Читать книгу Home-Grown Husband - Sharon Swan - Страница 12

Jordan resumed the task of finishing his coffee, aware that his question remained unanswered. Not that he’d been expecting to ask his gardening teacher to go anywhere with him that night. His sole intention, as he’d climbed her porch steps, was to see her again.

The truth was, he hadn’t been able to convince himself to stay away any longer, not after keeping a sharp eye out for male visitors over the past several evenings and failing to see any calling on Tess Cameron. The field was clear, he’d presumed, an assumption just confirmed by her friend’s obvious effort to throw them together. She would know far better than he if another man were in the picture.

Plainly, the answer was no.

On one hand, he was glad—probably more than he should be—that his neighbor was free to consider his suggestion. On the other, he couldn’t help noting that she wasn’t jumping at the chance to take him up on it.

Jordan glanced around a kitchen as homey as the one he currently called his own. Here, rainbow shades predominated and flowers ruled, covering the chair cushions and topping the windows. More flowers were strung out in a high border at the edge of the ceiling and a short glass vase holding an assortment of the real variety stood on the counter near the refrigerator.

And there, he noticed, a new and entirely different element had won out. Displayed on the front of the tall refrigerator, held up by a bright mix of small magnets, were several crayon drawings, all of trains.

“An artist in the family?” he asked with a nod at the pictures.

Tess’s expression softened as a quick, fond smile appeared. “My daughter has her heart set on becoming a railroad engineer.”

“Hmm. Interesting.” Women did most everything these days, Jordan thought, including rocketing off into space. By the time eight-year-olds grew up, who knew what they’d be into?

“And I think she means business,” Tess added, sounding like a proud mother. “One of the first words she learned to say was choo-choo. Ali was always more delighted with the toy train chugging around our Christmas tree than the ornaments on it.”

Jordan waited, but she didn’t go on. Finally he set his mug down with a soft clunk, deciding there was no use beating around the bush. “If you’d rather go alone tonight,” he said, “I’ll certainly understand.”

Whatever he might have expected, it wasn’t the reply he got.

“If you’d rather go alone, I’ll be the one to understand,” she said bluntly. “You were shanghaied into making that offer, and I intend to see that Sally gets what’s coming to her.”

One corner of his mouth kicked up at her abruptly dire tone. “What’s the plan?”

“Boiling her in oil sounds great at the moment.” Tess blew out a breath. “Or I could be downright cruel and break one of her fingernails. They’re her pride and joy.”

“That’ll teach her.” He stretched his long legs out in front of him and the dog at his feet yawned as if the movement had interrupted a nap. Thankfully, the cat was nowhere in sight. Jordan still wasn’t sure that Jones had learned his lesson. Right now, he’d rather not put it to the test.

He had other things on his mind—mainly the answer he’d yet to get.

Reaching down, he brushed a hand over a furry head, then sat back and returned his gaze to the woman seated beside him. “Regardless of how it came about, I don’t want to take back what I said earlier. Will you go with me?”

Another silent second passed before he finally got that reply. “All right, if you’d really like me to.”

“I would,” he said, and meant it.

Trouble was, he was beginning to think he liked it too much.

“THIS IS NO BIG DEAL,” Tess reminded her reflection as she viewed it in a wide dresser mirror under the watchful light eyes of the cat stretched out in full glory on her cherry-wood queen-size bed. “It’s not a real date, not even close. We just happen to be invited to the same party, so we’re going together.”

With that thought already firmly in mind when she’d dressed for the evening, she now wore what she’d planned to wear before Jordan Trask had arrived on the scene that morning. Her sleeveless white blouse edged with lace around a notched collar was comfortably suited to the warm weather, yet fancy enough for a casual party. Likewise her short coral-colored wraparound skirt and white mid-heeled sandals. Neighbors who had known her for years, even seen her grow up, would think she looked much the same as on a score of past occasions.

Which was as it should be, she reflected, because there was nothing all that exceptional about tonight. And if she repeated that to herself a dozen more times, maybe the swarm of butterflies flitting around in her stomach would calm down.

She could only hope.

Tess was still hoping, without great success, when the doorbell rang. “No big deal,” she muttered under her breath as she headed down the stairs leading to the front entryway. Then she opened the door and the butterflies furiously flapped their way to new heights.

It was, she had to admit, a big, big deal.

Oh, not to the man who calmly gazed back at her, hazel eyes deepened to gleaming green by the jade polo shirt he wore with tan pants. Certainly not to him. But, for her, the bald truth was that this was a far-from-ordinary occasion—something, she decided, she would try mightily to keep as her secret.

To that end, she smiled a small smile and aimed for the lightest of tones. “You’re right on time.”

He returned her smile with his own crooked version. “All set to go?”

She nodded, switched on the porch light and pulled a house key from a side pocket of her skirt. “This is all I need.”

Jordan watched as Tess secured the sturdy dead bolt on the door. That she had one at all surprised him a little. The house he’d rented sported only a standard lock on the knob and he hadn’t given it another thought, not in a place like Harmony. The crime rate was probably close to zero. Hardened criminals could well be an endangered species here, a far cry from many of the places he’d known in the past.

But he didn’t want to think about the past. That was behind him.

He’d rather consider the evening to come, although he realized it would hold some challenges. Keeping his eyes off Tess Cameron’s legs was the first and foremost. It wouldn’t do his temperature any good to start imagining how that creamy skin would feel under his palms. No damn good at all.

Jordan crossed his arms over his chest as they reached the bottom of the porch steps and started down a quiet street, side by side. He was her escort for the evening, he reminded himself, nothing more. He would take her to the party. He would see her home afterward. And he would try like blazes not to think about that dream.

No garden. No fragrant breezes. No welcoming woman waiting for him, wearing nothing but a—

“Tonight seems a little warmer than usual,” Tess said.

Definitely warmer, he reflected with an inner grimace. “Maybe it will cool off later,” he told her.

He could only hope.

THANKFULLY IT DID COOL OFF, the temperature dropping fairly rapidly once stars began to blink their way into the clear sky overhead.

And Jordan managed to cool off, as well.

Then again, he hadn’t had much time during the past hour to look at Tess’s legs, he had to admit. Ever since Ben Mendoza, a raven-haired, dark-eyed, big-boned man with a smile as wide as his native Texas, had pressed a cold beer bottle into Jordan’s hand and hauled him away for a lively game of horseshoes, the woman he’d escorted had only been glimpsed in the chatty crowd milling around the spacious backyard.

Now he had another beer in one hand and a pair of long steel tongs in the other, turning ribs on one of four sizzling charcoal grills set at one side of the yard near a high stone fence and trying to look like he’d been doing it all his life. Probably no male in the history of mankind, starting with the first caveman to roast a leg of something over an open fire, had ever confessed to having less than total skill in the outdoor-cooking department. Jordan didn’t plan on being the first.

“Having a good time?” his hostess, all decked out in something pink and gauzy, asked as she walked up and inspected his efforts.

“Yes,” he said, and it wasn’t just to be polite. The whole flock of Harmony residents present this evening, from the youngest to the oldest and every stage in between, were clearly enjoying themselves. And so was he. How amazed would they be, he wondered, if he told them he’d never attended a friendly neighbor’s party before this very night?

Rowdy parties, yes. Plenty of them in his younger, wilder days. But none like this one.

Sally took a hefty whiff of the spicy aroma rising from the grill. “Smells great. You must be an expert.”

One corner of his mouth slid upward. “Could be.”

“Sorry I had to rush away this morning.” Brown eyes sparkled as they met his. “I’m glad you and Tess decided to come together.”

The other edge of his mouth rose in the same slow slide. “I figured you would be.”

A fleeting smile surfaced. “Ah, yes. I won’t pretend I didn’t meddle. I did. But I only meant to help. Sometimes these things need a little nudge. Trouble is, I think Tess would like to nudge me flat off my feet and on my rear.” Sally aimed a wary glance around her. “Uh-oh. Here she comes. Gotta go. I’ve managed to keep two steps ahead of her since she arrived packing a razor-sharp gleam in her eye.” With that, Sally whipped around and fled.

The gleam was there, all right. It had been trained on him just a week earlier, so he had no trouble recognizing it as Tess approached. She halted beside him, eyes narrowed and fixed on her friend’s retreating back.

“She can run, but she can’t hide. Not forever.” Tess blew out a breath. “I’m getting some good exercise, at any rate. Along with an appetite. When will the ribs be done?”

“Soon,” he replied, figuring that was a safe enough guess.

As she looked his way, her gaze took on another gleam, this one of amusement. “I like the outfit.”

He dropped a glance at the black cotton apron his host had urged on him, its bib top sporting flaming red letters that declared Real Men Do Their Smoking On The Grill. “It’s a fashion statement, all right.”

The wry remark won him a quiet chuckle. “How did you wind up cooking?”

He shrugged. “Beats me. It just sort of happened.”

She nodded wisely. “Ben wanted to make you feel comfortable, so he put you to work. Are you?”

He cocked a brow. “Working?”

“Comfortable.”

He wasn’t, not entirely. Seeing how her fine-textured skin glowed under the flickering light of a tall metal torch staked nearby had his mind bent on wandering to forbidden places. And it would take some effort to keep it in check. But he could hardly say anything of the sort.

“Comfortable enough,” he replied, and firmly returned his gaze to the task at hand. “My stomach could use some food, though. Once these ribs are ready, I plan on doing them justice.”

THEY BOTH DID their dinner justice as they sat at one end of a long pine picnic table, sharing it with several other people. Jordan had chosen to sit opposite Tess rather than beside her, and as the meal progressed, he gave silent thanks for his foresight. He didn’t need their thighs touching, that was for sure, no matter how briefly or casually. Just watching the woman across from him lick sauce off her lips with a delicate pink tongue had his wayward thoughts considering the private merits of being licked himself…and not by a dog.

What he did need, he decided as he finished the last of his ribs, was a distraction.

“How about some music?” one of the men at the table asked, raising his voice over the low buzz of conversation.

“Yeah, Floyd,” another chimed in. “When you and the boys are done stuffing yourselves, let’s hear a few tunes.”

That suited Jordan to a tee. Whatever he might have imagined would follow, though, it wasn’t an impromptu performance by a barbershop quartet. Yet that’s what he found himself listening to minutes later, when three men with varying amounts of graying hair gathered to stand shoulder-to-shoulder behind a much younger man of about twenty seated in a wheelchair.

Jordan clapped along with the rest of the crowd at the end of “Down By The Old Millstream.” “They’re good,” he told Tess, leaning in her direction over the table. “Where did they come up with the idea to get together?”

“In a barbershop.” She smiled at his suddenly blank look. “And that’s the truth. Floyd Crenshaw, the tall man in the middle, owns the only genuine, old-time barbershop left in the downtown area. The two men standing beside him are longtime customers. My dad used to be the fourth member of the group. Now Brady, Floyd’s youngest son, has taken over.”

“He won the horseshoe toss.” Jordan studied the sandy-haired young man, who seemed fit enough, despite the disability. Probably not illness-related, he decided. An accident of some kind, most likely. It was a damn shame, but there it was. “The guy’s got an arm made for throwing, and a deadly aim.”

“Brady’s tough to beat,” Tess agreed as the opening strains of “Lida Rose” began. “He’s competitive. Even more so, I’d say, than before the wheelchair entered the scene three years ago. And he’s a darn good singer. My dad’s baritone was hardly missed, though no one would wound his ego by telling him so.”

The song ended in another lively round of applause moments later, and once again Jordan leaned toward his companion. “What did your father do here before he moved?” he asked, both to further the conversation and because he was curious about how people earned a living. As pleasant as Harmony was, there was no major industry in the immediate area to produce jobs.

“He worked for Arizona Electric for years,” Tess said, “first as a lineman, then as foreman of a large crew. Now, from what I’ve been hearing lately, he’s mixing the joys of part-time work as an ace electrician with the hardships of watching television while sprawled in a recliner.”

The last came out so dryly Jordan’s mouth curved. “What about your mother?”

“She was, and is, a full-time homemaker.”

Jordan nodded. “I don’t suppose homemakers get to slow down much.”

“Probably not as much as they’re entitled to in most cases,” Tess agreed. “Still, I was pleased when my folks decided to move to San Diego. My mom wanted to give life by the ocean a try, and I’m glad she got her way. She deserved it.” Tess propped her elbows on the table. “The house I’m living in now was theirs. I sold a smaller place not too far from here and took over their mortgage. Which made my folks happy, because I’m their only child, and they loved the house and wanted it to stay in the family.” She paused for a beat. “How about your family?”

He shrugged. “I don’t have a lot. Only an older brother I haven’t seen in years.”

A frown formed, sobering her expression. “Your parents are gone?”

“Yeah.” And it would have been nice to say he truly missed them. But he didn’t, Jordan had to admit. Somehow he doubted they’d ever wanted to be parents. Certainly they’d never gone out of their way to show affection to their children. His brother had packed up and left the Trask homestead—a drab apartment in a dust-clogged town on a flat stretch of southern Nevada—as soon as he could manage it, and Jordan couldn’t blame him. He’d done exactly the same when he’d got his chance.

Another tune started up at that point, and Jordan again welcomed the distraction. Dwelling on his family had never been one of his favorite pastimes. He returned his gaze to the performers, already having noted a change in the music even before he saw that Brady Crenshaw now strummed an acoustic guitar to blend in with the smooth vocals, while a second young man—another Crenshaw by the look of him—tapped a rhythmic beat on a set of bongo drums.

The song was an old Sinatra standard, a bluesy ballad, and several people apparently judged it 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 been lucky to conceal it this long.

Once again their gazes locked. Once again silence stretched between them. But this time there was nothing comfortable about it.

This time, tension snapped in the calm, balmy air.

“Well, I suppose I should go in,” Tess murmured at last. But she didn’t move a muscle, just stared at him with clear blue eyes. And that turned out to be all the encouragement Jordan required.

Without a word, he bent his head and put his mouth on hers, felt soft lips part slightly under his, and didn’t think it was in shock. In welcome, was what he told himself, what he wanted to believe as he tilted his chin and angled his mouth for a better fit. His tongue probed gently, gradually found entry, and tasted what awaited him.

Just one small taste.

And all at once his whole body clenched with need and craved more. A lot more. So much more, the sudden hunger twisting through him threatened to make him growl. He needed more badly, and he needed it now.

He didn’t realize his hands had left his pockets until his palms cupped delicate shoulders, had no awareness of his arms tugging a slender figure closer until soft breasts brushed the solid wall of his chest. The kiss, already longer than he’d bargained for, turned hard and heated in a hurry as the puzzling pull he’d experienced on their first meeting made a swift return. Far stronger now, it drew him in, urged him on and wiped out any thought of bringing things to a halt.

The hell with everything, he told himself. He wasn’t stopping. Not yet.

Tess clutched the corded forearms of the man who held her and tried to cling as tightly to her common sense. They were in clear view of the entire neighborhood, kissing each other as if their lives depended on it, as though the world would end if they so much as paused from a greedy meld of lips, teeth and tongues to take the barest breath.

Thank goodness most of her neighbors were still at the party, because she was participating to the hilt in what seemed like total madness, she couldn’t deny. Jordan might have initially taken her by surprise, but she’d caught up quickly. Three years was a long time to go without kissing a virile male. She hadn’t realized exactly how long until a firm mouth had come down on hers.

Yet the bald truth was that more than mere years separated her from the heady wonders of being kissed like this, with such towering need and single-minded intensity. She had, in fact, never been kissed like this. Ever. Never had she felt as if reality were about to go up in smoke. When it did in the next instant, Tess clung even tighter to those strong arms and gave herself up to the moment.

No past existed; no future waited. Only the present mattered, and pulling her mind back to full awareness of her surroundings was no longer an option. She’d already made the choice to lose herself in the pleasure this man’s kiss could give her. And to enjoy every minute of it.