Turn My World Around

by Kait Nolan

  This wasn’t what she wanted—at all. But even so, he was so earnest, it was hard not to be charmed. “You are charmingly old fashioned, Tucker.”

  “And believe me, it’s killing me.” He scrubbed a hand over his face. “How long will it take you to go home and get ready?”

  “What? Now?” He was really serious about this?

  “Now. Tonight.”

  She blinked, considered. “If it were only me, thirty minutes. Kurt will still be up, so probably closer to an hour. But I can meet you—”

  “I’m picking you up.”

  She grimaced imagining the interrogation Marianne would put him through. “My mother—”

  “I can handle your mother. I’m picking you up at home. Let’s make it an hour.”

  “What about rehearsal?”

  “Later. I think it’ll be better later.” He said it like a prayer, as if maybe later he’d have himself under better control. “Let’s do this right.”

  Right?

  Now that he’d woken her long dormant girlie parts, they had an entirely different idea of what would be right at the moment. She considered saying it outright. He’d fought for her when she would’ve walked away. He made her feel worthy, and that wasn’t something she had a lot of experience with. That was all she’d needed to know. But this part of the process was important to him. If he needed to feel like they’d checked off steps like some kind of items on a list—or if he thought she needed it—who was she to argue?

  “Okay.” Amused, she scooped up her purse and strode to the door.

  “And Corinne?”

  She looked over her shoulder.

  “When I do take you to bed, I won’t rush that either.”

  The amusement faded and her breath went short. Maybe they were on the same page after all. “I’m counting on it.”

  Chapter 12

  She’d dressed to kill him.

  As Corinne shifted to cross her legs in the passenger seat beside him, Tucker caught a glimpse of long, toned leg and tightened his grip on the steering wheel. He’d thought getting out of the apartment, going on a proper date would help him reset his priorities, let him focus on something other than getting her naked. But he’d absolutely underestimated her.

  Corinne had always been beautiful. But since she came back to Wishful, she usually dressed more for function than fashion. Nothing she’d done, short of the costuming for their performances, had been intended to draw any attention to herself. Tucker liked the minimalist look on her. No muss, no fuss, no artifice. Just her.

  Tonight, though. God. The dress reminded him of Marilyn Monroe, except instead of the trademark white, this one was fire engine red. The halter neck left bare those shoulders and arms toned from long hours hauling heavy trays. She wasn’t wearing her old pageant queen style makeup, but she’d done something smoky with her eyes that made the blue dark and mysterious, and her lips were glossy, pink, and utterly kissable. This was the Homecoming Queen all grown up. She was all his. And tonight, everybody in town was going to know it.

  Tucker wasn’t at all sure she was okay with that. She’d been tense as a bow string when he’d picked her up, which he’d attributed to her mother. No telling what garbage she’d been filling Corinne’s head with in the time it took her to get ready. But he’d charmed them both with flowers and had a quick and impassioned discussion with Kurt about how it really did make more sense for the preacher to say “May the Force be with you” instead of “May the peace be with you” at church on Sundays. He’d expected the tension to lessen once they’d gotten away, but she’d stayed silent on the drive out to Hope Springs, the leg-crossing more a product of fidgeting in discomfort than a deliberate attempt to seduce. Where was her head?

  The parking lot of The Spring House was packed, even for a Saturday night.

  “Crowded tonight,” she observed. “Are you sure we’ll be able to get in?”

  “We’ve got a reservation.”

  “The Spring House doesn’t do reservations.”

  He flashed her his trademark grin. “They do when the owner owes you a favor.” Before she could say anything else, he’d skirted the hood of the car and was there with a hand as she opened the door.

  “Ooo, calling in your chips on my account. I feel special,” she teased.

  One long leg extended from the car, drawing his eyes down to the strappy heels that made her almost as tall as him. He couldn’t help but imagine her in nothing but the shoes.

  “That’s certainly the goal.”

  Because he wanted to and because he wanted to gauge how she was feeling, Tucker drew her up and out of the car, into his arms. He loved how they fit together, loved that he could surround her with his bigger frame. His mouth brushed hers, once, twice. A hum resonated in the back of her throat as she curled her fingers into his shirtfront and drew him in for more. Yeah, they both needed this. Tucker sank deeper, enjoying the lazy stroll of a kiss, until her limbs went fluid as candle wax on a hot July day and he sensed her nerves melting away.

  Feeling the shift in her mood, he edged back, gratified by the slightly dazed expression on her face. “Thought we’d start with dessert first.”

  Her lips curved in a languid, feline smile that went along with the seduction of her dress. “I’m hoping that’s just the appetizer.”

  How long until the main course?

  Reminding himself patience was a virtue, even if it did lead to blue balls, Tucker stepped back and escorted her up the steps to the door, subtly adjusting his pants. The vestibule of the converted antebellum house was standing room only. Taking a firm grip on Corinne’s hand, he began shouldering his way toward the hostess station.

  “Tucker McGee!”

  No. Oh no. Let it be anybody but the Casserole Patrol.

  “Oh look, Delia! They’re here together,” Miss Betty cried. “I need to update my vote.”

  Tucker closed his eyes and prayed for patience as the trio of devils in granny’s clothes converged on them. “Ladies.”

  Miss Betty was furiously tapping at the screen of a smartphone.

  Lord preserve us all.

  “So is it true?” Miss Delia asked.

  “Is what true?” Tucker was no dummy. The only way to even hope to curtail gossip was to admit to nothing.

  Miss Maudie Bell took a long look at his hand linked with Corinne’s. “Reckon you won’t be one of those bachelors at the auction now.”

  Before he could try shifting the subject by asking if they’d finally talked Norah into it—surely he’d have heard if she had— Corinne stepped into him. One arm slid around his waist, her fingers curling in his belt loop, her head tipping against his shoulder. “I’m delighted to say that he won’t.”

  She spoke easily, her expression relaxed, her posture straight and tall. No prevarication, no trying to hide. With this move, she publicly proclaimed that they were together in a manner as efficient as taking out a billboard on Main Street.

  Miss Delia popped Miss Betty’s arm with the back of her hand. “I wonder who won the pool?”

  Corinne laughed. Outright laughed. And her smile, as she answered, was radiant. “That’d be Mama Pearl. But I’d say she had the inside track since she more or less set us up, so she might’ve recused herself.”

  “There was a pool?” he asked.

  Her smile flashed again. “Of course there was a pool. It’s Omar. He can’t resist.”

  Where was this confidence coming from? And it was true confidence. He knew her well enough now to see the difference between the fake-it-til-you-make-it kind she’d used in high school. He’d spent so long watching her wallflower routine, he’d almost forgotten how vivacious she could be when she wanted. It was sexy as hell. She was sexy as hell.

  “Tucker! So glad you could make it.”

  Grateful for the reprieve from his less than G-rated thoughts, Tucker turned to shake the hand of their host. “Tom. I’d like you to meet my date, Corinne Dawson. Corinne, Tom Thatcher. He’s Miss Mattie’s gran
dson and the current owner of The Spring House.”

  Any eyes that hadn’t already been on them turned in their direction.

  Corinne didn’t flinch, didn’t shrink. She flashed her Homecoming Queen smile and took the hand Tom offered. “So nice to meet you.”

  “If you’ll both come this way. I’ve got something special put together, just for you.”

  Tucker laced his fingers with hers again and they followed Tom through the labyrinth of rooms making up the restaurant. At all the attention they gathered, Corinne kept her head held high, no hurry. Everything about her said I am with Tucker McGee and defied them all to make issue of it.

  He loved every second.

  Tom led them out the back and into the tiny greenhouse. A single table was set up in the center of all the lush greenery. Wide-bladed fans stirred the air.

  “Oh, this is lovely,” Corinne said as they stepped into a private oasis.

  “Isn’t it? We haven’t officially opened it to the public yet. We’ll use it for small events, receptions and the like. But for tonight, it’ll be for you. I thought perhaps you’d like to escape all the speculation.”

  Tucker braced himself for the shock, but Corinne merely sank into the chair he held out for her.

  “I expect we’ve added to it now,” she said. “But the quiet’s appreciated. Thank you.”

  Tucker circled around to his own chair.

  Tom handed over a couple of menus. “I’ll let you two look over these.”

  He retreated, leaving them alone.

  “I feel like I owe you a round of applause.”

  “Why?” she asked. “For finding my spine?”

  The self-deprecatory tone rubbed him the wrong way. “You have plenty of spine on any given day. I was just thinking confidence looks good on you.” His gaze skimmed over her again. “Right now everything looks good on you.”

  Corinne set the menu aside and leaned back, crossing those long legs again. “It’s easy to be confident when you know what you want.”

  “Yeah? And what’s that?”

  “You.”

  She’d never been indifferent to him, and he’d known during their failed tango rehearsal that she was willing. But hearing her boldly state her interest, knowing he was the root of that new confidence made Tucker feel about ten feet tall and bulletproof.

  Corinne’s gaze stayed steady on his, no signs of timidity or embarrassment or fear of rejection. “I’m done waffling, done worrying, done wondering what I did to deserve you. At the end of the day, at the end of the night, I want you. Now, we can stick to your original plan if that’s what you really want, but if you’re hanging out in the slow lane because you think it’s what I need, let me assure you, it’s not.”

  There was absolutely nothing slow about what was going through his mind as she reached across the table to lay her hand over his.

  “You’ve given me everything I need. You gave me kindness and friendship, and you made me feel like a person with value for the first time in I don’t know how long.”

  His heart gave a hard, painful lurch, both happy he’d managed that and aching that it had been necessary. “Corinne.” Tucker turned his hand over to curl around hers.

  “Let me finish.” She wasn’t so blasé now, and he could feel the faint trembling through their linked fingers. “I don’t know if it’s forever or just for now, and I’m okay with that. But I’m tired of standing still. I want to move forward. With you.”

  ~*~

  Corinne waited, her heart in her throat, as Tucker stared at her, dumbstruck. And why shouldn’t he? He was the consummate Southern gentleman and she’d essentially propositioned him. As the silence spun out between them, her hard-won confidence slowly evaporated.

  His throat worked. She knew him well enough to understand he was considering his words carefully.

  Had she disappointed him? Shocked him? Did he prefer the meek version of her that needed saving?

  “Tom went to a lot of trouble tonight. I can’t just ask for the check, throw you over my shoulder, and run.”

  The relieved laugh burst out. “I hadn’t actually intended to bring it up quite yet. It seemed an appropriate topic for dessert.”

  “I have never wanted to start a meal with dessert so much in my life.”

  The fear that had crept in slid away at the hunger in his eyes. “I was afraid we weren’t on the same page.”

  “Believe me, I’ve been reading way ahead. But I didn’t want to give away any spoilers in case we weren’t actually reading the same book.”

  Where did his version of their story end? Tucker McGee wasn’t a casual fling sort of guy. She’d never been a casual fling kind of girl. As much as she was ready to do this, she wasn’t to the point of imagining puppies, rainbows, and white picket fences. She’d known too much harsh reality for that. But she’d meant what she’d said. Forever or for now, she wanted him. After so long spent merely surviving, tonight, she wanted to live.

  Tom came back to take their orders.

  Somehow, despite the heat crackling between them, they both managed to relax into some semblance of normalcy. They had the proper date he’d wanted, enjoying excellent food and adult conversation. He talked of law school and theater, filling in the gaps since they’d graduated high school. She told him of her elopement and surprised him with all the world travels in the years before her marriage had turned into a prison. Beneath it all, desire simmered at a low hum.

  When her wine glass was empty and the check paid, Tucker offered his hand. “Still want dessert?”

  Corinne laid her hand in his. “Dessert and a dance seems like the perfect end to a perfect evening.”

  They said little on the drive back to his place. His thumb stroked the side of hers and the heat seemed to build between their palms. She wanted those palms on her skin. He pulled into the private lot behind the building housing his law office and led her upstairs to his apartment. Shutting the door behind them, he turned into her, pressing her back into the door, his hands curving around her hips as he took her mouth in a kiss that hid nothing of his carnal intent. All the civility melted away, and she pressed into him, her hand fisting in his shirt to drag him closer. The bed could wait. She was completely good with the door.

  When he broke off, she whimpered in protest.

  “Be right back.”

  He stepped away. Corinne stayed where she was, blindly setting her clutch on the entry table as he moved around the apartment, lighting candles. Candles. He was a man who could incinerate her with a kiss against a door, and he kept candles. He moved to the stereo. Of course there’d be music for this. It seemed Tucker was always surrounded by music. He liked to set the scene. And tonight’s scene would be romance. She hadn’t counted on that, and her heart hitched because he would take the time to do it. For her.

  Tucker came back and took both her hands in his, drawing her into the room. “Want wine?”

  She shook her head, eyes on his.

  Music spilled out of the speakers, dark, throbbing strings that made her heart ache with longing. He pulled her into his arms, into the dance. Corinne realized that here, now, there’d be no eroding that endless patience of his. This would be no quick, mindless meeting of bodies. This wouldn’t be simple. He wasn’t simple.

  Pulse thick in her throat, she followed where he led, her body responding to the press of his as if she’d just been waiting for him to flip the switch to bring her back to life. His hands skimmed over her, lighting little fires in their wake. She lost herself to the music, to sensation as he bent his head, pressing his lips to her bare shoulder. The contrast of hunger and care unraveled her. It wasn’t until his hands stroked up her back, to the knot at the neck of her dress that she realized they’d made it into the bedroom.

  His eyes met hers, dark with desire. Corinne pressed her lips to his, threading her fingers into the hair at his nape as he worked the knot free. The fabric slithered down her shoulders, the dress held up now only by the press of his body to
hers, and nerves jittered. She’d been with no one since Lance. She’d had a child. Her body wasn’t what it had been.

  Tucker’s hands came up to frame her face as he eased back. The dress slid down, catching on her hips, baring her breasts. Feeling exposed, Corinne flexed her fingers in the fabric of his shirt and fought the urge to press against him and hide. Stretch marks and mommy tummy were not attractive.

  He kept his gaze on hers, one thumb stroking her bottom lip. “Let me look at you.” His voice was a rough whisper.

  Sucking in a breath, with the last shreds of her courage, she reached down to nudge the dress past her hips and to the floor. Ever the gentleman, he helped her step free of the puddle of fabric, then kept her hand in his as he drank her in.

  “Goddamn, you’re so fucking beautiful.”

  The harsh words did more to relieve the tension than a dozen assurances. Emboldened, Corinne stepped into him, running both hands up his chest and over his shoulders. “Show me,” she ordered.

  Capturing her mouth, he bore them both down to the mattress. As heartbreaking strings transitioned to sensual jazz, he worshiped every neglected inch. She came alive again beneath his hands, his mouth, body coiling with unbearable pleasure until she shot over the first brutal peak with his name on her lips.

  She was still shuddering as he stretched out over her, finally, deliciously naked. God, the weight of him felt so good, so right, and when he shifted, nudging her core, Corinne tipped her mouth to his and wrapped around him, welcoming.

  He slid home and stilled, waiting as her body adjusted to his fullness. “Okay?”

  “So okay,” she moaned.

  He retreated a scant inch and pushed back in. Corinne drew her knees back, hooking her feet around his waist. With each slow stroke, he thrust in deeper, filling spaces of aching emptiness that had been her constant companion for years. Throat tight, she closed her eyes.

  “Stay with me, Corinne.”

  She opened her eyes, focusing on his face. He lowered his chest to hers, lacing their fingers, and began to move again, driving her relentlessly up. She chased the high, matching his rhythm, wanting the exquisite friction to last forever, yet yearning for release. Her skin slicked with sweat and her vision blurred until all she could see was his eyes, darkly green, staring into hers.