Carry Me Home by Rosalind James

too soon, she was laughing, stepping back, saying, “Wow. Give me a second. I think I need a beer,” and not even raising any objection when he took off to get it for her.
    “Though I know you’d rather have bought it yourself,” he said when he brought it back. “Being the independent kind of woman you are.”
    There was that curve of pink mouth as she smiled right back at him. Her lipstick was all-the-way chewed off by now, and not only didn’t she care, he could swear that she was totally unaware of it. And her mouth looked great.
    Rochelle and Deke showed up, too, then, Rochelle laughing as she took her seat. “What do you think, Cal? Think you owe me?”
    “Yeah. I do.” He slid out of the chair. “Now, don’t drop anything in my beer while I’m gone, Professor,” he told Zoe. “I know you want my body, but control yourself. I’ll do most things if I’m asked nicely.” He winked at her. “Give me ten minutes and I’m right back here, ready to show you a few more things.”
    He hadn’t been planning on having to bribe a whole band to play things his way while he was out tonight. Like it or not, he was taking a trip to the ATM. But it was going to be a quick one.
    Less than fifteen minutes, and he was back there. And she wasn’t at the table. Nobody was.
    His eyes roamed the dark, crowded dance floor, looked for that yellow dress, that dark head. And saw her. He leaned back in his chair and watched them circle the floor. Watched Greg Moore, that sleazy bastard he had the misfortune of calling his cousin, giving Zoe a double spin and catching her again, his hand landing a little too far from her shoulder blade, pretty damn close to where it had no business being, sliding casually around again, none too quickly, to its proper place.
    She still had that thumb clamped, he saw. At least there was that.
    He waited until the song ended, then vaulted onto the stage again and said a couple words into Wayne’s ear. Wayne nodded, long hair swinging, set his guitar in its stand, and Cal was jumping down again.
    “We’ll take a short break, folks,” Wayne announced. “Back in fifteen.”
    Cal got back to the table before the others did, pulled out Zoe’s chair before Greg had a chance. He saw Greg about to sit his self-satisfied butt in the chair beside her, too, not getting the point at all.
    “How’s Kathy doing?” Cal asked him. “And how’s that new baby?”
    Zoe turned, looked up at Greg in surprise, and Greg glowered at Cal.
    Cal kept his expression innocently inquisitive. “Heard the second one’s tougher,” he said. “She at home with them tonight? Well,” he said with a laugh he didn’t mean one bit, “of course she is. Not like a woman with a newborn’s up for much dancing.”
    “Her mom’s there,” Greg got out between his teeth. “Thanks for your concern.”
    “Uh-huh.” Cal raised the bottle to his lips, took a sip. Warm, but who cared.
    Greg looked like he’d have loved to say something else, clearly thought better of it. “Nice to meet you, Zoe,” he finally decided to say.
    “Uh . . . yeah,” she said. “Give my best to your wife. And the kids.”
    “Don’t forget his mother-in-law,” Cal said. “Aunt Doreen doesn’t like to be forgotten.”
    Greg beat a scowling retreat with as much dignity as he could muster. Cal let a little smile of satisfaction curl his lips and watched Zoe drain her beer. That was her third, he was pretty sure, and she didn’t look like a big drinker to him.
    Rochelle came back at last, sitting down with Deke, who looked happier than a pig in shit.
    “Falling down on the job, aren’t you?” Cal asked Rochelle. “You didn’t happen to mention Greg Moore’s interesting—and increasing—family to Zoe? Speaking of bad guys and good guys,” he told Zoe, “I’m not saying Greg’s a criminal, but he’s not exactly a saint, either. I wouldn’t say your radar’s too accurate so far.”
    “Oh, is that who you were with?” Rochelle