Page 39 of Hot Soldier's Rescue

He waved to her, and Elise hustled Grandma and the kids out to his Jeep. They piled in the backseat and she climbed in the passenger seat beside him. He started the car but left the headlights off.

He quietly directed Grandma and the children to lie down in the backseat and cover themselves with Grandma’s shawl. She was startled to see how carefully he lifted the children and how gently he tucked a blanket around them to hide them.

Elise murmured, “And I suppose you want me to get down on the floor?”

He answered in English, “I was thinking more in terms of you lying down with your head in my lap, but I suppose the floor works.”

“You wish.” Grinning, she wedged herself between the dashboard and her seat.

“It would’ve been more comfortable my way,” he commented.

“Not when I was through with you it wouldn’t have,” she blurted without thinking. His gaze snapped to hers. Whoops.

“I’m exhausted,” she muttered. “I don’t know what I’m saying.”

His gaze narrowed speculatively and she swore under her breath. He didn’t buy her excuse for a second. She was the worst fake nun ever! She watched apprehensively as he nodded to himself and then threw her another one of those “we need to talk” looks.

As she crouched on the floor, her legs started to tingle and then to ache, but she’d be twice damned before she complained about her cramped position. Finally, he turned on the headlights and announced that everyone could sit up. She pulled herself back into the passenger seat gratefully.

They drove on a two-lane paved road for hours. Although, the existence of asphalt didn’t prevent the road from having gargantuan ruts and potholes that could swallow a small house. It was slow going, particularly after the moon set and heavy darkness fell outside.

Grandma and the children crashed in the backseat and Elise grew sleepy. She murmured to Drago, “If you’re tired I don’t mind driving for a while.”

He shook his head. “I’ve got it.”

“You know, I’ve worked plenty of double shifts in emergency rooms. I can go twenty-four hours or more if I have to.”

“You don’t have to,” he replied.

“Are you one of those macho men who insists on taking care of the woman all the time?”

“You don’t have to make that sound like some terrible character flaw.”

“So you are a Neanderthal?”

“I’m a gentleman. I was raised to believe that the man takes care of the women and children. Keeps them safe. Looks out for them.”

He was a dealer in death. Since when did notions like protecting the weak and helpless enter into that equation? “Do you go for the whole opening doors and holding chairs thing, too?” she asked curiously.

“I do,” he bit out.

Huh. She’d heard of men like him—old-fashioned types who held with values like courtesy and chivalry—but she couldn’t remember the last time she’d met one. He couldn’t be for real, could he? “And do you hunt saber-toothed tigers with a club and drag the woman off by the hair to your cave?”

He glanced over at her and shrugged. “I’m old-school. I freely admit that. If you’re the kind of woman who likes it, great. If not, then we can go our separate ways, no harm, no foul.”

Honesty compelled her to confess, “I don’t know if I like it or not. I’ve never known a man who felt that way.”

“Seriously?” he blurted.

“As a heart attack. I spend most of my time trolling the worst neighborhoods New York City has to offer. I’m just glad when the men there don’t shoot me.” Although, now that she thought about it, she supposed many of the men did look out for her in their own rough fashion in the form of gang escorts and repeated attempts to teach her how to shoot a gun.

“Why do you run around in such bad places and endanger yourself?” Drago asked in audible alarm.

“I’m a nurse. Many of my patients can’t or won’t seek medical care unless it comes to them.”

He shook his head. “You should have someone like me along with you to look out for you.”

“Are you volunteering for the job?” Good grief. She had to quit spilling out the first words that came to her head like that.

---