Opening the door, she was intending to get out and meet him in the driveway, but he waved her back in.

“We’re going to switch cars. Back out so I can pull out, then you can park in the drive. We’ll take my car.”

Imogen stared up at him. He had moved out of the light and she couldn’t really see his face all that well anymore. Damn daylight savings. It was only quarter to seven and it was pitch-black outside.

“Why? Where are we going?”

“To the garage. That’s the best place to learn about stock cars.”

Right. Stock car research. That was precisely why she was there. Not because she was an undersexed woman, he was a highly sexed male, and their bodies would fit together like a couple of click-and-lock puzzle pieces.

“Oh, wow, that would be great.” If she were capable of concentrating on anything other than him. “Isn’t it rather late though?”

“Nah. Someone will be around.”

“Okay. Great.”

They did a quick car switch, and then Imogen was back in the passenger seat with Ty peeling out of his driveway, an odd reverse of the night before. Only his car was a tricked-out sports car, and he was singing along to a country song on the radio, looking more cheerful than sexual. Damn it.

After enduring his off-key singing of lyrics that involved a man declaring his undying love for a woman, Imogen felt compelled to interrupt. “So when can I expect my book back?”

“In a day or two,” he said, cutting her a sideways glance. “Are you one of those people who guard your books like gold? Don’t worry, I won’t break the spine or spill beer on it.”

“I wasn’t implying that. It’s just that . . .” Imogen trailed off. She couldn’t say she needed the book. That would sound calculating.

“What? Look, if you need the book that badly, I can return it to you when we get back to my place. I wasn’t trying to inconvenience you.”

Great. Now she sounded thoroughly ungenerous. “No, of course not. I agreed to let you borrow it, so you can absolutely keep it for a few days. But I am curious as to why you wanted to read it.”

“I thought I might learn a thing or two.” He glanced over at her and winked.

Now what did that mean, exactly?

Never one to beat around the bush, Imogen said, “What does that mean exactly?”

“Why women want certain men, and if my worth to the opposite sex is truly just based on what I do on Sundays.”

“You doubt why women want you?” she asked incredulously.