“No! You can’t give up!” her friend Crystal had chimed in. “Your kids need a father figure in the home.”
Mary Ellen had fixed her with a steely stare. “And you want to show old Brad, don’t you?”
Show old Brad. The need to do just that surged in her. Of course she wanted to show old Brad. Sure. She would date. If he could do it, so could she. Stand back. She was ready for the challenge.
But where would she find someone to date? Mary Ellen knew just the man for her.
“My brother Karl is a real player,” she said airily. “He’ll get you back into the swing of things in no time. He has so many friends. You’ll be dating like crazy before you know it.”
Dating. She remembered dating. The way your heart raced as you waited for him to come to the door, the shy pauses, the way your eyes met his and then looked quickly away. Would he kiss you on the doorstep? Were you really going to let him?
Fun!
But that was then. This was a completely different thing, seemingly from a galaxy far, far away. She was older now. She’d been married and she had two kids. She knew how things worked. She could handle it. Or so she thought.
No. This was a nightmare.
At least her dress was pretty, and she didn’t get many chances to wear something like this anymore. A sleek shift dress in teal-blue, it was covered with sequins and glistened as she walked, making her feel sexy and pretty and nice. Too bad she was wasting that on a man who spent more time looking at himself in the mirror than she did.
The tango was over. She turned back toward the table in relief, but Karl grabbed her free hand and twirled her around to face him. The band was playing a cha cha. He grinned. “Hey mambo!” he cried out and began to sway. He seemed to consider himself quite the ballroom dancer, even if he couldn’t tell one Latin dance from another.
Jill had a decision to make. Would she rather dance, or go back to playing footsie? She wasn’t sure she knew how to cha cha. But she knew she didn’t want to feel that foot on her leg again.
What the hell.
“Everybody loves to cha-cha-cha,” she murmured as she let him twirl her again.
And then she looked up and saw Connor McNair staring at her in horror.
Her blood ran cold. She was still moving, but no one could accuse her of dancing at this point. The music didn’t mean a thing.
Connor. Oh, no.
First, it appalled her to think that anyone she knew might see her here like this. But close on that thought came the shock question—was Brad with him?
No. She glanced around quickly and didn’t see any sign of her ex-husband at all. Thank heaven for small blessings. Connor must have come to town and was staying here at the hotel—alone. But still, it was Connor, Brad’s best friend, the one person most likely to report to him. She could hardly stand it.
He was mouthing something to her. She squinted, trying to make it out. What was he trying to say?
She couldn’t tell, but he was coming out onto the dance floor. Why? She looked around, feeling wild, wanting to run. What was he going to do?
“May I cut in?” he asked Karl.
He was polite, but unsmiling, and Karl didn’t seem to be in a friendly mood.
“What? No. Go get your own girl,” Karl told him, frowning fiercely. And just to prove his point, he grabbed Jill and pulled her close.
She looked over his shoulder at Connor. He offered a safe harbor of sorts, but there was danger there, too. She didn’t want to talk to Connor. She didn’t want to have anyone close to Brad anywhere near. The pain of Brad’s desertion still ached inside her like an open wound and she didn’t want anyone from his side of the rift to see her like this—much less talk to her.
So she glared at Connor. Let him know she didn’t need him or his rescue. She was doing fine. She was here enjoying herself. Sort of.
She got back to dancing, swaying her hips, making her sequins sparkle, and trying hard to smile at Karl. Let Connor see that she was having the time of her life. Let him take that bit of news back to Brad, if that was what he was after.
“Mambo!” she cried out, echoing Karl. Why the heck not?
Connor gave her a look of disbelief as he stepped back to the sidelines, but he didn’t leave. The next dance was a simple two-step, but that meant Karl’s arms around her again, and she couldn’t disguise the shudder that gave her.
And there was Connor, taking in every nuance. She glowered at him. He was very handsome in his crisp white shirt with the dark slacks that looked tailor-made. But that was beside the point. Didn’t he have a table to go to? What gave him the right to stand there and watch her? Biting her lip, she tried to keep him out of her line of vision and blot him out of her head.
But then he was back, right at Karl’s elbow again, stopping them in their tracks.
“Excuse me,” he said, looking very serious. “Listen, do you have a silver BMW in the parking lot?”
Karl blinked. His eyes narrowed suspiciously, but he couldn’t resist the question. “Why, yes I do. What about it?”
Connor’s brows came together in a look of sorrow. “I’m afraid your car’s on fire.”
Karl dropped Jill like a hot potato and whirled to face Connor. “What?” he cried, anguish contorting his face.
Connor was all sympathy. “I think they’ve called the fire department, but you might want to get out there and …”
No more words were necessary. He was already gone.
Connor took Jill by the arm, looking annoyed when she balked and tried to pull away.
“Come on,” he said impatiently. “I know a back way out.”
Jill shook her head, not sure what he thought he was doing here. “But … I can’t just leave.”
Connor looked down at her and suddenly grinned, startling her. She’d forgotten how endearing he could be and she stared up at him. It was like finding a beloved forgotten toy in the attic. Affection for him trembled on the edge of her mood, but she batted it back.
“Why not?” he said. “Do you want to spend the next two hours with the guy?”
She tried to appear stern. She wanted to deny what he was implying. How could she go? What would she say to her friends? What would she tell Mary Ellen?
But in the end, his familiar grin did her in. “I’d rather eat dirt,” she admitted, crumbling before him.
“There you go.” He led her gently across the dance floor, only hesitating while she scooped up her sparkly little purse. They headed for the exit and he winked at a waiter who was holding the door for them, obviously primed to help with the escape. He paused only long enough to hand the man some folded money and then they were out the door.
“But what about his car?” Jill asked, worrying a bit. She knew the sense of guilt would linger long after the evening was gone. “He loves that car.”
“Don’t give it a second thought,” he advised, steering her toward his own souped-up, twenty-year-old Camaro, a car she remembered from the past, and pulling open the passenger door.
“His car isn’t really on fire, is it?” she asked as she plunked down into the leather seat.
“No.” He sank into the driver’s seat and grinned at her again. “Look, I’ll do a lot for an old friend, but setting a guy’s car on fire … no, that’s a step too far.”
She watched him start the engine and turn toward the back exit.
“But you will lie to him