Home-Grown Husband. Sharon Swan

danceable enough to stand up to give it a try, including the host and hostess, who had been seated clear across the yard.

      “If Fast-Foot Sally glides by anywhere near me, she’s mine,” Tess declared with grim intent.

      “If your friend is smart,” Jordan muttered under his breath, “she’ll stay well out of reach.”

      The woman in question seemed to heed that advice as she and her husband drifted closer and came to a halt on Jordan’s side of the table. They separated, smiling at each other. And then Sally was pulling Jordan to his feet. With the element of surprise in her favor, she managed it with little trouble. They were headed toward the middle of the makeshift dance floor in the center of the grassy yard before he could issue a protest.

      “I’m not much good at this,” he said, which was no less than the truth. He enjoyed listening to music. Moving to it had never been his strong suit.

      “It’s a slow one,” his hostess pointed out. “Practicing will only make you better.”

      Jordan gave in to his fate with the thinnest of sighs, placed an arm lightly around his partner’s waist and began to move, shuffling his feet.

      She grinned up at him. “There, you see. You’re doing fine.”

      “If I stomp on your toes, don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Gazing over her head, he saw that Tess and Ben had joined the dancers. It gave him some satisfaction to note that the big Texan wasn’t demonstrating any fancier moves than he was. At least he had that small comfort, he thought.

      But not for long.

      Midway through the second chorus, Ben closed the gap between them and executed a quick spin. Legs braced to halt his own momentum, he launched his partner straight at Jordan and Sally, then reached for the hand his wife suddenly freed to extend his way, and tugged her toward him in the next breath. Tess landed in the vacant spot an instant later, completing a swift switch of partners worthy of a Broadway musical production.

      Jordan couldn’t help but admire it, even though the outcome left him holding a somewhat breathless and thoroughly disgruntled woman. “Sally put him up to it,” she grumbled, hauling in air. “I know it. And after that little performance, it’ll look ridiculous if we don’t continue dancing.”

      “So we will.” Jordan resumed his slow shuffle. “It won’t be hard to keep up with me,” he told her dryly.

      Keep up? With him? Tess drew in more air as realization dawned. All at once every inch of her zinged to full awareness of just how close they were at that very moment. Almost chest-to-chest close.

      Or, rather, chest to breast.

      Somehow her feet kept moving and her lungs kept working. Somehow her gaze remained steady as she aimed it beyond a broad shoulder and looked up at a moonlit sky. Basic instincts had assumed control. Which was a good thing, because most of her brain seemed to be on hold.

      She might tell herself it was silly, that she’d shared many a dance with numerous men in the past, and they hadn’t all been longtime friends and neighbors. Parties during her early college days in the Phoenix area had produced a variety of young and attractive partners, and she’d kicked up her high heels on more than one occasion.

      But she had to admit that she’d never encountered anyone quite like the man who held her now, never been so physically reminded of the fact that she was female. Not even marriage and motherhood had prepared her for her body’s total and undeniable response. From the top of her head to the tips of her toes, Jordan Trask made her truly feel like a woman.

      “Sorry I’m not more of a dancer,” he said, his voice a rough whisper at her ear. “You’ll probably be glad when this song is over.”

      No, she wouldn’t. How could she, given the wonders that came with being in this man’s arms? “Not especially,” she murmured. “I’ve always liked this song.”

      She pulled back slightly to gaze up at him and awareness soared to new heights. They were surrounded by people, yet it seemed as if, for this singular moment in time, no one existed but the two of them. It had to be her imagination, she told herself. He couldn’t be feeling what she was feeling.

      Could he?

      The last notes of the music died away at that point. The song was over. And Tess decided then and there to go home—before she started imagining who knew what.

      “Thanks for the dance,” she said with deliberate mildness.

      “Thanks for putting up with my shuffling.” He released her and took a step back. “Can I get you another glass of wine?”

      With a swift shake of her head, she said, “It’s getting late. I have to go.”

      He didn’t point out that it was barely ten o’clock. He just said, “I’ll walk you home.”

      She brushed a stray lock of hair back from her face. “You don’t have to, you know. You could stay and enjoy yourself.”

      It was his turn to shake his head. “I’m ready to go, too, but first I suppose we should say goodbye to our hosts.”

      Tess aimed a look around her. “Somehow it doesn’t amaze me that they’re nowhere in sight. I’ll talk to Sally tomorrow.”

      “Okay,” Jordan agreed as they started for the front of the house. “Will you tell her I said thanks for inviting me?”

      “I’d be glad to. Right after I tell her a few other things.”

      THEY WERE HALFWAY HOME by the time Jordan finally decided that, with the least encouragement on her part, he would kiss the woman walking beside him when they got to her door. It was something he’d been mulling over ever since he’d released her after that dance and dropped his arms when he only wanted to haul her closer, because holding her had felt so damn good. But he’d figured she wouldn’t appreciate being swept up in full view of a crowd of onlookers and carried off into the night. Which was exactly what everything inside him had firmly urged him to do, right then and there.

      No, he’d settle for a kiss. And not a long one, either. Just a short, small taste of those naturally rosy lips. That’s what he had in mind.

      Jordan snorted under his breath. Who was he kidding? His mind had little to do with it. Other parts of him were a lot more involved. They were, in fact, primed for action. But he could—and would—keep them in check.

      The question was: Would he get any encouragement?

      Tess hadn’t said much beyond a few words since they’d left the party. Neither had he. Still there was no uneasiness in the silence between them, not that he could detect. Could be she was comfortable being alone with him despite that humming instant of up-close-and-personal eye contact during their dance. Or she might be too busy plotting revenge for her friend’s meddling to spare a thought for discomfort.

      Whatever the case, he figured it was to his advantage. If she wasn’t uptight about the situation, chances were a brief good-night kiss could be taken as no more than a casual end to a pleasant evening. She didn’t have to know how much he wanted a taste of her.

      Just a small taste, Jordan reminded himself, and repeated the inner warning for good measure when they arrived at their destination minutes later and mounted the low front steps. As they stood under the soft glow cast by the porch light overhead, her fine-grained skin again took on a golden gleam, and Jordan’s hands fisted in his pockets, where they’d remained during the short walk.

      He vowed to keep them there and off that petal-smooth skin. No matter what.

      “Thanks for seeing me home,” Tess said, finally breaking the quiet all around them.

      “You’re welcome,” he replied, stark huskiness in his tone.

      She drew a sharp breath, as if she’d recognized what his vocal chords had revealed. It was something a man had a difficult time hiding when a female was in sight who stirred everything male in him. He’d