Born Innocent by Christine Rimmer

convoluted every minute. Right then, she longed to lean against him, to rest her head on his shoulder and drift off into forgetful sleep. She was sure that any real nightmares she might have while dreaming in Joe’s arms could never compare to what was happening in her real, waking world.
    He seemed to read her mind. “Scared?”
    “ God. Yes.”
    He guided her head onto his shoulder. She sighed, and rested there. “Don’t be scared,” he whispered. “We’ll work this out. I swear it. It’ll be okay.”
    He went on murmuring those soothing things she needed to hear, stroking her hair with one hand and holding her close with the other. His nearness was soothing for more than the soft words and the comfort of his touch. His nearness evoked memories—mostly of their one forbidden night—little, inconsequential thoughts that distracted her from her anxiety over what was going on right now.
    She realized she hadn’t seen him smoke since that night they’d shared. Had he quit? She could smell the faint taint of tobacco on him, but O’Donovan’s back room was always smoky. If he’d been there all night, of course he’d smell of smoke.
    “ Did you quit smoking?”
    He chuckled. The sound reverberated against her ear. “Leave it to you to notice something like that.”
    “ Did you?”
    “ Yeah.”
    “ How long ago?”
    “ About six weeks.”
    She smiled against his shoulder, and refused to wonder if the time coincided with their magical night together. “Good going, Tally.”
    “ It was nothing, Snow.”
    She was quiet. Then, “How’s your shoulder?”
    “ All better.”
    “ That’s good.” She closed her eyes. And on the velvet darkness of her inner lids, she saw the snowy bandage against his tanned skin, remembered the hardness of his muscles beneath her hands, the rough, strong way he’d entered her body, thrusting so deep that she’d cried out in an agony of pleasure.
    She couldn’t stop her foolish heart from wondering what he would do now if she tipped her head up and begged for his kiss, if she turned enough to rub her breasts against him, if she—
    Claire cut off the dangerous thoughts. Gently, so he wouldn’t suspect what had been going through her mind, she lifted her head from the cradle of his shoulder.
    Their eyes met. His were amber fire. She knew that he knew exactly what she had been imagining.
    But all he said was, “Feel better?”
    “ Yes, thank you. Much better.”
    And she realized it was true. She felt stronger just from having rested against him for a few moments. Her mind felt clearer than it had since she’d pushed open the unlatched door to Henson’s bungalow. She spoke with new spirit.
    “ You know, my missing gun could be a coincidence.”
    He smiled. “You’re right.” He went on to suggest, “Why don’t you call Amelia and Verna to make sure neither of them happened to move it?”
    She stood up, full of fresh strength and purpose. “I will. I’ll call them right now.”
    “ Good. And while you’re at it, has anyone else you can think of had the opportunity to take it?”
    She thought over his question. Then, “Until yesterday, no. ”
    “ Okay, then. Let’s start with first things first. Call Verna and Amelia.”
    Claire followed his instructions. She was lucky to reach both of her employees at their homes. Amelia, who still sounded somewhat hysterical, said she hadn’t touched the gun, and couldn’t remember the last time she’d noticed if it was where it should be. Verna, like Claire, thought she remembered seeing the gun in its place yesterday. Like Amelia, Verna claimed she hadn’t so much as touched it.
    Claire gritted her teeth and called her mother to ask her if she’d seen the gun. Ella did not take the news well. A man had been shot—and her daughter’s gun was missing? Claire told her mother to settle down, and finally extracted the information that Ella hadn’t even known Claire owned a gun—and she certainly hadn’t moved it from