years in the Secret Ser vice had meant a lot of time on planes and in hotel rooms. His best solution to the long waits and the jet-lag insomnia was an ever-present paperback.
He liked Harlan Coben.
"Me too," she croaked, her gaze drinking in the lean lines of Tanner's cheeks and the solid strength of his square jaw. She shifted on her chair, sliding closer to the edge of the table.
It turned out that Tanner was a big fan of Coben's sports agent mysteries, while she liked the stand-alone thrillers. They'd both read Lisa Gardner, Tami Hoag, and Dan Brown (though who hadn't been Da Vinci'd?). He didn't sneer when she said the bulk of her reading list was contemporary and historical romances. The minute he told her his current to-be-read pile contained the latest Harry Potter, a book about the world's worst dog, and one by Christopher Moore, the room heated and her pulse started pounding at her wrists.
His interest in books wasn't just talk. This was a man who read.
For an elementary school teacher, one who'd dressed up as Martha Washington, a bunny rabbit, not to mention a bookworm, all to foster her students' love of reading - well, Tanner's conversation was as arousing as a French kiss from George Clooney.
Better. Because she'd recently uncovered her latent hankering for blond men.
She was watching his forefinger trace designs in the condensation on his water glass when he moved on to television.
Hannah's chest loosened a little, even as they discovered a mutual love of Law & Order. Tanner liked the "Criminal Intent" incarnation. Hannah admitted "SVU" too often crossed her squick boundary. They both enjoyed the original best.
"And your favorite character?" Hannah asked.
"Lenny," Tanner replied without hesitation. "Who does a New York detective better than Lenny?"
Hannah sighed. "When didn't Jerry Orbach just rock? Not only Law & Order, but - "
"'Nobody puts Baby into a corner,'" Tanner interjected, grinning. "Johnny told that to Jerry when he played Jennifer Grey's father in Dirty Dancing."
Hannah stared, dumbstruck. Once again her heart started up like a bongo in her chest and she swallowed hard, looking for her disappearing voice. "I didn't know men admitted to seeing that movie. I think my brothers would put their eyes out with barbecue tools before they'd confess to watching Patrick Swayze do the mashed potato."
Tanner leaned forward, his elbows on the table and his fingers laced. There was a votive candle to his right and its light flickered like gold and amusement in his eyes. "I'm the youngest of four sons. My mom had given up on her girl, so she brownie-bribed me into viewing the whole pantheon of chick flicks with her: Dirty Dancing, His Girl Friday, When Harry Met Sally, to name but a few."
Hannah tried to imagine a young Tanner. She thought she could see him: towhead, skateboard, a pair of jeans and a clean white T-shirt.
"Though don't think my brothers didn't make me pay for it. According to the male majority of the Hart house, a real movie only stars Rambo, Schwarzenegger, and weapons that shoot, slice, or decimate."
"They were mean to you?" Hannah amended her vision. Now his jeans were ripped and there was a scrape on one gorgeous cheekbone.
"Only until I got big enough to be mean back. And anyway, those scabs and bruises made for tough skin."
Something the Hart family was known for. She thought of the ten-month-old tabloid article that Desiree had directed her to. Triggered by the "Big Kiss," as it had been headlined, the paragraphs had told Tanner's full family legend.
"There was a story about you in that magazine from the DMV," she said. "Is it true there's a street in San Diego named after your grandfather?"
He stilled, then shrugged. "Sure. He was a WW Two naval hero. His brother was awarded medals in Korea."
"Like your dad and your uncle in Vietnam - "
"And my brothers in Afghanistan and Iraq." There was a half smile on his face, but his eyes had lost their light and cooled to blue ice. "A whole family of heroes except yours truly, of course, the lone black sheep."
While he continued to sit across the tiny table, it was as if he'd left the room. His gaze strayed off into the distance, unseeing, and one hand fisted on the pristine cloth.
Her schoolteacher instincts kicked in, sensing trouble as they did when the boy assigned the desk closest to hers was simmering with emotional turmoil. In the case of her students, its source could