Rules of Attraction. Susan Crosby

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СКАЧАТЬ style="font-size:15px;">      Her main goal, however, had been to shake up her life a little.

      “If you pass the tests, you can leave,” she said, donning latex gloves.

      “I do better on essay exams.”

      You should smile more often, she thought as she reached for his hand, feeling the same warmth as before, and the same sparks, even through the gloves. There was strength there, and a strange kind of comfort.

      “Something wrong?” he asked.

      “No.” She focused on her task, cleaning his finger with alcohol before pricking it. She squeezed a drop of blood onto a test strip, then handed him a piece of gauze to press against the puncture. Setting the testing machine aside to count down to the results, she readied the blood pressure cuff.

      He peeled off his sweater—

      Um. Okay. Not naked underneath, but a white T-shirt that contrasted with his olive skin and showed off muscled biceps and forearms.

      The testing machine beeped. Grateful for the interruption she looked at the number that came up. “Normal range,” she said.

      “Good.”

      She wrapped the blood pressure cuff around his arm, then she tucked his arm between hers and her torso and slid the stethoscope under the cuff. She’d tested blood pressure before, but this time her skin seemed to catch fire where his arm touched her body.

      “You don’t dress like any first-grade teacher I know,” he commented.

      Her eyes sought his.

      Oh. She got it, finally. The leather skirt and relatively formfitting blouse seemed to be a signal to him, even though her smock mostly covered her. Disappointment slammed into her. “And how would that be?” She sounded snippy, even to herself.

      “Wash-and-wear. Utilitarian.”

      He’d described to a T what she usually wore, whether teaching or not.

      Claire pumped the cuff, not saying anything. She had a job to do, and it wasn’t to flirt with the donors. She listened for his pulse.

      “Blood pressure is fine,” she stated, letting go of his arm and removing the cuff. “You can go.”

      “Ms. Winston…Claire.”

      She fussed with the equipment but met his gaze, steadily, calmly. “Yes?”

      After a moment he looked away. He pushed out his chair and stood. “Have a nice day.”

      He didn’t seem like a man who uttered platitudes. Another disappointment. “Thanks. You, too.”

      She told herself she was watching him walk away because she wanted to be sure he was steady on his feet. She almost convinced herself of that, too, except that her stomach did a funny little flip-flop when he glanced over his shoulder at her after reaching Lorna’s side.

      He said something that made Lorna laugh, then she dropped his keys in his hand. He gave Claire one final look. This time her heart lurched. Crazy. This was crazy. He was a stranger. A dark, intense stranger who hadn’t even told her what he did for a living, but had evaded answering with all the finesse of a practiced deceiver. He’d flattered her instead, sidestepping the question altogether.

      She turned away, then felt someone tap her shoulder a moment later.

      He’d come back.

      “How late do you work?” he asked.

      The answer spilled out of her, banishing her disappointment. “Until four.”

      He nodded and walked away.

      Intrigued, Claire smiled. She’d wanted an adventure. It looked like she was about to get one.

      Two

      Quinn had been parked for hours near Claire Winston’s house, an old but well-maintained Victorian in the family-friendly Noe Valley area of San Francisco. There had been no signs of life in the house. He hadn’t expected any. A few days ago Jennifer had marched up to the car of the D.A. investigator assigned to tail her and challenged the man, which had led to the D.A. hiring Quinn, who’d built his reputation on his success at clinging to the shadows.

      But she must have spotted Quinn, as well, then laid the foundation for ditching him using her sister’s makeover to switch identities. Was Claire part of the ruse? He couldn’t answer that question for sure, but she suddenly bleaches her hair, parks her car on the street instead of in the garage, then her sister-the-suspect disappears? It seemed well planned to him.

      It ticked him off that Jennifer had made him. No one had before. How could he explain the screwup to Magnussen, the D.A. who’d hired him because Magnussen’s own investigators had, well, screwed up?

      Quinn glanced at his watch. Almost five o’clock. An hour after the end of Claire’s shift. She should be home by now—unless she was going to wear that sexy little number out somewhere.

      He drummed his fingers on the steering wheel. People made their way up and down the street. A typical Saturday in June, the weather was cloudy and cool. So far no one had reported him for loitering in his car, which happened occasionally during a stakeout.

      His luck held. He spotted Claire’s car. The garage door opened as she reached it. She started to pull in then stopped. Jennifer’s red convertible filled the space.

      Quinn blew out a long, slow breath. Okay. She hadn’t left, after all. Okay.

      He watched Claire park up the block then stroll to her house, no overt sway to her hips, but sexy nonetheless, her short skirt giving him plenty to admire as she climbed the steps, a grocery sack in each arm. She juggled the bags for a minute before setting them down to open the door, then he got an eyeful of her long, slender, perfect legs.

      The door shut on his entertainment. He made himself comfortable in the car, grateful to be there instead of having to report to the D.A. that he’d lost his subject. It was Saturday. Date night. Jennifer would leave the house sometime, and Quinn would be on her tail, his reputation intact.

      But several hours later, she still hadn’t emerged.

      Claire took a few steps back to admire the flowy white curtains she’d just hung, her first step in redecorating what had been her parents’ bedroom and now would be hers. It had taken six months since their deaths before she thought she might be able to sleep there.

      She looked at the dog sitting at her feet. “What do you think, Rase?” she asked.

      Eraser grinned up at her, his tail wagging slowly. She crouched beside him and buried her face in his thick, white-tipped gray coat. He let out a little growl of contentment as she scratched his flanks then hugged him a little tighter. He was just a mutt, but he was her mutt, even if he wouldn’t obey a single command.

      “The curtains look beautiful, don’t they?” she asked, sitting cross-legged beside him, patting him as she inspected her handiwork.

      She’d gotten over her disappointment that Quinn Gerard hadn’t СКАЧАТЬ