch himself. Maybe if he hurt himself enough, it’d go down.

“Yeah?”

She smiled at him. “It’s starting to snow. I don’t have snow tires, so I should get to my car before the streets become too slick.”

A drop of sweat ran down his back. He didn’t want this evening to end. Of course, he hadn’t gotten as much info as he wanted, but he also…didn’t want the evening to end. This was the nicest evening he’d spent in…shit. Since before the Gonzalez job, which had lasted a year. And before that had been Afghanistan. We were talking years, here.

He relaxed his face. “I’ll drive you home, don’t worry. And I have snow tires and they’re brand-new. We can still have coffee. Or would you like a brandy?”

Her eyes were so clear, it was like looking into limpid pools of water. That pale pink mouth tilted up. “That’s very nice of you to offer, but I’ll need my car tomorrow. So if you’ll just drive me back to the library, that’ll be fine.”

With bad tires? Nick balked. No way.

But that pretty, pointed little chin looked just a little stubborn so he couldn’t just say, Hell no, I’m not letting you drive home in lousy weather with the wrong tires. Much as he’d like to.

He glanced out the window himself. The snow was falling more thickly now. He turned back to her.

“Tell you what. I really like my java after a meal. Offer me a cup of coffee at your house and I’ll not only drive you home, but I’ll stop by in the morning, pick you up, and drive you back to the library.”

She blinked. A moment of uncertainty.

Nick was really good at finding even small chinks to make people do what he wanted. It was a gift and he’d had it forever. He leaned forward.

“Please,” he said softly. “I really can’t stand the thought of you driving home alone in the dark in bad weather with the wrong tires. My mom drummed that sort of thing into my head and she’d turn over in her grave if I let you do it. And I’d just drive right behind you to make sure you got home safely, anyway, so you’d be doing me a big favor if you’d let me drive you home.”

Charity gave a half laugh. “Well, if you put it that way….”

“I do. And you just tell me when you want me to pick you up and drive you to the library to get your car tomorrow, and I’ll be there.”

She shook her head, the soft dark-blond bell of her hair swinging and sending some shampoo scent full of pheromones his way. “Don’t you have things to do tomorrow?”

He looked her straight in the eyes. “Not important things,” he said softly. “Not as important as this.”

It was his first overt move. His meaning couldn’t have been clearer if he’d written it in Day-Glo letters on the wall. I’m putting the move on you.

To her credit, Charity didn’t simper or blush or look away. She watched his eyes for a long moment, then finally spoke in a soft voice.

“Okay.”

Fucking A!

I’m going to sleep with this man, Charity thought in bemusement. This New York businessman, this Nicholas Ames, whom she’d met for the first time today—she was going to go to bed with him.

And not just in some vague moment in the future, after thinking about it endlessly, turning various scenarios over in her mind, they way she usually did, but tonight. Maybe. Probably.

Not only had she never done anything like this in her life, she’d never even thought herself capable of it. Her roommate in college said she was incredibly picky, and she was. It sometimes took her weeks to decide whether she wanted to go to bed with someone, and if the man lost interest beforehand, too bad.

Her last affair had been in college, after two months of dating, and it hadn’t been anything memorable. In fact, she couldn’t remember his face or even his name. Mickey. Mickey…something.

It had been just before she was supposed to leave for Paris. A few days later, a distraught Uncle Franklin had called to say that Aunt Vera was ill, Charity’d rushed back to Parker’s Ridge, and that had been that. The new boyfriend—Mickey Whosit—had vanished into the ether, along with her trip to Paris.

Her job, her aunt and uncle…since then, there hadn’t been time or energy for much more than that. Certainly not for love affairs.

Slowly, so slowly she hadn’t noticed it happening, the world had closed in on her. The dull, gray world.

It wasn’t dull and gray now. She felt as if she’d been shocked by a jolt of electricity that had awakened all her senses. Her skin was so sensitized that she could feel the movements in the air when Nick moved his hands, when the waiter walked by. She was aware of every item of clothing she had on. She was aware of her lace panties biting slightly into her hips, the feel of her thigh-highs, her bra rubbing against her sensitized nipples.

When he looked at her, it was as if he touched her with his hands. Those big, rough, well-manicured hands so at odds with his profession.

The world was saturated with color. The flames from the huge fire in the dining room painted the left side of Nick’s face a dusky rose. His black hair gleamed a shiny ebony, his eyes were such a searing blue. He had the most beautiful male mouth she’d ever seen. Firm, mobile, a rich red. Redder, after he started flirting with her. It had been fascinating, watching him watching her.

There was no doubt that she turned him on. The blue fire in his eyes as he looked at her was like a punch to the stomach.

What had been amazing was that she felt the desire right back. It was then that Charity realized that she’d been living in a little glass bell of sadness, in a world leached of color and desire.

They were at the door. Somehow, between getting her coat for her and helping her into it, he must have paid the check, because they just walked right out of Da Emilio’s.

Nick stopped just under the eaves and looked down at her, frowning. “They wouldn’t let me pay for dinner,” he said, in an annoyed tone.

She sighed. “I thought that might happen. They never let me pay, either. And so of course I try not to come too often. Pity, because the food is so very good.”

He reached out a big hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his forefinger. “I think you bewitched them,” he said, that deep rough voice suddenly soft. “I understand completely.”

“No.” Charity fought against the urge to rub her cheek against his hand, much as Aunt Vera’s cat Folly did when someone scratched her head. “I think it’s more a question of adoption than enchantment.”

An errant snowflake fell on her cheek and she looked up. Big fat lazy flakes were drifting out of the inky night sky, seeming to come from nowhere. She lifted her face into the night and breathed deeply, completely content.