Quiet Walks the Tiger - By Heather Graham Page 0,33

her in the busy backstage wing, his tan suit a striking complement to his dark hair and deep eyes. The bronze tone of his arresting profile was never more apparent, nor the muscle tone that lurked beneath its covering. Sloan was suddenly aware that her coiled hair was damp from exertion—as was her costume. But she didn’t have much time to reflect on her own appearance; he was already at her side, already talking.

“You weren’t going to see me,” he murmured huskily, as if temporarily unaware that Jim—or anyone else for that matter—still hovered near. “But I couldn’t leave without telling you that you were magnificent. Superb. Beautiful—”

“Thanks,” Jim chimed in, drawing abrupt looks from them both. Sloan frowned with annoyance, but Wes laughed. “Sorry, Jim, you weren’t beautiful, but it was a hell of a performance.”

The two men shook hands, and Sloan was split between being glad of their friendship while also annoyed that Wes accepted the interruption so easily. He should be a little jealous of Jim, Sloan thought fleetingly. I was dancing with him. If Wes really loved me...

He did love her. Really love her. And he trusted her. He knew she needed room for her own self-expression to be all she could be, and he had the confidence to allow it.

“I’m going,” he told them both quickly, glancing at the students who awaited their instructors’ words before dispersing. “Jim—be seeing you. Sloan—I’ll be by at about eight. I’ll get George and Cassie first.” With a wave he was gone, his broad-shouldered frame drawing speculative and appreciating gazes as he retreated out of the stage wings.

“Watch it, Sloan,” Jim muttered mischievously. “I can see your mind ticking. The beast is wrapped around your finger, but I think it’s the tail you’re wrapping, and if you’re not careful, he’s going to feel the pull.”

“Jim—” Sloan began to protest with a frown.

“I’ll bet you didn’t know he was a Scorpio.” Jim overrode her objection. “Scorpios are known for their sting.”

Sloan smiled dryly. “Go dismiss the kids, will you, Mr. Astrology. I’m not pulling tails, and I’m not going to get stung. You tell me you like the man, but then you sound as if you think he is a beast!”

“No—you misunderstand. I do like the man—maybe because there’s no hedging or backing down about him. But I’m not in your position!” With that enigmatic advice, Jim quirked his brows and turned to the waiting students.

Sloan showered and dressed carefully, choosing a soft knit with a flaring skirt for the evening. She was nervous, knowing that this night was it—the make it or break it for herself. Qualms of conscience assailed her while she did try to convince herself that she had him wrapped around her finger.

After tucking the kids in, she returned to her own room to make a last-minute check on her appearance. The dress molded to her curvacious form like a glove; her hair, brushed from the chignon, fell about her face in soft waves, giving her the impression of innocence. Radiant happiness gave her face a beautiful glow, and she laughed uneasily.

“Maybe I am in love with him!” she told her reflection. Love was, after all, an elusive word composed of many emotions. It was also something which, nurtured correctly, could grow to endless bounds.

The doorbell rang, and she gave her dress a final straightening before running breathlessly to answer the clanging summons. Wesley filled the doorway with his imposing frame, causing her heart to skip for a second. In a black tux and sky-blue shirt he was impeccable, handsome beyond all earthly rights in a way that was still rugged and slightly savage in spite of his formal dress.

Sloan didn’t realize she had been staring until his special teasing grin spread across his face and he murmured, “I think we should come in. Florence can hardly watch the children from outside!”

Sloan blushed, lowered her eyes, and moved away from the door. Wes ushered Florence inside, then followed suit himself.

“Any instructions, young lady?” Florence asked cheerfully.

“Ah...no,” Sloan said quickly. “The kids are asleep, and you know where everything is. Make yourself at home, and Florence...thank you, very much.”

“Nonsense!” Florence said briskly. “You two run along and have a good time. Your sister and brother-in-law are already in the car.”

Sloan could not remember a more pleasant evening in her entire life. A more congenial foursome could not have existed; wine and conversation could not have flowed more fluidly. Dancing with Wes, sitting beside him and receiving his