LITMIR.BIZ

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who’d come the farthest and on and on and on.

      With everyone’s attention directed at Candi, Sam moved around the perimeter of the room. He stopped when he spotted Dana. He didn’t fight the initial jolt of seeing her again, taking a moment to watch her instead. A little taller than average, she was more angular than curvy, her hair not strictly blond or brunette but a honeyed mix of both, and shoulder length now, not the rich waterfall to her waist that had made him want to wrap his hands in it and pull her close.

      He couldn’t see her eyes from where he stood, but he knew they were obsidian, pitch-dark eyes that had issued him challenges since elementary school.

      She wore an unrevealing, blue couture dress and low heels, understated, practical and elegant, befitting her position, but a far cry from the hot-pink number she’d worn at the junior prom.

      “And finally,” Candi said, folding her list and setting it aside, “our three mega success stories. Harley Bonner, who owns the eighth largest ranching operation in the state of California.”

      Cheers went up. Sam’s blood froze. If he were a vengeful man—

      “Lilith Perry Paul, whose radio talk show is now in syndication all over the country.” More hoots and hollers. “And finally, Dana Cleary Sterling. Dana—you’ve made us so proud. Here’s to six more years!”

      So, Sam thought, the speculation was over. She’d made a decision.

      “We’ll have music and dancing for two more hours,” Candi shouted over the din. “Don’t forget the picnic in the park tomorrow at noon. If you haven’t had your picture taken for the memory book, you’ve only got a half hour left. Remember to sign the update forms, too. Have fun!”

      Sam watched as well-wishers surrounded Dana, who seemed surprisingly uneasy at the attention. A barrier went up, an invisible wall that kept people at a distance. She held her wineglass in both hands, a silent signal. No handshakes, please. No hugs. Only her friend Lilith got close enough to bump arms, and that lasted but a second.

      The change in her surprised him. When had she become so reserved? When had she lost the outward joy of life? She’d touched people. Him.

      The music started again, Sting singing “Every Breath You Take,” blasting Sam with fresh images of the junior prom where he’d painfully watched Dana with her date, her smile bright. She hadn’t been a cheerleader, but almost everything else, including student-body president. She’d seemed golden to him, the way she combined academics, sports and extracurricular activities.

      Sam shouldered his way past the memories and through the crowd. Conversation quieted enough for him to hear the reaction being voiced at his appearance.

      “Who—”

      “I think that’s Sam Remington—”

      “Really? But he’s so—”

      “Gorgeous. Can’t be Sam. He never dressed that good.”

      “He sure has filled out.”

      Sam never broke stride. When he did, the murmuring stopped. Surprised pleasure stole across Dana’s face, startling him. The anger he’d harbored for years broke loose from its moorings, leaving only what had been good between them.

      He put his hand out to her, invading her invisible barrier. Then he waited. The next move was hers.

      If it hadn’t been for the unmistakable turquoise-colored eyes, Dana wouldn’t have recognized him. Gone was the gangly boy. In his place stood a man who commanded attention without saying a word.

      She’d looked for him at the five-year and ten-year reunions, more hopeful than she cared to admit. The sharp impact of seeing him now rendered her speechless.

      He’d grown, in every way. He looked…dangerous. Confidence radiated from him in white-hot heat. In a room of sport coats and khakis he wore black jeans and a leather jacket. In an evening where no one had gotten too close, he’d come within a foot and put his hand out in such a way that she could either shake it or be led onto the dance floor.

      She wanted to dance, but did he? Her dilemma made her heart pound—she’d rejected five other offers. How would it look if she danced with him now? She saw challenge in his eyes. His hand moved fractionally closer to her.

      Dana realized she couldn’t take any more time to analyze his motives, so she passed her wineglass to Lilith and put her hand in Sam’s. She’d waited fifteen years for the chance to talk to him.

      “I’d love to dance,” she said, maintaining a smile.

      He said nothing but drew her onto the dance floor then into his arms, leaving an acceptable amount of space between their bodies. Even so, she hadn’t been this intimate with a man in over two years, and then it had been a comfortable closeness, not this…this breath-stealing turmoil.

      She lifted her face, determined not to let him see how he unnerved her. She’d gotten so good at controlling her emotions, it had become cold habit, but now his gaze held hers long enough for her lips to tremble. He exuded control—in his eyes, his posture, the firm touch of his hands. She wanted to shake that control, although she had no idea why. She hated it when someone tried to shake hers.

      “So,” she said, making herself smile. “The prodigal Brainiac returns at last.”

      His eyes softened. Warmed. “How are you, Blush?”

      Their use of their old nicknames brought instant intimacy. She felt herself blushing, then his knowing smile took her back, moments tumbling into other moments.

      “I’m well,” she said, coming aware of his thighs brushing hers now and then as they danced. “Where have you been, Sam?”

      “You want fifteen years condensed into a paragraph?”

      “Have you done so little?” she asked lightly, surprising herself. She was flirting and couldn’t stop it.

      “I’ve lived.”

      The way he said the words gave her pause. She would bet the long version of the story would be fascinating. “Start at the beginning, then. Where’d you go after graduation?”

      “I joined the army.”

      Shock left her momentarily at a loss for words. “Why?”

      “The opportunity presented itself.”

      Which made no sense. According to the math teacher, Mr. Giannini, Sam had been destined for greatness in the math community. “Brilliant” had always preceded his name. She shook her head. “Every year when the Nobel Prizes are awarded I look for your name.”

      “Things change.”

      “You didn’t attend your father’s funeral.” She remembered how pitiful it had been. So few people, and none who genuinely mourned.

      “You did.”

      So. He’d left, but he’d kept track. “Why are you here, Sam?”

      “To thank you.”

      “For attending the funeral?”

      “No.”

      She looked away, shaken by the intensity of his gaze. Gratitude was the last thing Dana expected. He’d been furious at her at graduation, rightfully so. And she hadn’t been allowed to set the record straight or beg forgiveness. By the time she could hunt for him after the ceremony, he’d left town.

      “How can you thank me?” The effort to appear casual for the interested bystanders sent her pulse dancing. “Because of me you were beaten. You could barely walk at graduation. Your eye was swollen shut. That was my fault.”

      “It changed my life, Dana, in ways I never could have anticipated.”

      How could he be so calm? She wanted to scream, Mine, too! It changed my life, too. “Tell me how,” she said.

      “It’s

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