her arms. The room swirled in dizzying eddies of colors. Spirals of hope and despair had her struggling for breath. And like a dam overcome with melting snow, a flood of memories gushed, nearly taking her feet from under her.
Daniel.
Her hand sought support and found an arm. “Mademoiselle?”
Shaking her head, she snapped her hand away and gulped in air to stem the raging tide of panic surging through her. Slowly, the room stopped spinning, her breath returned to normal and her numbed brain started to function.
She parted the sea of adoring females that crowded around the piano, hanging on to every chord he cajoled from the instrument.
His hands came into view. Hands that had the long fingers of an artist. The well-toned muscles between the knuckles bore witness to the hours of practice. Her skin heated at their remembered touch. She readjusted her position. To get a better view. Nothing else.
When she caught sight of his profile, her stomach rebelled, washing waves of acid against its sides. Hand fisted against the pain, she fought to clear the flash from the past superimposing a younger man over this musician’s features.
Her Daniel had been positively skinny, whereas this man had a supple leanness about him. Her Daniel had sported long, unkempt, sun-bleached hair, instead of this man’s rich brown neatly cut style. Her Daniel’s angular, intense face had pleased her. She searched the uncompromising lines of this man’s face and found it hard to believe they were the same person.
There was no softness left in him. Instead, there was a primal quality about the way he played—as if he were darkness condensed and controlled, his emotions caged and doled out precisely for a choreographed response, his motions smooth and graceful, yet ordered and precise. There was no doubt he mastered the instrument.
She shivered.
Yet something was missing. Something that had once stirred her so deeply she’d broken all of her self-imposed rules.
Her Daniel had played with unbridled passion, the wildness a joy to watch. This Daniel played with soul, but without heart.
When he lifted his gaze, he found hers as if he’d known all along she would be there. She saw no apology in his eyes, no awkwardness, only clear, deep amber. For an instant the color smoldered intimately to intoxicating brandy, then it hardened, giving him an aloof expression that struck her as sadness disguised.
When the music stopped, people crowded around him like theater curtains, obscuring him from her view. She didn’t fight the sweep. She let it separate her from him because she’d long ago put aside all her silly notions of a happy reunion. Instead, she’d spent her energy on forging a future for herself and her daughter. She was content with her choices. Daniel was her past.
It was time to leave. Time to get back to Rosane.
“CHRISTIANE!”
Fingers curled around her nearly bare shoulder, stopping her. Daniel had a strong grasp that managed to be as gentle as a caress, yet left her no room to dismiss him. His touch shivered all the way up to her scalp, all the way down to her toes. No wonder he could play so well if a simple touch could shake her so.
“Daniel.” Christi pasted a wide smile on her mouth as she turned to face him. Could a face crack from trying too hard to look relaxed? “How nice to see you again.”
What did you say to an ex-lover after nine years? Hi, and by the way, you left a little more of yourself than you thought when you took off. Yep, that’s right, you’re a daddy. I’d have told you much sooner, but you didn’t leave a forwarding address.
There was no good way to deliver this news. She toyed with the idea of keeping the secret to herself. Why should she upset three ordered lives?
Because she, of all people, understood he had the right to know. She would tell him. But not now, not tonight. Not with the shock of seeing him still ebbing from her body.
The quartet struck up again, playing a generic waltz that faded into the background along with the happy chatter and clink of glasses.
“Dance with me.” There was a touch of vulnerability beneath the cutting steel of his voice, and she was tempted to let him lead her to the floor, to see if the electric passion that had burned them both still flickered. But that was a dangerous game, and she had Rosane to think of now.
“I was just leaving.” Her gaze cut over his shoulder in search of Armand.
“So early? Dance with me, Christiane.”
His voice was deeper, more resonant than she remembered, his presence more domineering, and his penetrating gaze caused bubbles of acid to pop in her stomach. “Another time, maybe. I have…obligations. I really have to go.”
He grasped her elbow in one hand and turned her toward the cleared floor where a dozen couples waltzed. Talons would have been easier to dislodge.
“You don’t want to cause a scene,” he whispered in her ear. To anyone the gesture would have looked as if he were whispering sweet nothings.
His thumb caressed her elbow, gentling his insistence, short-circuiting the logical part of her brain. One dance, what could it hurt?
“Dance with me.” His harsh gaze softened for an instant, and she saw the awkward boy once more—the one who’d stumbled over his words when he’d asked if he could walk her home after her shift at the ice-cream parlor.
She wasn’t a teenager anymore; she could resist those eyes, that smile. Throat too dry to speak, she nodded and let him lead her onto the dance floor. One dance. She’d prove she was over him to them both.
The warmth of his hand on the small of her back penetrated the thin material of her dress and made her feel exposed. As he drew her closer, more potent heat radiated from him, making her trip over her own shadow. He’d once made a cold February night sizzle. As he steadied her, she closed her eyes, willing her body to forget the sensations her mind too easily remembered. Memories rippled up from their safe hiding place, and she braced against their assault.
“Relax,” Daniel whispered. The ruffle of his breath made her quiver. “I won’t hurt you. I just want to talk to you.”
“You played well tonight.”
“Do you know my work?” Daniel skillfully skirted around another couple.
“No, other than Céline Dion, I don’t know of any French Canadian stars who’ve made the news in Fort Worth.” I had no idea if you were dead or alive. “I’m glad you realized your dream.” God, she’d attended too many business affairs if she could talk to him that casually without falling apart.
“And you? Have your dreams come true?”
“Some.” She shrugged, keeping her gaze averted from the liquid amber that had drawn too much out of her already. She didn’t want to tell him about Rosane until she’d found firm footing again.
“Which ones?” His gaze measured her as they danced, making her wonder at the thoughts behind the rigid panes of his eyes.
To make matters worse, someone’s stare pierced her spine. When she turned to look, it wasn’t the envious ogling of another woman that caught
