but shoved Val into his arms.
“Take over for me, pal. I’m going to find my wife,” Harlan Patrick claimed. “Thanks for the dance, Val.”
“Anytime,” she said, her gaze fixed on Slade. “Well?”
Trapped, he held out a hand. “Would you care to dance?”
“Thank you,” she said, moving into his arms as if she belonged there.
Holding her loosely, he stared down into her eyes. “You might want to reconsider this. Since my leg got banged up, I’m not so light on my feet.”
Her gaze clung to his. “It’s a slow song, Slade.”
“So it is,” he said, tightening his embrace until her head was tucked under his chin, her breasts pressed against his chest.
Big mistake, he concluded, when she was snuggled next to him. His blood heated to about one degree past boiling. Her rose-garden scent surrounded him, teasing at his senses.
It had been a long time since he’d held a woman this close, longer still since he’d wanted one with this aching neediness. Thank heaven she’d changed out of that provocative bathing suit. If he’d felt silky, bare skin beneath his touch, he’d have been lost.
Not that the sundress she wore was much of an improvement. Every time his hand slid up her back, his fingers brushed across soft, feminine flesh. And each time that happened, he could feel the shiver that washed over her. It was precisely the sort of responsiveness that made a man crave more. He was tempted to explore, to make the next caress more brazen and the one after that downright intimate.
He knew with everything in him that Val would be willing, even eager. A deeply ingrained sense of honor had him holding back. She was the kind of woman who deserved more than he had to give. She deserved pretty words and heartfelt whispers. She deserved happily ever after. He couldn’t say for sure what tomorrow would bring, much less the day after that.
He realized with a start that she was staring at him, her expression troubled.
“Why so serious?” she asked.
“Counting the beats in the music,” he lied. “If I don’t, I’ll stumble all over my feet and yours.”
“Liar,” she accused softly. “You were thinking too hard again, only this time it was about me, wasn’t it?”
Her uncanny knack for reading his mind was disconcerting. “Maybe.”
“I’ll repeat what I said earlier. Sometimes it’s smarter to go with your instincts.”
He shook his head, wishing it were that simple. “A boy goes with his instincts, Val. A man—especially a man with a daughter to raise—has to stop to consider the consequences.”
“So it was Annie on your mind just now?”
“No,” he said firmly. “It was you. Only you.”
“But you said—”
“I only meant that I can’t just rush in and take what I want. It wouldn’t be fair to you. It wouldn’t be fair to Annie. I don’t want her getting ideas about the two of us.”
“That’s very noble,” Val said softly, but an increasingly familiar flash of fire in her eyes belied the quiet tone. “It’s also bull.”
He stumbled. “Excuse me. Did I hear you correctly?”
“You did. You’re scared, Slade. That’s what this is really about. You’re terrified that if you let your guard down for one single second, you might actually have to deal with real emotions. You’re terrified that whatever you start with me won’t begin and end with sex.”
He supposed there was a certain amount of truth in that. He’d let his emotions get the upper hand once and look where that had gotten him. Suzanne had ripped his heart in two.
“Maybe,” he agreed, clearly surprising her.
“You’re admitting it?”
“Sweetheart, I’m not oblivious to the truth. But saying it aloud doesn’t change anything.”
“Of course it does. Once you recognize the problem, you can start to move on.”
He grinned at the simplicity of that. “Just like that, huh?”
“Exactly like that.”
“You’re forgetting one thing.”
“What?”
“First, you have to want to move on.”
She tripped. He steadied her, then met her gaze evenly. “I don’t,” he said succinctly.
“Well, of course you do,” she said. “You can’t want to go through life all alone.”
“I’m not alone. I have Annie. I have my work. I have friends, including you, I hope.”
“Friends? You and me?” She said it as incredulously as if he’d asked her to muck stalls with him.
“Why not?”
“Because...” she blustered, then stopped.
“Well?”
“Because it would never work.”
“Why not? We’re two intelligent adults. Surely we can keep our hands off each other, if we decide that’s the sensible thing to do.”
Her gaze locked with his. “What if I don’t want to be sensible? What