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“Dance with me.”

“What? You’re crazy. No.”

Jack took Maggie’s hand. “Listen, forget about all that, okay? You’re right. It’s over.” He shrugged. “But here we are, and it’s been a long time, so…why the hell not? One dance between old friends doesn’t have to mean anything. Or make up for anything.” He pulled at his collar and looked uncomfortable.

“Oh, hell,” Maggie said. “Fine. One dance. Then will you leave me alone?”

“I promise.”

It was a mistake from the start, and she knew it.

In slow motion she watched as his hand wrapped around hers, as if following a memory that hadn’t died but just slumbered for a long, long time. The music swelled, and they slipped into a space on the hardwood. Mingling into the other couples, they found a rhythm, their rhythm, after a moment or two. I didn’t forget how we fit together, Maggie marveled. I didn’t forget how all our edges match up in the right places. And neither did he. Warning bells went off inside her head, but she ignored them. She’d meant what she’d said—it was over, a long time ago—but it was so easy to slip back into Jack’s embrace, even after all these years. So easy to like the way her chest met his. So easy to remember the way his fingers closed around hers and felt like they belonged there always.

Damn. She lowered her gaze and tried to remind herself what she was doing at the ball in the first place. Dillon, remember? The money. The foreclosure. She counted to ten. She scanned the room, hoping and not hoping to see her stepbrother cross the threshold. But against her will, she leaned into Jack’s embrace and let him carry her to the music. Suddenly, she wondered what moment in the night would be harder: having to leave his arms when she saw her stepbrother, or having to stay there and risk falling back into a place she’d left years ago.

Her hand shifted on his shoulder. Say something, she thought. Make conversation. Don’t turn to mush like a girl at a high school dance.

“So what kind of business did you end up in?”

Jack pulled back slightly, and Maggie found space to breathe.

“Well, I came back to the States…” He cleared his throat. “…after Oxford. Got accepted to the MBA program at Boston University and, after that, found a job working for a new company here in town.” He passed over the details without much embellishment. “You?”

“I opened my own business.”

His brows rose. “Good for you, Mags.”

“Well, not so good these days,” she confessed. “I’m in up to my ears in debt.”

He frowned. “Sorry to hear that. Anything I can do to help?”

She held her breath. No. Double no. I didn’t care about his money back then. I sure as hell don’t want it now. Jack is the one person I can never, ever, be indebted to.

“No. But thanks for the offer.”

“So where are you living? Around Boston?”

“Small town in Rhode Island.”

“Nice area.”

“I know.” She wondered how much longer she could make small talk.

Jack drew her closer again. His hand tightened around her back, and waves of desire pulsed along Maggie’s spine. Oh, God. I’m in trouble.

She tried to think of bills she needed to pay or designs she needed to work on. She tried to remember the number of the Bay Bank, the colors of the lilies in her backyard, the price of gas at the pumps. Anything to keep her mind off the fact that being this close to Jack was throwing her into emotional chaos. The song, an endless rendition of “Stairway to Heaven,” carried them around and around, and with every sweep, his strong chest met hers. With every chorus, his chin brushed her forehead and his hand tightened around her own. Maggie tried to remember how to breathe normally and failed. She closed her eyes and willed herself to hold on until the song ended. Then she could leave. She could put some distance between them. She could escape, because apparently her emotions were about to betray her. She could—

The song ended. Finally.

“Thank you.” Before Maggie could stop him, Jack had brushed a kiss against her cheek, sliding his mouth down next to hers before pulling away. Ten thousand fireworks went off inside her skull.

She stepped away like she’d been stung.

“Ah, Mags.” He shrugged in defeat. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have. It’s just…” He waved a hand at her, indicating the dress, the hair, her face. “You look terrific. And it’s so damn good to see you again.”

He ran one hand over his hair, messing it up. “Can we take a walk?”

She didn’t answer.

Jack pointed to the arboretum beyond the bar. “Just to talk. Please.”

Maggie wasn’t sure what to say. This didn’t feel like a good idea. Still, maybe he was right. Maybe getting things out in the open, once and for all, would remove the heavy band from her heart. She followed Jack across the room and through a small door near the restrooms she hadn’t noticed before.

“Wow.” Inside, a hush met them. Maggie looked around at the glass walls and ceiling. Tall trees arched above them. A variety of small trees and plants grew around them. All were thick with leaves and smelled like the heavy scent of summer. Outside, the rain continued to fall, a still, silent background. On the opposite side of the glass, the ball-goers danced, oblivious. She wandered around the space, not speaking.

Jack sat on a bench and cracked his knuckles, the way he used to, she thought, when he was nervous. Or upset.

After a few minutes, she stopped pacing and sat beside him. “I never thought I’d see you again.”

He chuckled. “That’s an understatement.”

Maggie began to wind her hair into a knot.

“Don’t.” He raised a hand to pull her fingers away. “I thought you might have cut it short. You threatened to, you know.”

“We threatened a lot of things back then.”

“We were kids.”

“You make it sound like it was a hundred years ago.”

“It feels like it was.”

Is that regret in his voice? she wondered. Sadness? A resignation to the march of time?

Mere inches separated them, and the fabric of her dress brushed the one hand he pressed to the bench. “I wish things could have turned out differently,” he said, shifting and moving closer to her. “You have no idea how much I missed you after I got to London.”

Maggie nodded. She looked at her toes, the floor, the collection of flowers by the door. After a long minute, she dared herself to meet his gaze again, to fall into the memories that lay there and return the desire Jack wasn’t bothering to hide. The lights from the ballroom cast shadows inside the arboretum; the music, muted, floated inside.

“Mags, I…” He stopped. Raised one hand to her face. Ran his thumb across her bottom lip. And kissed her again.

Noses bumped. Breaths quickened. She pulled away. “I don’t think…”

But the draw of memory was too strong.

Jack placed both hands on Maggie’s cheeks, and she gave herself up to him. Their tongues twisted in pleasure, seeking, finding their way, filling hungry spaces between them. She gasped, feeling as if he’d slipped inside her and turned her inside out. One hand made its way from her cheek to her throat, down one bare shoulder and then lower, where it rested on a breast that ached for his touch. Maggie’s toes curled inside her shoes. Nipples rose under the memory of his caresses. She let her hands roam across his face, through his hair, plucking at his lapel and pulling him closer.

Ten years of lost passion spilled from them both. A whimper escaped her lips as Jack moved his mouth to her earlobe and down one side of her neck. He whispered something into the hollow of her throat, burying his face in her hair. For a crazy moment, she wanted to tear off her dress, peel away his tuxedo, feel his bare skin against hers and remember the way they’d moved together a hundred times. A monumental ache consumed her.

And if the door behind them hadn’t opened just then, Maggie was sure she would have lost herself in Jack’s embrace for the rest of the night.