ANGELA HARRIS placed one manicured nail between her teeth,
aching to bite the scarlet enamel. She thought she'd cured
herself of the habit years ago. But old ways died hard,
especially when she stood outside her ten-year reunion
staring at an eighteen-by-twenty-seven enlargement of a
picture Jack Sullivan had taken of her at their first high
school dance.
"It's like staring in a mirror, isn't it?"
Jack's deep, resonant voice drifted past the soft
background music and chatter coming from the ballroom
behind him. On a current of wine-sweetened breath, his
words swept over her bare shoulder and caressed the
sensitive shell of her ear. Her jaw slackened, releasing
her captive nail from her teeth.
Show time. "I can't remember being that person," she lied,
not ready to turn and face the man who'd snapped the shot
when he was a yearbook staffer and not a well-known
professional photographer. Not that she hadn't spent the
majority of the reunion's kick-off cocktail party staring
at him. While she had given the impression of listening
attentively to former classmates, she'd watched Jack do
the same across the room. She studied his square-jawed
face, which had hardened well with age, his emerald eyes,
which still glinted with an edge of mischievous daring,
and his athletic physique, which fit impressively into his
expensive Italian suit. Oh, she'd seen him, all right —
enough to know it wouldn't be easy to go through with her
plan. Enjoyable, maybe, but definitely not easy.
But she had to get Jack Sullivan out from under her skin.
There had been long stretches of time when she hadn't
thought of him, hadn't romanticized the short, sweet
relationship they'd enjoyed. But those times were over.
For the past year, he'd been increasingly a part of her
life, even though he didn't know it. She had to prove to
herself, once and for all, that a long-term association
with the man would be bad news.
Her plan was simple — sleep with him, prove to herself how
meaningless sex would be, then move on to someone who
could give her the commitment she demanded.
After all, she had a daughter to protect — the child of
her best friend, Chryssie, whom Angela had adopted when
Chryssie died five years ago. She tried not to think about
Dani now, but how could she not, with Jack standing right
behind her, his ocean-green eyes, so like Dani's, staring
at her?
She gathered her resolve. Jack didn't know about Dani.
Maybe he never would. But she definitely wouldn't tell him
until she squelched her lasting attraction to him. "That
girl in the picture and I are no longer acquainted."
"Oh, come on," he contested. "You can't have changed that
much since graduation, my prairie angel."
He took a step closer when he voiced the secret pet name,
and his breath singed the back of her neck. Her lids
fluttered. She could feel his hands just behind her — not
touching her, but wanting to. Did she really want his
touch again?
Then she gazed at that damned photograph. There she stood,
dressed in the prairie style she'd favored then, along
with every other diligent reader of Seventeen magazine.
She looked so tellingly like a prim and proper schoolmarm
from the Old West. Frills and ruffles covered her from her
neck to the opaque hose tucked into calf-high boots. She'd
covered up more than just skin in those days. But that was
a long time ago.
Do it, Angela. You have to. Your future can't begin until
you close this door to the past.
"Do I look like a prairie angel now, Jack?" With
deliberate slowness, she glanced at him over her tanned
shoulder. She'd practiced the look in the mirror a hundred
times. Seductive, but with a hint of coyness. Would it
work?
He took a deep breath. "I've spent all evening looking for
her."
"Do you really want to find her?" She kept her voice low
and husky. "Or would you rather discover who I am now?"
Jack's stare met hers and matched the challenge that was
ten years in the making.
"Oh, I don't know. I always liked you as a brunette," he
teased, twining one of the tendrils of her dramatically
upswept and newly colored auburn tresses around his
finger. "And your fashion sense has changed." He glanced
to where the halter top of her black crepe outfit ended,
leaving her midriff bare until the material resumed at her
hips and ended well above her knees. "But I wonder if
you're still hiding behind your clothes."
She turned away, but only for an instant. He hadn't lost
his perceptiveness, that was for sure. Now, however, she
knew how to distract him. "There's not much to hide behind
anymore," she quipped, smiling as his gaze dipped to her
revealing neckline.
His face was inches from hers. "A woman like you doesn't
need much to hide behind."
If he'd been wrong, it wouldn't have been so difficult for
her to laugh.
His proximity unnerved her, but she squared her shoulders,
determined. She had to grab this opportunity before she
lost her courage, before the enticing scent of his cologne
and the audacious look in his eyes sent her running for
safety.
Since graduation, she'd tortured herself with the
question, "What if?" So he hadn't known she wore a skimpy
teddy underneath her prom dress, or that she'd started on
the Pill two weeks before. She'd decided to give him her
virginity, but he ended up giving her grief because she'd
danced with a friend instead of with him.
They'd had a shouting match, which ended with Jack
stomping off and Chryssie's boyfriend agreeing to drive
her home. Except for graduation and a brief encounter at a
college party, she hadn't seen Jack since. She had every
right to ask herself, "What if," to wonder how good it
would have been.
Especially after she'd discovered the secret that
propelled Jack from the back burner of her heart to the
fore-front of her life. Her only chance to control her
future and Dani's centered on permanently destroying the
indomitable bond tying Jack to her.
She stood firm and feigned indifference to his insight. "I
take it, then, that your opinion of me hasn't changed. I
don't know if I remember the exact words you said on prom
night —""
"I said," he interrupted, "that you were cold, frigid and
repressed. I said," he emphasized, his eyes piercing her
like flame-tipped arrows, "that you'd never allow yourself
to fall so completely in love with someone that you'd
surrender every inch of your soul."
As she heard the words again, so clearly, from a voice so
familiarly throaty and cocksure, her confidence nearly
faltered. "Those were awfully big words coming from a high
school senior whose greatest sexual experience probably
happened in the back seat of his Mus-tang convertible,"
she said, urging herself back into the character she'd
assumed for the night.
The corner of his mouth flickered upward to form an
arrogant grin. "Don't knock it till you've tried it."
She managed an impertinent smile as she took a step away
from him. "Maybe I will."
He grabbed her hand. She willed it not to tremble. "After
all these years, you intend to try it?" She lifted one
eyebrow. "Too bad you don't still have that Mustang, or
you might find out."
From behind them, the reunion chairperson's disem-bodied
voice thanked the alumni for a great evening and ran down
the list of Saturday activities at the beach resort. Some
of the crowd trickled into the hotel atrium, laughing and
talking, making plans for the rest of the night.
Angela and Jack stood motionless. He let her hand drop,
though they were still so caught up in each other, they
barely acknowledged the group of friends who stopped to
invite them for a poolside catch-up session.
"Are you up for it?" she finally asked. They'd only been
alone for a few moments, but she still felt overwhelmed.
She needed a diversion to give her time to recoup.
"For you, I'm always up."
So much for down time. But she didn't flinch at his alltoo-
clear meaning, and that seemed to shock him.
"I meant the beach," she said, stepping closer, "but if
you took me literally, why don't we see what we can do?"
She turned away. Jack held his breath, fighting the urge
to kiss her right then and there. All night, he'd been
amazed at the changes in his prairie angel, and he'd
wondered how much was real and how much was an act meant
to punish him for breaking her heart in high school.
When she started down the winding stairway toward the
beach, he hoped for punishment — long, unending torture
like what he felt as she glided down the stairs with a
wanton yet nearly imperceptible swing to her hips.
He followed Angela across the poolside deck, where she
stopped to wait for him at the three-foot stone wall
separating the resort from the beach. Moonlight glinted
off foamy waves breaking gently on the shore about fifty
yards away. A touch of the silver shine caught a diamond
on Angela's earring and beckoned Jack to her like a light
called to a lost mariner.
Sure, Jack had let memories of Angela drift back now and
then over the past decade. He hadn't had much choice. Her
willful eyes and her stubborn pout flashed into his mind
at the strangest times. And with growing frequency. He'd
received the reunion announcement only weeks after Lily's
betrayal. What better way to cleanse himself of her
treachery than a trip down memory lane with his prairie
angel?
He'd have written his renewed obsession off to the
consequences of first love syndrome, had there been any
real love involved all those years ago. But hadn't it been
only lust — fire-hot, cold-sweat, prepubescent lust? It
had to be. Who knew what love was back then? Who knew now?
Unfortunately, the passion they'd shared had remained
unfulfilled. Sweet, prudish, obstinate Angela had refused
him. Though from the look of things, very little of the
Angela he once knew remained. He dared to hope that
somewhere, the woman he needed still existed, despite the
new, sensuous packaging.
"Do you remember taking me to the beach during high
school?" Leaning against the wall, she lifted her ankle to
unbuckle the thin strap of one of her spiky black heels.
Her slim calves flexed and shimmered. All thoughts of his
needs — except a physical one — vanished.
He knelt beside her and stared intently upward, aching to
touch her. "We live in Florida. We went to the beach a
lot."
She slid her foot closer to him, accepting his invitation
to help remove her shoes.
"Do you remember the time after the homecoming dance? We'd
only been dating a few months then."
For a moment, Jack couldn't remember anything. His mind
focused solely on her slim ankle and shapely calf. Before
he worked the tiny buckle of the strap, he smoothed his
hands over the soft silk of her hose, imagining the feel
of her skin. When she nearly pulled away, but didn't, he
looked up and caught her biting her bottom lip.
He undid her shoes.
She cleared her throat. "You brought me to the beach on
the night after homecoming our senior year. I didn't know
what you had planned, but when we left, you were furious
with me."
She leaned back on her hands and smiled. The moment of
hesitation was gone.
"You wouldn't get out of the car," he reminded her.
"I didn't want sand in my hose."
"What about now?"
She slid her hands down, then under her skirt and closed
her fingers around shiny black garter snaps.
"I can still think of better things to have in my hose."
Jack's mouth went dry. "So can I." In the uncertain light,
he thought he saw her hands shaking. Did she want him as
much as he wanted her? As much as he'd always wanted her?
He'd suspected so since he first spied her staring at him
from across the room. She'd dressed as provocatively as
the fashion models he photographed. She'd watched him with
a bold curiosity that questioned and promised at the same
time. Every signal, right down to her naughty lingerie,
conveyed seductive intentions. It crossed his mind that
she'd come to the reunion specifically to have him, though
he tried to muster enough humility to keep his desire at
bay.