waist, urged her onto the polished boards.
“I can’t…” she protested, but already her feet were following Jager’s lead. “The best man…he’ll be looking for me.”
“He can find someone else,” Jager said ruthlessly. He took the makeup bag from her hand and dropped it onto the nearest table. “Dance with me, Paige.”
He wasn’t really giving her any choice unless she was to make a scene. He pulled her close, his other hand closing over hers and folding it against his chest. He’d opened his jacket and through the fine fabric of his white shirt she could feel the warmth of his skin, the faint beat of his heart. His scent enveloped her, familiar and strange at the same time.
A long time ago she had tried to teach him the proper steps that she’d learned at her exclusive girls’ school, but he’d grinned and just held her and swayed to the music, scarcely moving his feet. Holding her close, body to body. Close enough for him to lay his cheek against her hair. Close enough to kiss.
Paige’s eyes drifted shut. Memories washed over her and for just a few minutes she let them. She didn’t speak and neither did Jager. She just breathed him in, his warmth, his personal male aroma, and remembered how it had been when they were young and in love, when she had believed they could overcome her parents’ opposition, the differences in their backgrounds, lack of money, their own inexperience of life. Anything, so long as they had each other.
And of course like most young love it had come to nothing, all their dreams shattered into sharp, hurtful pieces against the cold, hard reality of the adult world.
She made a small sound—half sigh, half laugh—that should have been drowned by the music, and the chatter all around them, but Jager drew back a couple of inches and looked down at her. “What?” he queried.
A wry smile on her mouth, she said, “Nothing.”
He continued to look at her, his gaze unreadable. “Nothing,” he repeated. A gleam entered his half-closed eyes. “O-oh yeah?” For a moment his white teeth showed in a brief, blinding smile. Then his head went back and he laughed, a deeper, richer sound than she remembered from the days when he’d been scarcely more than a boy, but retaining the same uninhibited enjoyment.
Something caught at her throat, hot and thick, and an answering joyousness sang in her blood, a powerful echo of long-buried emotions.
Then he actually executed a few dance steps, quite expertly, taking her with him, holding her tight as she instinctively followed. She felt the power of his muscles as his thighs brushed against hers before he stopped, swinging her slightly off balance so she had to cling to his shoulder to stay upright.
They remained in an embrace that shut out everyone, everything. The laughter had left his face and he looked somber, the strong jaw clenched so that his beautiful mouth became uncompromising, his cheekbones more prominent. In the dark centers of his eyes Paige saw her own upturned face, and she was dimly aware that his hand had tightened on hers to the point of pain. Other sensations overrode the tiny hurt. Her breathing was shallow and quick, her throat tight, her body licked by a slow, languorous fire.
“Paige,” he said, almost wonderingly, as if he’d just realized who it was he held.
Her lips parted hesitantly. His name hovered on them, then escaped like a sigh.
And another voice—her mother’s, sharp and anxious—broke the moment. “Paige!”
She blinked at the interruption, instinctively trying to pull away from Jager, but he wasn’t giving an inch.
Her mother stood within her father’s arm. Henry appeared uncomfortable and annoyed, while his wife looked militant. “Blake is looking for you,” she told Paige. “This should be his dance.”
Blake? For a moment Paige’s memory balked. The best man. “I didn’t see him.” She had seen no one but Jager since he’d swept her onto the dance floor. She looked up at him. “I’d better…” Again she tried to move away.
She recognized the quick jut of his jaw, the “don’t push me” look in his eyes. But then he loosened his hold, dropping his hand from her tingling fingers although he still retained his grip on her waist, and allowed her to turn to her parents. Looking at them, he said politely, “How are you Mrs. Camden…Mr. Camden?”
Henry Camden nodded stiffly. Margaret said crisply, “We’re well, Jager, and Paige…as you can see, she’s fine.” She paused, giving her daughter a covertly anxious glance before turning to him again. “We didn’t expect to see you here.”
“It was kind of a last-minute invitation.”
“Really?” The chilly reply didn’t encourage elaboration and he didn’t offer it.
Henry’s mature male rumble was directed at Jager. “I hear you’ve been doing very well for yourself.”
Margaret looked at her husband in surprise. It was evidently the first she’d heard of it.
Jager said, “You do?”
“A bit of a highflier these days.”
“I get by.”
Henry gave a bark of reluctant laughter. “More than that, I’d say.”
“Would you?”
Margaret demanded, “What are you talking about, Henry?”
Instead of explaining, Henry looked around them and said, “We’re holding up the traffic here. If we’re going to talk, we should move.”
But the music stopped then, and other couples began walking off the floor.
Margaret shifted her gaze to Jager and said pointedly, “Paige has certain duties as her sister’s attendant.”
Jager inclined his head, and lifted both hands away from Paige. “I haven’t balled and chained her.” His eyes challenged her. His voice low, he asked, “Do you want to leave me, Paige?”
Echoes of the past rose, hauntingly. Had he meant to arouse them? “I do have things to do.” She hated the apologetic note in her voice. Trying to sound more assertive she said, “It’s been nice seeing you again, Jager.”
Her mother looked relieved and approving. Jager merely lifted one dark brow a fraction and grinned at Paige. A tight, feral grin that both teased and promised, telling her she couldn’t dismiss him so easily and it amused him that she’d even tried.
A shiver of apprehension spiraled about her spine. Jager had changed in the intervening years. Formidably self-assured instead of cocky and defensive, he carried a distinctly unsettling aura of sexual potency that had little to do with the height and good looks bequeathed by his unknown ancestors, and everything to do with how he saw himself as a man. The raw, brash, quicksilver sexuality had been replaced by tempered steel under the polished surface of a new sophistication. Which made him all the more dangerous if, as she suspected, he had learned to use it as a weapon.
Well, she had changed too, Paige told herself as she left his side to hunt down either her sister or the best man. She was no longer in thrall to teenage hormones and romantic fantasies. There was more to love than the seductive siren call of sex, more to life than falling head over heels into lust and expecting
