Janelle Denison: Ready-Made Bride

Shaking his head, he walked to the open barn doors and glanced at the house. The soft glow of lights illuminating the living room window beckoned him. He’d managed to make himself scarce for the remainder of Friday night and all day Saturday to give Andy and Megan time alone to get acquainted. Knowing he couldn’t be a recluse forever, he went inside his workshop and put his tools away. He made his way to the house, moonlight guiding the way.

He stepped into the kitchen. An upbeat Alan Jackson tune drifted through the house, along with feminine laughter and boyish giggles. He entered the living room and found them two-stepping to the lively music, an arm’s length separating them. Where his son’s movements were stiff and awkward, Megan’s were fluid and graceful. Whenever Andy stumbled or missed a beat, they’d both burst out laughing, she’d tease him, and they kept going.

Enjoying the scene and his son’s eagerness to learn, he leaned against the doorjamb and watched them shuffle around the small room. She wore black leggings that molded her trim bottom and long legs and a white blouse, the ends tied in a knot at her tiny waist. She’d put her shoulder-length hair in a ponytail, and a few shorter strands wisped around her flushed face. Desire and longing mangled, reminding him that he was still a healthy, red-blooded male who appreciated a beautiful woman.

At the end of the song she unexpectedly twirled Andy in a circle. His son’s arms didn’t coordinate with his legs, and he fell toward Megan, tangling himself in her arms. She lost her footing, and with a surprised cry they landed on the couch. Before Andy could recover from the fall, she began tickling him. Squeals and infectious laughter rang out. Caught up in the fun, Kane chuckled.

She stopped her tickle torture and immediately sat up, her eyes wide and luminous. “I didn’t hear you come in,” she said breathlessly, smoothing strands of hair from her face.

Her blouse was bunched beneath her breasts, revealing two inches of skin he knew would be baby soft to the touch. Prying his eyes from the temptation, he approached the couch. “You guys were having too good a time.”

“Megan was teaching me how to two-step,” Andy said, a big grin spreading across his face. “It’s fun. Why don’t you try it, Dad?”

He tensed. “I don’t dance.” Working to help support him and his sister had stolen the years when he should have been enjoying school dances and attending town socials. The one and only time he’d danced was at his wedding, and even then it had been a slow, shuffling rhythm he’d feigned, nothing nearly so complicated as all the fancy steps they’d been executing.

“Everybody dances, Dad.” He tugged Kane two steps closer to Megan. “Isn’t that what you told me, Megan?”

Her startled gaze darted from Kane to their little mediator. She shifted on her bare feet. “Uh, yes, I guess I did.”

Kane held up his hands to ward off what he knew was coming. “Son, I have two left feet-”

“And Megan has two right feet.” Gales of laughter escaped Andy, and he slapped his leg at his silly pun. “Stop worryin’, Dad, you’ll do fine. It’s really easy. All you have to do is put one hand on Megan’s waist and hold her other hand, and Megan will put her hand on your shoulder.” As Andy spouted the instructions he positioned them accordingly.

Before Kane knew it, he had his hands all over Megan, and although it was all innocent fun, his thoughts were anything but pure. His thumb slipped beneath the loose hem of her blouse and grazed the skin between the waistband of her leggings and her breasts. Yep, softer than skin on a peach. He felt her shiver, saw the awareness in her gaze. He tormented himself further and pulled in a deep breath, filling himself with her scent.

So much for not touching her. So much for keeping his distance, at least physically.

“Now follow Megan’s lead,” Andy said, just as a new song started on the portable radio sitting on the brick hearth.

A smile trembled on Megan’s lips, then a determined I-can-do-this-and-not-be-affected look entered her eyes. With all the primness and professionalism of a dance teacher, she instructed him on the few steps it took to make the two-step possible.

The pattern was simpler than he’d thought. After their first pass around the living room without making too much of a fool of himself, he turned Megan around and smoothly took the lead.

Andy clapped gleefully from the couch. “You’re two-stepping, Dad!”

His mouth twitched. “Yeah, I guess I am.”

They two-stepped to an upbeat tune without him stumbling or losing count of his steps too often. When the fast country tune segued into a slow, romantic ballad, she started to pull away, her fingers sliding from his shoulder down his arm. He surprised himself by tightening the hand on her waist, keeping her there with the slight pressure. As irrational and telling as the action was, he wasn’t ready to let her go. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d enjoyed himself so much with a woman.

Her sudden curious expression prompted a bit of daring and recklessness. “Do the same rules apply for a slow song? This much distance, I mean?”

Megan stared at Kane, her heart fluttering like a trapped butterfly in a cage. “They can, but usually…” She looked away. His gaze was too intense, too sexy, and beyond all the dark sensuality she detected a loneliness and pain matching her own, though she didn’t know the source of his, nor did he give her any indication he was willing to share it. If anything, he tried much too hard to hide the hurt behind an I-don’t-give-a-damn facade. But it was there for anyone who cared enough to look beyond the surface.

And dammit, she cared. Unwisely. Foolishly.

“Usually, what?”

His husky voice brought her back to the present, the distance separating them and what he intended to do about it. She swallowed the knot in her throat and concentrated on the light stubble grazing his jaw, the cute crease in his chin, his lips…no, not his lips. She bravely lifted her gaze to his eyes. “If we were…intimate, the man could pull the woman closer.”

He swept a hand down her back in a slow, languid caress and guided her close, his mouth near her ear. “Like this?”

She closed her eyes, suppressing the urge to groan as softness pressed into the unyielding, muscular planes of a body honed by hard, physical work. “Yes.”

The light in the living room clicked off, leaving the dim glow from the kitchen as their only source of illumination.

“Adds to the romantic atphost…atmostfear,” the guilty party said, sounding perfectly pleased with himself.

“I agree,” Kane murmured.

The mellow song played on. Kane smelled like wood shavings, earthy maleness and heat. She absorbed it all. Her hand crept up his arm and gradually settled around his neck, her fingers close enough to sift through the rebel-long strands of his hair. Their bodies moved as one, slow and sultry.

“You lied,” she whispered, lost in the magical spell weaving around them.

“I did?”

She leaned back to look at him. He towered a good seven inches over her five-foot-six. She wasn’t intimidated by his size. Instead, she felt protected and cherished and very powerful in her femininity. “You’ve got great…rhythm.”

He lifted a brow, amusement and something infinitely more flammable sparking the depths. “Yeah?”

A lazy smile curled her mouth. “You’re a natural.”

The big hand holding hers squeezed gently. “I’m a quick learner when the subject interests me.”

Her heart skipped a beat.

The song ended, and they stopped moving, though their bodies still brushed, an erotic caress that sizzled along her nerve endings. Kane’s gaze dropped to her mouth. Selfconsciously, she dampened her bottom lip with her tongue. Heated desire flashed in his eyes, and he drew in a ragged breath, as if he was a drowning man trying to hold onto the frayed ends of a rope.