LITMIR.BIZ

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and set it on the table. “Thanks.”

      “You’re welcome.”

      He swigged half the glass. “People pass out around here often?”

      “You’re not the first.”

      “Ah. A polite answer to save me from too much embarrassment.” He finished the juice and shoved the glass toward her to refill, then bit off half a cookie. “Have you worked here long?”

      “I’ve been volunteering one Saturday a month since March, but now that it’s summer I’ll help out once a week.”

      “Are you a student?”

      She knew she looked younger than her age. “I teach first grade.”

      “For how long?”

      Was he trying to figure out how old she was? “Four years.” I’m twenty-six. Is that too young to interest you?

      “How long until the drill sergeant gives me back my keys?”

      Claire smiled at his description of Lorna. “A half hour, maybe. When they’re sure you’re stable.”

      He finished the cookie. “That’s never happened to me before,” he said.

      She sat back, her smile broadening. So, he was a normal man, after all, worried that he appeared weak.

      “It hasn’t,” he insisted, looking at his watch.

      “I believe you.”

      “You’re laughing at me.”

      “Just at your ego.” She angled toward him. “I don’t think less of you, even if you don’t like needles.”

      “I can’t tell you how relieved I am.”

      She laughed, appreciating his dry sense of humor, and he seemed to relax a little more—or perhaps resigned himself to the situation.

      “I’m Quinn Gerard,” he said, extending his hand.

      “Claire Winston.” His hand engulfed hers, and was warm and…ridiculously arousing. She knew some people had chemical reactions to other people. It had just never happened to her. Not on first meeting. Not with a stranger.

      “Why do you volunteer here, Claire Winston?”

      Raw emotions rose up, catching her off guard. After all this time she should be able to say the words out loud without her throat closing. “Six months ago my parents were in a car accident. My father died instantly, but my mother survived a little while longer, in part because of blood transfusions. She died of other complications, but that extra time meant we got to say goodbye.”

      His hesitation lasted but a second. “I’m sorry.”

      He sounded more matter-of-fact than sympathetic. She moved the plate of cookies to the left a few inches then back again. “The work done here is not just important but critical. I do what I can.”

      He seemed to be weighing a response. “Do you like teaching?”

      The change of subject silenced her for a few seconds. “I love it. It’s all I ever wanted to do. How about you? What do you do?” His phone conversation earlier made her wonder. What had he lost? What mistake had he made?

      “Find new ways to meet interesting women.”

      So he did know how to flirt. “For a living?” she asked, teasing him back, feeling flattered and cautious. Maybe her blond hair was having an effect, after all.

      Before Quinn answered, a group of people entered the room almost soundlessly. Claire knew by their somber expressions that they were the friends, family and, perhaps, co-workers of someone in need of a transfusion. Those kinds of donors generally came in groups and rarely smiled except in nervousness.

      Lorna looked toward Claire and angled her head as if to say, “Come help.”

      “Excuse me,” she said to Quinn. “I’m needed. Eat and drink as much as you like.”

      She felt his gaze on her as she helped the new donors get situated. She was aware of him every second, even when she wasn’t sneaking a peek in his direction. Her body heated up. Her heart pounded a stronger rhythm, relentless and unsteady. Her reaction was new to her—so new, she wasn’t sure how to respond except to let him know in some way that she wouldn’t mind taking it one step further. She had a lunch break due her later. There was a café within walking distance.

      After a while his phone rang. She saw him drag his hand down his face and his shoulders drop momentarily before he slid the phone back in his pocket. He met her gaze and tapped a finger to his watch face, asking his question with the gesture.

      Claire walked up to Lorna. “Mr. Gerard is getting antsy.”

      “Take his blood pressure and blood-sugar level. You’re trained to do that, right?”

      She was. She gathered the equipment and approached his table. Her pulse tripped noticeably. She decided not to hide it, even though she didn’t really understand his interest. It couldn’t just be the hair, could it? She hoped he wasn’t that shallow. And yet she’d let Jenn convince her to go blond for exactly that reason—to see if men warmed up to her more than usual, which was shallow reasoning on her part.

      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.

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