Still grinning, Jenna shook her head, sending the short strands of her ebony hair bouncing. “Likely excuse. That’s as bad as claiming cooking and cleaning are woman’s work, when we both know men are as capable of boiling water and pushing a vacuum as anyone else.” Her brow rose as though daring him to argue.

He might have been a fool about many things, but even he wasn’t stupid enough to step on that particular land mine.

And then she upped the ante-practically called his manhood into question-by slanting him a sly glance and adding, “Dylan learned to knit.”

The tone of her voice alone suggested she considered Dylan the more masculine of the two just because he’d managed to click two sticks together and somehow come up with a length of twisted yarn that loosely resembled a scarf.

So of course he responded in the only acceptable manner for someone of the Y-chromosome persuasion. “Dylan is a pansy.”

Her eyes widened at that a second before she burst out laughing. “Oh!” she barked. “So Dylan is man enough to hang out with you and be one of your closest friends, but the minute he picks up a pair of knitting needles, he suddenly becomes a fairy, huh? I’ll have to be sure to share your point of view with Ronnie the next time we talk.”

Gage scowled, because he knew that’s exactly what she would do. Even if he took it back and proclaimed Dylan the manliest of men because he’d learned to knit, this exchange was still destined to become conversational fodder for their next Girls’ Night Out or Wednesday-night knitting group-if not a good deal sooner.

After that, Ronnie would relate the tale to Dylan, and though he doubted Dylan would be upset by his remark, Gage suspected his friend would ride his ass about it from now until the next millennium.

“So teach me,” he said, blurting out the first thing that popped into his head that he thought had a shot in hell of getting him out of the doghouse.

Her mouth went slack and she blinked like he’d just announced he enjoyed wearing ladies’ underwear.

“Excuse me?” she asked, the words garbled with shock.

He shrugged a shoulder and kicked back in his chair even more, assuming a relaxed position. “I know you tried once, but I’m not sure my heart was in it. I was humoring my new bride. Try again, and I promise to take it more seriously. If you think you’re a good enough teacher to pull it off, that is.”

He added the last because he knew it would get her dander up. And sure enough, her spine straightened and she raised a brow, this time in acceptance of his challenge.

“Fine; let’s go.”

She stood up, grabbed her knitting bag and the half-finished purple boa he’d been toying with the entire time, and stalked past him toward the sitting room. He followed at a slower pace, wondering exactly what he’d gotten himself into… and what the hell had possessed him to bring up the ill-fated topic of knitting in the first place… before dropping onto Charlotte’s old-fashioned settee beside her.

Jenna pulled the started boa, loose yarn, and two large white plastic needles out of the sunflower tote, then tossed the bag aside. “Are these big enough for your ‘massive paws,’ Sasquatch, or should I go out and chop down a couple of pine trees for you to use instead?”

He pulled a face and shot her a warning glance before palming the needles. “I think I can handle them.”

But inside his head, of course, a small voice was warning him that he might have bitten off more than he could chew. He gave the yarn connected to the needles a sharp tug, testing its tensile strength and wondering if it would hold his weight if he decided to hang himself with it after he royally fucked up this little impromptu knitting lesson.

Idiot, idiot, idiot, his mind screamed. He should have kept his mouth shut. Or better yet, grabbed Jenna and pinned her to the wall, using his tongue for better things than talking himself into a corner.

A corner filled with knitting needles, frilly purple yarn, and an ex-wife who would never let him live this down.

Taking a deep breath, he tried to remind himself that he was a cop, for God’s sake. Six-feet-three-inches, two-hundred-plus-pounds of solid muscle, capable of intimidating and smacking down some of the biggest, baddest bad-asses out there.

Five-foot-three-inch, hundred-and-twenty-pound Jenna was not going to intimidate or get the best of him, no matter how sharp her needles were.

“Okay,” he said after a long, Zenlike moment, “I’m ready.”

“You sure?” she baited, even as she snuggled closer, leaning right up against him and creating the start of a third long, hard stick for him to deal with. “There’s still time to back out if you’re afraid your big He-Man ego won’t be able to handle the crushing defeat of knowing your ‘pansy’ friend can master a hobby you can’t.”

Eyes narrowed, brows lowered, and lips turned down in a frown, he met her gaze and drawled, “Bring it on, babe.”

She gave him a look that clearly stated she didn’t think this was going to go well, but she’d humor him for a while.

With a sigh, she said, “All right, this one is already started, so we’ll just pick up where I left off and teach you the basic stitches.”

From there, she proceeded to show him how one needle went through the first stitch on the other needle… how fresh yarn wrapped around that needle… how to draw the yarn through to create a new stitch… and repeat… and repeat… and repeat. It was definitely more complicated than it looked or sounded.

Some of his stitches might have been bigger than others, and his rows might not have been as neat and practiced as hers, but he didn’t think he was doing half-bad. He was actually, amazingly, sort of even enjoying himself.

Of course, it didn’t hurt that Jenna was warming him from shoulder to thigh. Or that the flowery scent of her perfume and strawberry fragrance of her shampoo were blending together to numb his brain and send his pulse pounding.

He’d been at the insert needle, loop yarn, draw yarn through thing for about an hour before he murmured, “You know, this is kind of sexy.”

She lifted her head from where it had fallen to his shoulder, studying him through lazy, heavy-lidded eyes. “Sexy?”

“Yeah. You’ve got the whole thrust-and-retreat, trust-and-retreat thing going on. The soft yarn. The beautiful woman pressed against me. I like it,” he said, slowing his stitches and letting his words sink in. “It’s turning me on.”

“Gage?” she replied in a low voice.

“Hmm?”

“Watching paint dry turns you on.”

So much for lulling her into a sensual haze with his gentle, yarn-is-sexy speech.

“Only if it happens to be drying on your naked body.”

To his surprise, she sat up straighter and leaned away from him, only to turn her body at such an angle that she was facing him. She lifted a leg and settled her knee between his spread thighs, leaning close enough that he had to release one of the knitting needles mid-stitch and use his free arm to circle her waist.

“Now that is sexy,” she said.

Her hands went to his neck, then around to his nape where her fingers scraped over his short hair. He let his eyes flutter closed for a moment as a shiver of longing snaked down his spine and heat pooled in all the right places.

“Know what else is sexy?” she whispered just above his ear.

His mouth opened and sound came out, but it was nothing more than a strangled gurgle. Later, he might be embarrassed about that. Now, he couldn’t find it in him to give a shit. Not when Jenna was slinking around on his lap like a world-class stripper-something most men had to sacrifice a month’s salary to get.

Translating the guttural noises he was making to mean, “No, darling, please tell me,” she tipped his head back, waited for him to open his eyes and meet her gaze, then breathed, “This.”