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“It’s not ‘nothing.’ You just said something about me and I want to know what it meant.”

“Your supper’s ready.”

“Do not try to change the subject! What did you mean by that re—”

He handed her a plastic spoon and one of the bags he’d been fiddling with. The top was open, and the smell wafted up to her nose.

The frown on her face morphed into a smile of delight directed first at the MRE and then, to his surprise, at him.

Over the years, he’d taken women to dinner at all kinds of places. Pizza joints. Burger shacks. Restaurants where just reading the right-hand column of the menu gave you sticker shock.

He’d never had a woman flash him a smile that said what she was about to eat was surely going to be as good as anything Julia Child had ever cooked.

“If this tastes even half as wonderful as it smells…”

He wanted the chili to turn into lobster. No. She was a vegetarian. He wanted it to turn into whatever it was vegetarians considered a feast. Pad thai, maybe. A chocolate ice cream sundae.

To hell with that.

What he wanted was to pull her into his arms and kiss her until she was breathless. Until she melted into him as she’d done all too briefly a little while ago.

He wanted to taste her again, that soft, wild sweetness that reminded him of the raspberries that grew in the Black Hills back home. He could have feasted on that taste all night. If she hadn’t stepped away… If he hadn’t let go of her…

“This,” she said, “this is a Meal Ready to Eat?”

Say something.

“Yes.”

“It smells like food. Real food.” She laughed. “I was kind of expecting, you know, dog chow.”

Say something else.

“Yeah, well, maybe you want to reserve your opinion until you taste it.”

She dipped the spoon in, brought it to her mouth, slipped it between her lips, shut her eyes and sighed with unrestrained pleasure.

Tanner’s body turned to stone.

His brain turned to mush.

Dammit, what was wrong with him?

She was a good-looking woman. And, yes, despite everything, she had traits that, he had to admit, he admired.

So what?

Doctors didn’t come on to their patients. Teachers didn’t flirt with their students. STUD operatives didn’t get involved with those for whom they were responsible.

He was a pro.

And he was responsible for her. That was his job. Thinking about fucking her brains out didn’t have a thing to do with that job.

It could even be dangerous. For her, for him, for them both. He was supposed to have all his senses locked on his surroundings, not on sex.

He watched her eating the MRE.

She ate with gusto. No dainty spoonfuls. No delicate bites. She was hungry and she wasn’t afraid to show it.