The Last Time We Kissed

by Ann Roth

  His niece’s small arms crossed her chest indignantly, while her chin thrust up. “How come you never told me about this?”

  “It was old news. Besides it’s not important anymore. After the divorce Amy, uh, Miss Parker, moved to San Francisco and joined a ballet company. I didn’t figure I’d run into her again, not even when she moved back to Forest Hills and you started dance lessons. But then your mom and dad decided to take that cruise, and I offered to take care of you, and here we are.”

  “Oh.” Mariah chewed the pad of her thumb and fell silent, satisfied at last.

  Sam heaved a sigh of relief. Thank God.

  In the quiet, his thoughts turned to Amy. She’d been immersed in the rehearsal this afternoon, all serious business and no fun. Just as she’d always been.

  So what if she looked better than ever? She was still the same career-oriented woman, only instead of focusing on her own dancing, she now focused completely on her students. How did he know this? For one thing, she wasn’t married. He’d checked around and learned that she wasn’t dating anyone, either, and hadn’t since moving back to town a year ago. She spent most of her time in her studio. Dance had always been her life, more important to her than anything else. It looked as if it still was. Sam didn’t fault her for having a career, but her priorities were skewed. For that reason, she didn’t interest him.

  “I have rehearsal every day and you have to walk me in, so you’d better be nice to her,” Mariah cautioned.

  Here we go again. Curbing his impatience, Sam managed to keep his tone even. “Why can’t I just drop you at the door?”

  “Because,” she said as if he were the child and she the adult, “I’m a Pearl. You don’t go in by yourself until you’re an Emerald or a Ruby. I won’t be an Emerald until next year when I’m nine, and I won’t be a Ruby until I’m eleven.”

  “What about on Tuesday and Thursday, when you carpool? Don’t you and your friends walk in by yourselves?”

  “Not until we’re Emeralds.”

  “I see,” Sam said, though he didn’t. He found Mariah’s female sense of logic baffling, but not surprising. Were girls born that way? “You’re lucky I run my own business. What would you do if I couldn’t pick you up from school and walk you inside?”

  “But you can.” Her lips compressed, reminding him of her mother—his sister—and the subject was closed.

  Someday his cute, little freckle-nosed niece was going to make some poor guy miserable. Sam stifled a grin.

  The Cutter’s Fabulous Burger sign was just ahead. He signaled and pulled into the paved lot. The place was hopping, he noted with pride. He now owned five of the fast-food restaurants—two in Forest Hills and three in the surrounding area. Unlike his failed marriage, his business just kept getting better.

  Sam scowled. He didn’t like to compare his marriage to his business. He didn’t like to think about his marriage, period.

  Yet today he’d thought about the past a lot. He’d known Amy had moved back into town. How could he not? Even if his sister hadn’t told him, some radar-like system in his gut knew. Amy’s effect on him was that strong, and after spending a few miserable weeks wondering whether they’d run into each other, he’d managed to squelch his tension—if he saw her, he saw her—and lock the painful memories in a dark place deep inside of him. But coming face-to-face with her had jarred him and shaken some of those memories loose.

  It was the shock of seeing her for the first time since the divorce, he reasoned. He was over that now. Tomorrow was Thursday, carpool day, so he wouldn’t be driving. But on Friday, he’d walk Mariah inside and he’d do it without hesitation. Seeing Amy again would have no effect on him at all.

  In fact, he looked forward to facing her, just to prove that to himself.

  DESPITE THE HECTIC rehearsal schedule, on Thursdays Amy closed the studio at six. Thank goodness, for today had been a Thursday from hell. At the moment, it was just after six but it felt like midnight. As she dust-mopped the stage in preparation for tomorrow, the day’s chaotic events played through her mind.

  The morning had gone smoothly enough, just the usual paperwork and finishing the sketches for the recital’s four simple but work-intensive sets. The problems had started this afternoon. Bobby Jarrett, one of the six boys in the Emerald group, had arrived early, in the middle of the Rubies rehearsal. Bored with waiting for his group’s turn on stage, he’d clowned around and jammed his big toe. That required a call to his mother, who had whisked her white-faced ten-year-old off to the doctor. Then the Tchaikovsky CD the Ruby group practiced to had begun to skip, apparently worn out from overuse. They’d had to rehearse without music. That had thrown many of them into confusion, which meant they didn’t know their parts as well as Amy had thought. So they’d run through the routine until the dancers seemed more sure of themselves, which had thrown off the schedule for the rest of the afternoon.

  As if that weren’t enough, Molly Andrews and Sabrina Rollins, both Emeralds and among the group’s most promising ballerinas, had gotten into a big fight over who was the better dancer. Amy had taken more time away from rehearsal to play referee, soothing both ruffled egos by pointing out that they were equally good.

  She stopped mopping to pick up a Band-Aid wrapper, from when Tammy Martin, an Emerald, discovered a blister on her pinkie toe. Not from her dancing slippers, but from the too-tight but fashionable shoes she’d worn all day in school. Amy needed to replenish the Band-Aid supply and buy a replacement CD on her way home tonight. “Band-Aids and CD,” she proclaimed aloud, to help her remember.

  On top of all that, she’d started the day exhausted. She yawned, and her tired eyes watered. She hadn’t slept well last night, partly due to the stress of this whole end-of-year dance production. Yes, they were children, and no one expected perfection. Yet because her school was not quite a year old and this was the first recital, she wanted it to be good. But the reason she’d tossed and turned had less to do with her school and more to do with Sam Cutter. Seeing him yesterday had totally unnerved her.

  Which was thoroughly aggravating, as well as confusing. Mop in hand, Amy descended the three steps leading to the stage. She shook the mop head over the trash receptacle, absently watching the debris float silently into the can. She was over the man, yet one brief meeting had stirred up a tumultuous mix of desire, bitterness and heartache, along with a pang of longing. Emotions she’d dealt with and dismissed years ago, or thought she had. Apparently not.

  She slid the mop over the polished wood floor surrounding the barre and bench areas. All day, she’d wondered what she would have done if he’d walked through the door again this afternoon. Thankfully, Mariah had come in with Jessica Stevens, Meggie Markus and Jessica’s mother. The girl hadn’t even mentioned Sam. Which was a relief, Amy told herself, even if she had anticipated seeing him. The thought brought a frown to her face. Only to show him how little he affected her, she assured herself as she returned the mop to the closet.

  She rubbed her hip, which ached, the result of an injury that had cut short her career as a dancer. Her empty stomach growled loudly. With all the commotion today, she’d been too busy to eat lunch. Ravenous, she slipped into her ballet-pink cardigan. She grabbed her purse and the canvas bag she used to transport her choreography notebook and other items she needed at home. After one last glance around the studio, she flipped off the lights and slipped through the door. The dead bolt clicked behind her.

  The parking lot abutting the building was empty except for her Volkswagen Beetle, its banana-yellow color adding a bright note to the drab asphalt. Amy headed toward the car, pulling in a breath of flower-scented air as she walked. Instantly she felt better. She hadn’t had much chance to enjoy the unusually pleasant weather, and just being outside refreshed her. She stowed her bag in the trunk. The sun was about to set, and through a gap between two twelve-story buildings across the street she noted the streaks of crimson that colored the darkening sky. It was a beautiful, clear spring evening, though on
the cool side. She hugged her cardigan close and decided to walk the six blocks to Betty Jean’s Coffee Hut, which served excellent food and was one of her favorite places. After the meal she’d walk back and pick up her car. She needed the fresh air and besides, walking was good for her hip.

  Amy set off. There were lots of people out and about, and she nodded and smiled at familiar faces and strangers alike. Forest Hills had always been a friendly town. She’d missed the close-knit community and was glad to be back. The only bad part about it was that Sam lived here, too.

  She frowned. She’d managed to avoid the man for nearly a year. Once Mariah’s parents returned from vacation, she’d be able to avoid him again.

  With firm determination she drove the man from her thoughts and focused on her surroundings. She was less than a block from the gray cinder block Forest Hills Library and just two blocks from Betty Jean’s. Several of her students were in the library tonight, she knew, working on school projects just as she had throughout grade and high school. In fact, she’d first met Sam at that library. She frowned again. Why did she keep thinking about him?

  Suddenly, as if her question had tempted the fates, there he was, heading straight toward her. Her heart gave a funny kick, and without realizing it she stopped right in the middle of the sidewalk. She knew exactly when he spotted her. His brow lifted, registering surprise, and his step faltered. It wasn’t yet dark, and even from twenty feet away she could make out the pale blue of his eyes. As he continued toward her, those eyes lit and hooked her. She couldn’t look away.

  Awareness jolted through her, followed swiftly by self-disgust. She jerked her attention to the stubborn jut of his chin. Unless she was a total fool, she had no business being attracted to Sam Cutter.

  As he drew closer she couldn’t resist another glance at him. A furrow of displeasure marred his smooth forehead. Then vanished as his gaze roved boldly over her with a singular, intimate heat that drove every negative thought from her mind. She drew in a shaky, shallow breath. A fine tension hummed through her body, and suddenly she felt like the awestruck sixteen-year-old girl she’d been when they’d first met.

  With stark honesty, she admitted the truth: she’d thought yesterday’s strong physical reaction to Sam was a onetime thing, that she was now immune to him. Well, she’d thought wrong. After all these years, he had only to look at her and her insides turned to putty.

  She didn’t have to like it, but there it was. Amy stiffened her spine. Sam Cutter was the last person she needed in her life. She would fight her attraction with all her strength—no matter what her thudding heart wanted.

  Chapter Two

  SAM COULD HARDLY believe his eyes. Amy stood less than twenty feet away, her expression shadowed in the gathering dusk. He swore silently. She was the last person he wanted to see, and he considered offering a terse nod and ducking into the library, where Mariah awaited him. Unfortunately, his legs disagreed and strode straight toward Amy. All right, he’d say hello and then leave.

  Her arms hugged her waist as if she were cold. She wore clogs, loose turquoise overalls, a white T-shirt, and a sweater the same pale pink as ballet slippers. He couldn’t even see her shape in those clothes. So why did his blood stir as if she were wearing some tight, slinky dress?

  Irritated at his reaction, which was unwelcome, unwanted and unsettling, he scowled as he stopped half a foot in front of her. “Shouldn’t you be at your studio, working?”

  “Hello to you, too.” She clutched her extra-large shoulder bag close, hugging it, and matched his unhappy expression with one of her own. “Didn’t Mariah tell you? On Thursdays, the studio closes at six.”

  “She told me, but I didn’t believe it.” His arms crossed over his chest. “It’s not like you to take time off.” His mouth curled in a humorless smile. “Ever.”

  He knew by the shock on her face that she remembered their arguments over that very point and that she didn’t appreciate his comment.

  Bristling, she lifted her head high. “For your information, I do have a life outside the studio. At the moment I happen to be on my way to Betty Jean’s,” she replied stiffly, as if that proved her statement.

  Sam wondered if she were meeting some guy there. His gut tensed at the thought, and a cold, empty feeling filled his chest. Shoving his hands in the rear pockets of his jeans, he rocked back on his heels. Her love life was none of his concern. “The food at Cutter’s is better,” he said with pride.

  “Cutter’s is great, but I wanted a place within walking distance of the studio. You’ve done well with your business, Sam.”

  High praise coming from Amy. He dipped his head in acknowledgment of the compliment. He wanted her to approve of what he’d accomplished, and her remark pleased him. “Thanks.”

  “You’re welcome.” Her expression softened as she met his eye.

  “Are you meeting someone at Betty Jean’s?” he blurted out. He bit back a silent oath. Real smooth, Cutter. Yet he couldn’t help following up with another question. “A date, maybe?”

  Her eyes widened as if the question caught her by surprise. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no. With the upcoming recital, I’m too busy to date.”

  He nodded, disliking the relief that sluiced through him. Two preteen girls stopped midway up the library steps, clutching notebooks and chattering excitedly. “Hi, Miss Parker!” they called in unison.

  “Hello, girls.”

  The streetlights blinked on, illuminating Amy’s face. Her eyes seemed to sparkle as she waved at the girls, who stared openly at Sam.

  “Hi, Mr. Cutter,” they shouted, and he realized they were students he’d met at Amy’s dance school.

  “Hey there.” He winked, and they giggled with pleasure. They dashed up the remaining steps and disappeared inside.

  Amy turned back to him with a questioning frown. “Where’s Mariah tonight?”

  He gestured at the library. “I’m on my way to pick her up.”

  That earned him a sharp look. “You let her go by herself? She’s only eight years old,” she accused in an outraged tone that grated on his nerves.

  “Eight going on thirty,” Sam quipped, but she didn’t smile. He stiffened. “You make me sound like a criminal.”

  She tilted her chin, so that the streetlight cast her eyes in shadow. “Well, you ought to know better.”

  “I’m not stupid, Amy. Mariah went to the library with a couple of friends.”

  “Oh. Why didn’t you say that in the first place?” Tiny vertical lines appeared between her eyebrows. “Your communication skills sure haven’t improved any.”

  Her expression of superiority really bugged him. “You and I used to communicate pretty damn well,” he drawled, just to shake the attitude out of her. “Especially in bed.”

  Though dusk was fast turning to night, he noted the red flush sweeping her face. The smug tilt of her mouth straightened. Sam experienced his own smug feeling. Score one for me.

  He was right, too. They’d understood each other’s bodies and physical needs as well as their own. Though a sweater and overalls concealed Amy’s shape, he let his gaze drift familiarly over her. To the sweet curve where her neck joined her shoulder, then lower, to her small, proud breasts with the dusky rose nipples, so sensitive that they hardened and stood at attention at the lightest touch…

  He cleared his throat and yanked his gaze to her face. Her eyes were soft and her breathing shallow as if she, too, remembered how it had been between them. Heat flared in Sam’s belly and groin. He swallowed back a groan.

  “Only in bed,” Amy retorted, hugging her purse to her chest like a protective shield.

  He snickered. “As I remember it, we ‘communicated’ in plenty of places besides bed. On the kitchen table, in the shower, leaning against the door, for starters.” Her face was crimson now. He snapped his mouth shut. What had gotten into him?

  “Sa-a-am,” she wailed with exasperation. “Can’t you ever be serious?”

  The angry
glint in her eyes and tight press of her lips warned that he was pushing her to the limits of her composure. But he couldn’t seem to stop. “As I remember it, your idea of ‘serious’ is an argument.” A sound of protest issued from her throat. She opened her mouth to speak, but he pushed on. “Do you still do that? Drive a guy insane with your do-it-my-way-or-else agenda?”

  Up came her chin, and her fist balled tightly on her hip. “Talk about skewing the picture. You were the controlling one, and you know it.” She tossed her head, making her thick braid swish and swing, and Sam knew her next words would pack a sting. “No wonder you’re still single.”

  He’d been right. Direct hit from Amy. “I’m single because I choose to be,” he said. Which was the so-help-me-God truth. It was her sarcastic, yet pitying, tone that smarted. “You’re not married, either,” he pointed out.

  “True.” Regret flickered in her eyes. “But hopefully that’s going to change.”

  Had he heard wrong, then? Was she serious with someone? For some reason the thought soured his mood further. He couldn’t stop his scowl. “Who’s the lucky guy?”

  “We haven’t met yet. I’m just saying, I’m ready to settle down and start a family.”

  Sam didn’t like the relief her statement caused. “With your workaholic habits?” He studied her in disbelief. “I don’t see it happening.”

  She shot him an exasperated look. “This is the twenty-first century, Sam. Women can have families and careers, and do both successfully.” She shot him a sad look. “You never did understand that.”

  “Neither did you,” he said. Her jaw dropped, and he knew he was treading dangerous waters.

  “Hey, Mr. Cutter,” a young girl called from the top step of the library. “Mariah’s waiting for you at the checkout desk,” she said, staring at him and Amy with open curiosity.

  “Thanks,” he said, then returned his attention to Amy. “Look, I don’t want to fight with you. We did enough of that while we were married. For Mariah’s sake, we ought to try to get along. It’s only for three weeks, until her parents come home.”