Carnal Innocence

his glass out, enjoying the music of fine wine striking fine wine when she poured. “Right now, sweetie, you can ask me damn near anything.”
    “I was curious. Are murders and shootouts common in this part of the state, or is this just a phase?”
    “Well now.” He contemplated the wine in his glass before drinking. “Speaking for Innocence, and since my family’s been here since before the war—that’s the War Between the States.”
    “Naturally.”
    “I feel confident in holding an opinion on it. I have to say we’re new to the kind of murder you’re thinking of. Now, Whiteford Talbot blew a good-sized hole in Cal Beauford back when I was a kid. But Whiteford caught old Cal shimmying down the drainpipe outside his bedroom window. And Whiteford’s wife—that was Ruby Talbot—was buck-ass naked in bed at the time.”
    “An entirely different matter,” Caroline concluded.
    “There you go. And not more than five years back, the Bonny boys and the Shivers peppered each other with buckshot. But that was only over a pig. And seeing as they’re cousins and crazy, too, nobody paid much attention.”
    “I see.”
    By Jesus, Tucker thought, he liked her, liked her in a companionable sort of way that ran a friendly parallel alongside physical attraction.
    “But mostly, Innocence is pretty peaceable.”
    She frowned over the rim of her glass. “Do you put that on?”
    “Which is that?”
    “That slightly addled, good-ol’-boy routine.”
    He grinned and drank. “Only if it seems appropriate.”
    She sighed and looked away. Overhead the sky was darkening, and the occasional rumbles of thunder were closer, as were the quick, sharp flashes of lightning. But it felt good, too good, just to sit.
    “Are you worried? When the sheriff took that man away, he kept swearing he was going to kill you.”
    “No use getting in a lather over it.” But the concern in her voice stirred the juices. Smoothly, he slid an arm around her shoulders. “Don’t you worry, sweetheart. I wouldn’t want you to fret over me.”
    She turned her head. Again, her face was inches from his. “It’s a bit morbid, isn’t it? Using a near-death experience as a seduction.”
    “Ouch.” He was good-natured enough to laugh, experienced enough to keep his arm where it was. “Are you always so suspicious of a man?”
    “Of a certain kind of man.” She lifted a hand and unwrapped his arm from her shoulders.
    “That’s cold, Caro, after all we’ve shared.” On a sigh of regret he touched his glass to hers. “Don’t suppose you’d invite me to supper?”
    Her lips twitched. “I don’t suppose I would.”
    “Maybe you’d play me another tune.”
    She didn’t smile now, only shook her head. “I’m taking a break from playing for anyone.”
    “Now, that’s a shame. Tell you what, I’ll play for you.”
    Her brows lifted in surprise. “You play the violin?”
    “Hell no. But I play the radio.” He stood, and realized abruptly the wine had gone straight to his head. It wasn’t a feeling he objected to. Strolling to his car, he pushed through his cassettes. After choosing one, he turned the key to auxiliary and popped it in.
    “Fats Domino,” he said with proper respect as “Blueberry Hill” slid out. He walked back, holding out a hand. “Come on.” Before Caroline could refuse, he was pulling her to her feet and into his arms. “I just can’thear this song and not want to dance with a pretty woman.”
    She could have protested or broken away. But it was harmless. And after the last twenty-four hours, she needed a little harmless diversion. So she settled against him, enjoying the fluid way he moved from walk to lawn, laughing a little when he eased her back into a dip, appreciating the way the wine spun inside her head.
    “Feel good?” he murmured.
    “Hmmm. You’re smooth, Tucker, maybe too smooth. But it’s a lot better than being shot at.”
    “I was thinking the same thing.” He nuzzled his cheek against her hair. It was soft as silk against his skin. Since he’d always had a weakness for texture, he didn’t try to prevent himself from feeling the contrast of her butter-smooth cheek against his, or the way her blouse shifted under his guiding hand. How long and slim her thighs were as they brushed and bumped against his.
    The sexual pull didn’t surprise him. It was as natural as breathing. What did surprise him was the overwhelming desire to toss her over his shoulder and carry her inside,