The Last Time We Kissed Read online

  “So we’re back to discussing sex again.”

  “Can’t seem to get away from it, can we?” Sam’s eyes darkened with a need that matched the ache inside her. “We definitely have a problem and we’re going to have to deal with it sooner or later.”

  “Oh?” His fingers on her cheek made it difficult to speak. “How so?”

  He inched closer. “We both have this need to find out whether we’re as good together as we used to be.”

  That could be dangerous, she wanted to say, but could only nod.

  “Just one kiss, and then we can put this misplaced attraction behind us.”

  Maybe he had a point. It would be nice to move past the unwanted desire that kept her awake at night and on edge by day. “All right. But just one kiss.”

  Standing on her toes, she rose to meet him. His eyelids drifted shut and, released from the spell of his gaze, she panicked. This is a terrible mistake!

  Then his lips touched hers, and she was lost.

  Dear Reader,

  When I was six my mother signed me up for ballet lessons because I was clumsy. Being a warm and nurturing woman, she never told me this. She simply enrolled me, then brought home pink slippers, white tights and a black leotard. One look at those slippers and I was sold. I loved everything surrounding dance: the music, the scuffed hardwood floor, the other kids and watching the teacher demonstrate various leg and arm positions. But a dancer I’m not. I failed miserably at it and, alas, quit after a few months. Luckily, as I matured, I grew out of the clumsy stage. (Though from time to time I still trip over things, usually when I’m preoccupied with a story I’m working on.)

  Despite my failure as a dancer, I have always loved the ballet, both professional and amateur. So naturally, the heroine of this story, Amy Parker, is a former ballerina. She and Sam Cutter, an entrepreneur, married quite young. Theirs was a passionate union filled with misunderstandings and arguments. Unfortunately the marriage lasted less than a year, leaving them both bitter and hurt. This story opens twelve years later.

  Amy teaches ballet to children. Sam’s niece is enrolled in her school. The Last Time We Kissed is the heartwarming story of Sam and Amy’s reconciliation.

  This is my first Harlequin American Romance novel, and I’m excited to share it with you. I hope you enjoy reading it as much as I enjoyed writing it.

  Sincerely,

  THE LAST TIME

  WE KISSED

  Ann Roth

  To my agent, Pam Hopkins.

  Thanks for your continued encouragement and support.

  Special thanks to Lynn Beasley for her help about running a ballet school for children, and for patiently answering my questions. Any mistakes or misinformation are mine.

  ABOUT THE AUTHOR

  Ann Roth has always been a voracious reader, reading everything from classics to mysteries to romance. Of all the books she’s read, love stories affected her the most, and stayed with her the longest. A firm believer in the power of love, Ann enjoys creating emotional stories that illustrate how love can triumph over seemingly insurmountable odds.

  Ann lives in the greater Seattle area with her husband and a really irritating cat who expects her breakfast no later than 6:00 a.m., seven days a week.

  She would love to hear from readers. You can write her c/o P.O. Box 25003, Seattle, WA 98165-1903 or e-mail her at [email protected].

  Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Epilogue

  Chapter One

  AMY PARKER strode to the middle of the stage and clapped her hands. “Attention, Pearls!”

  A dozen six-, seven- and eight-year-old children clustered on the benches along the wall swiveled from the room-length mirror toward her, while Kari Jeffries, the mother whose turn it was to help out and provide the snack, held a warning finger to her lips.

  “Rehearsal starts in ten minutes,” Amy said. “Please get ready.” She glanced at her assistant of the day. “Mrs. Jeffries, will you help?”

  Kari nodded, her chin-length hair swinging forward. Excited chatter erupted and filled the air as some children exchanged their street shoes for ballet slippers, while others warmed up at the barre adjacent to the benches. Amy inserted a well-used CD into the player and then set the remote on top of the notebook containing her choreography notes. As founder of the Amy Parker School of Dance, the brand-new Forest Hills, Washington, ballet school for grade- and middle-school children, she looked forward to the first annual end-of-the-year performance. With only five weeks to go, the Pearls, Emeralds and Rubies were rehearsing daily, though in separate groups. The next hour belonged to the Pearls.

  They were all here except for Mariah Carlson. Amy wasn’t worried. The eight-year-old was one of her most enthusiastic pupils. She wouldn’t miss—

  Suddenly the door at the dimly lit back of the room opened. A slice of afternoon sunlight briefly illuminated the diminutive Mariah, who hurried inside, followed by a male too tall and muscular to be her father. He moved with a fluid grace at odds with his size, his step as familiar to Amy as her favorite leotard.

  For a moment, the room and everyone in it seemed to fade as recognition jolted through her. No, it can’t be. But even as her mind denied the truth, her heart knew.

  Sam Cutter had just entered her dance studio.

  Amy tried to swallow but her throat had gone dry. She shouldn’t have been surprised. For weeks, she’d known that he would be looking after Mariah while the girl’s parents enjoyed a three-week cruise. She’d psyched herself up for this meeting, had assured herself she could handle it. But she hadn’t expected to see Sam quite so soon.

  Mariah waved. Amy’s hands and legs began to shake, and only her years of rigorous training kept her from collapsing in a helpless wreck. Somehow, she managed a return wave and a smile.

  Sam seemed equally unsettled as he hovered a few yards shy of the door, his body tense and his jaw taut. The small girl beside him pulled his hand. “Come on, Uncle Sam, I want you to meet Miss Parker.”

  Of course, Mariah wouldn’t know they’d already met, ages before her birth. There was no reason to tell her without a round of endless questions that would only stir up a past better left buried.

  Gripping the girl’s small gym bag, Sam moved slowly into the windowless studio, his stride as hesitant as Amy’s stuttering heart. At a loss for what to do, she snatched up her choreography notebook, opened it and pretended to scan the pages, while studying Sam from beneath lowered lashes.

  He still favored T-shirts and snug, faded jeans. He’d filled out some since she’d last seen him twelve years ago, his chest broader, his arms stronger, and his body somehow bigger. Power and steel. The words popped into her mind, and they described him well. His hair, jet-black and as long as ever, was neatly pulled back in a ponytail. The diamond stud in his ear, which he’d worn since his senior year of high school, winked in the dim light.

  He didn’t appear to have changed much. A bitter smile twisted Amy’s lips. No surprise there. Sam would never change, and all the love and tears in the world couldn’t alter that. She gave up the pretense of scanning the notes, instead hugging the binder to her chest.

  The children had stopped tugging off their sneakers to whisper among themselves and scrutinize this stranger with open interest. Kari smoothed her hair and sucked in her stomach, the w
ay women did around a man like Sam. Sporting an oblivious smile, Mariah continued to lead her grim-faced uncle forward. A small slip of a girl eagerly dragging a great big man. It was almost laughable, or would have been under different circumstances.

  At the foot of the stage, Sam balked, refusing to go any farther. His legs splayed in a stubborn stance Amy well remembered, while his jaw clamped shut and his expression darkened.

  The undaunted Mariah adjusted by releasing his hand, taking her bag from him and beaming. “This is my Uncle,” she proudly stated. “He’s taking care of me for three whole weeks.”

  Somehow, Amy’s ability to speak had vanished and she stood mute. Her ice-cold hands tightened on the notebook so that the cardboard cut into her palms, but she barely noticed. Sam stood not five feet in front of her. Not just a fantasy or a late-night dream, but the man himself.

  Mentally she’d rehearsed this moment at least a hundred times, yet now her mind was oddly blank. Her body, however, was in total chaos: heart pounding, nerves stretched tight, breathing shallow. With amazing speed, the familiar warmth she’d thought she’d forgotten uncurled in her stomach.

  After all this time, he still had the power do that to her. Wonder, then distress shook her. Unnerved and totally confused, she lifted the thick braid that hung down her back and brought it forward while she prayed that the floor would open up beneath her feet and pull her underground and out of sight. Since that wasn’t happening, she forced herself to stand tall and face him. “Hello, Sam.”

  He shifted uncomfortably before his robin’s egg-blue eyes settled on her. He’d gotten those from his mother, a Swede, while his tawny skin and black hair came from his Native American father.

  “Hello, Amy.” His throat worked thickly. “It’s been a long time.”

  Once that low, sexy voice had sent thrills shivering through her. Unfortunately, it still did. Resisting the urge to sigh, Amy schooled her expression to disinterest. “Yes, it has.”

  Then, silence. What was there to say? It had all been said with heated accusations and hateful words twelve years ago.

  A worried frown darkened Mariah’s face as she glanced from Sam to Amy. “What’s the matter?”

  “Nothing,” Amy replied, feigning nonchalance with an airy wave. She meant that, too. There was nothing between her and Sam, had been nothing for a long time. This strong visceral reaction to him, well, it was simply because he was a powerfully built, good-looking man.

  She tore her gaze from Sam’s to glance at Mariah. The girl’s shoulder-length brown hair hung loose around her face. “We’re about to start rehearsal, so change your shoes, then hurry and fix your hair. Mrs. Jeffries will help you put it into a bun.”

  The little girl nodded, then scampered off, her small gym bag bumping her leg.

  Sam shoved his hands into his pockets and remained planted in front of Amy, his expression indifferent except for the glint of interest in his eyes. Her stomach knotted with tension. She wanted only to get rid of him and then lose herself in her work. She made a show of glancing at the slim gold watch on her wrist. “We’ll be finished by six. You can pick up Mariah then.”

  “Okay.” He searched her face as if memorizing her features. “It’s good to see you,” he said, then looked surprised at his own words.

  “And you,” she replied before she could stop herself. I’ve been back in town for a year now. Why haven’t you looked me up?

  Not that she’d wanted him to. If not for Mariah, they could have coexisted in Forest Hills without ever running into each other. They didn’t share the same friends or the same interests, and never had.

  “I’m ready, Miss Parker,” Mariah called from the bench. “See you later, Uncle Sam.”

  He waved goodbye, then turned around and strode to the exit as if he couldn’t wait to leave.

  When the door shut behind him, a wide-eyed Kari joined Amy on stage. “That was Sam Cutter, the owner of the Cutter’s Fabulous Burgers chain,” she said with blatant admiration. “I’ve seen his picture in the papers. He’s even better-looking in person. How do you know him?”

  “How do I know Sam?” Amy repeated, stalling for time while she corralled the whirl of emotions tumbling inside her. Kari was a world-class gossip, and Amy did not relish being the subject of her latest juicy story. She picked up the remote and pushed the play button. Strains from a lighthearted Mozart piece filled the room. She hit Pause, then offered Kari what she hoped was a dismissive smile. “I used to be married to him.”

  THE MOMENT SAM EASED his black Porsche from the parking lot after dance class an hour and a half later, Mariah turned to him with a scolding frown. “You didn’t come in and get me.”

  “I waited outside, just like I said I would.” The furrow between his niece’s brows deepened, so he shot her a puzzled look. “You do remember our conversation?”

  “Yes, but Mom always comes inside.” She stuck her hands out the open sunroof, waving her fingers through the late afternoon spring air. “I wanted you to do that, too.”

  “And I was supposed to know that by reading your mind?”

  “No, Uncle Sam.” Her freckled nose wrinkled, and she jerked her hands down to her lap. “You were supposed to open the door, walk in and get me.”

  Brother. “I see.”

  He’d thought taking care of his sister Jeannie’s daughter would be a piece of cake. Boy, was he wrong. Mariah was stubborn and opinionated, a scheming female in the making, and he was beginning to realize just how hard Jeannie and Mike had it.

  Sam felt like an amateur walking a tightrope, unsure how to handle his niece. He figured he’d appeal to the kid’s ego. “I thought, hey, you’re a mature, eight-year-old girl, and that makes you perfectly able to walk out the door and find me.”

  Mariah sniffed, refusing to be mollified by the flattery. “I know why you didn’t come in. You don’t like Miss Parker.”

  “Where’d you get that idea?” Sam asked, though he thought he knew the answer. His niece must have picked up on the tension between him and Amy, which had vibrated between them like an over-wound spring ready to snap.

  After all the time that had passed, he hadn’t expected that. He shook his head. But then, he hadn’t anticipated what seeing her would do to him. The woman who had once been his wife was no longer the skinny teenage girl he’d married. Sure, she still had a dancer’s fit and slender body, but she was softer and fuller now. All woman, and as attractive as hell. Interest piqued him as it hadn’t for a long while, and he wondered if she tasted as sweet as he remembered. He quickly dismissed the thought, setting his jaw.

  Mariah had said he didn’t like her teacher, but like was the wrong word for the strong emotions churning in his gut. His tangled feelings were impossible to capture in words. There was too much fire and pain between him and Amy. “She’s okay,” he said, keeping his tone neutral.

  “Then why were you such a grouch around her?”

  “Me, a grouch?” Sam snorted and braked for a red light. In the growing dusk, fragrant lilacs ringed with colorful tulips were still visible in the median dividing the street, but he barely noticed. “So I didn’t smile or make small talk.” He remembered Amy’s cool expression and added, “Your teacher wasn’t exactly thrilled to see me, either.” Three blocks down, a brightly lit, blue-and-gold Cutter’s Fabulous Burger sign rotated slowly, beckoning hungry drivers. “I’ll bet you’re starved. Want to grab a burger before heading home?”

  “Okay. Why wasn’t Miss Parker thrilled?”

  Sam stifled a colorful expletive. Typical one-track mind. The kid wouldn’t be satisfied until he’d answered her questions. The light turned green, and he accelerated. “That’s a complicated question. Let’s just say we’ve known each other for a while, since long before you were born.”

  “I didn’t know that. Did you like each other then?”

  He shot a glance at his niece. The interested expression on her face meant who knew how many more prying questions. Unless he satisfied her curiosity.
How to explain? He considered making up a story, but that wasn’t his style. The only safe route was the honest one. He’d tell her and end the matter. He shrugged. “We got married, so I guess we liked each other well enough,” he said carefully, knowing Mariah could repeat this conversation to her friends and maybe to Amy.

  Her eyes widened. “You and Miss Parker used to be married?” She huffed, a tiny breath fraught with scorn. “In case you didn’t know, April Fool’s Day was last month. It’s May now.”

  “I’m not fooling,” he replied soberly.

  “You’re not?” His niece gaped at him. She shrieked, then covered her mouth with her hand. “That’s ultracool! You guys must have loved each other.”

  “We thought so at the time.” Instead they’d confused lust for love. The lust had never faded, growing stronger each time they made love, which they’d done as often as possible. Unfortunately, sexual chemistry had been the only positive thing going for them. When they weren’t tearing off each other’s clothes, they fought like wildcats.

  Mariah giggled. “Sam and Amy, sittin’ in a tree, k-i-s-s-i-n-g…”

  Sam rolled his eyes, though the silly poem brought to mind the time he and Amy had made love in a tree. They’d been walking through a deserted park at dusk. As often happened back then, they were so hot for each other they couldn’t wait until they got home. So they’d climbed up an old, leafy maple, found the sturdiest branch, and let their passions explode. Tricky, but exciting. He’d never had sex like that again, and probably never would. The mere thought was arousing. His groin stirred. Frowning, he shifted in his seat. “Amy was barely eighteen and I was twenty, and we were too young for the responsibility. Getting married was a mistake. We divorced less than a year later.”

  “That’s so sad,” Mariah sighed in her best dramatic voice.

  And so damn painful, he’d never again go the marriage route. He shrugged. “We got over it.”