Tucker's Claim. Sarah McCarty

      Placing his foot on the bottom step, he grazed his finger over her knee. The practical wool of her skirt did nothing to dim the impact on his senses. “Then I vote for bad.”

      Her lids flickered and her lip slipped between her teeth. “Why?”

      He smiled, holding her gaze, his pulse kicking up. She wasn’t fighting him. “Because I can make being bad…very, very good.”

      Her breath caught. Exhaling, she confessed, “Such is what I suspect, which simply makes my decision that much harder.”

      The flush on her cheeks destroyed the last of his good intentions. Sliding his fingers to the back of her knee, he curved his palm over the point. “Want me to make it easy for you?”

      Sally’s expression shifted. An element he didn’t recognize enriched the speculation as she ran her gaze over him. The glance, rich in feminine knowledge, burned along his desire, as it traveled from the top of his hat to the toes of his boots, neither of which were courting clean. “Would thee be willing?”

      The lack of disapproval in her summation only goaded his anger with the message it sent. He’d been here often enough to recognize the signs. She wasn’t looking for proper from him, just a few illicit moments in bed that she could hug as her sexy little secret on cold winter nights. He dropped his hand and stepped back. “Is your bed getting so cold that you’re lowering yourself to invite a savage into it?”

      She blinked and slid off the rail. It was easy to read the emotions chasing across her expression this time. Horror. Affront. Anger. And then pity. “Thee do not think much of thyself.”

      That wasn’t true. He thought a lot of himself, he just didn’t think much of how other people saw him. “Thinking on changing me?”

      With a cock of her head, she acknowledged his displeasure, then she shrugged. “I’ve been thinking on many things.”

      “Like what?” He didn’t trust that too-calm way in which she observed him.

      “Like the fact that thee are a good man, as well as being a very big temptation.”

      He might be a temptation, but he wasn’t good. And she damn well knew it. “Have you been drinking?”

      “I don’t believe in drink.”

      She didn’t drink, she didn’t dance and she didn’t believe in violence. “What do you believe in?”

      She didn’t answer right away, just studied him with her big gray eyes to the point that he was beginning to feel like a bug under a magnifying glass. And then in that regal way she always moved, which spoke of confidence and commanded respect, she descended the steps. When she reached the bottom one, it was natural to hold out his hand, natural that she place hers in it, natural that he continue to hold it as she took that last step that brought her directly before him. Her fingers curled around his. Her hand was cool and dry. She wasn’t nervous about dancing with him. “I believe in choice.”

      And this close it was easy to determine why. There was a touch of alcohol on her breath. Someone had spiked the punch. Sally Mae probably wasn’t in command of all her faculties. A decent man would have escorted her back inside to the dance. But he wasn’t a decent man. He was Tucker McCade, known more for his brawling skills than his scruples. In short, he was no better than he had to be.

      “Then I’m glad you’re choosing me.”

      Her head cocked to the side as he pulled her in. “Thee are lying.”

      Yes, he was. What with Sam just having left with Bella, Tucker was more conscious than ever of what would never be his. A woman to love him for what he was. The way Bella loved Sam. The way Desi loved Caine. But tonight, he was in the mood to pretend that it could be, and with Sally Mae. He drew their linked hands up and to the right, guiding her into his arms. The top of her head tucked under his chin as if it belonged there. “Do you care?” he asked against the silk of her hair.

      “Not tonight.”

      “Good.”

      “Thee are holding me too closely.”

      She might be protesting, but he noticed she wasn’t stepping away.

       Would thee be willing?

      He was more than willing to give her anything she wanted for whatever reason. A man like him wasn’t one for passing up golden opportunities.

      “Your husband let you lead when you danced?”

      She shook her head. “No, he was like thee. He liked to be in charge.”

      At least she had one thing right. He was a man who led. “Then you won’t have trouble following me.”

      Her head tipped back. Her eyes were very dark in the shadow of his hold, mysterious with an emotion he couldn’t decipher. “No, I don’t think I will.”

      The soft huskiness underlying the statement increased the fire that just being near her ignited. “Good.”

      He led her into the first steps of the three-count dance. She followed easily. Her free hand slid up his chest to settle on his shoulder and her head snuggled against him. She was as graceful a dancer as she was in everything else, following him easily under the stars. And he came to a decision. This kind of pretending could be good. “I guess you dance after all.”

      “What made thee think I didn’t?”

      He smiled at the softness of her tone, as if she, too, didn’t want to break the quiet of the moment. “You seem awfully religious.”

      “Being a Quaker does not mean I abandon joy.”

      Her hips brushed his as he led her through a turn. His cock jerked as if her fingers had closed around it. Damn, she made him ache like a green boy.

      “Glad to hear it.”

      Chuckling, she squeezed his hand. “I imagine thee are.”

      He wanted to close his eyes, as she had, and wallow in the moment, take the pretense to another level. Take advantage of her inebriation. It would be so easy. She was making it easy, but he remembered the gentleness of her touch on his arm when she’d tended him, the softness she gave him so easily, and knew he wouldn’t do it. Sally’s reputation was a very fragile thing. Nurses weren’t held in high regard, often being considered little better than prostitutes. Being seen dancing with him would cost her everything. He’d give her this moment, but he’d make sure it didn’t come back to haunt her.

      Sally’s fingers shifted on his shoulder, moving across, following the line of muscle, testing his strength. His hands did a little testing of their own. The right opened across the small of her back, easily spanning the distance from side to side. She was a very slenderly built woman, to the point that it was hard to believe a body this delicate could house such a backbone of steel.

      Her hands slid back up over his biceps to curve over his shoulders.

      “Thee are a very strong man.”

      It came out more of a sigh.

      “You are a very beautiful woman.”

      As she shook her head, the citrus scent of her shampoo teased his senses. “I’m not, but it is very nice of thee to say so.”

      He debated arguing the point, but there were better ways than words to convince a woman of her beauty, and he’d much rather spend his time indulging them. He led her through another turn, pulling her against him so the press of her hips to the hardness of his cock was more than a brush. More of a lure. Fire raced up his backbone as Sally sighed and relaxed against him, prolonging the moment.

      “Thee are also very light on thy feet.”

      “It comes in handy in my profession.”

      She stiffened. She’d never made any secret that she hated what he did. He had never made it any secret that