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the cover of being adoring lovers. And she was being just as uncooperative physically. It wasn’t possible for Mia to pull her body any farther away, so she’d gathered herself inside her own skin. Her eyes telegraphed her displeasure while her nipples were hard and peaked against the back of his hand. She was a neon flash of mixed signals. If he was reading her correctly, her brain was resisting, but her body was reacting to his touch as if it was as natural to her as breathing. He hoped the desire he sensed could obliterate her brain’s convictions.
    He wanted to cup the familiar weight of her breasts in his hands, to feel her bare skin against his fingertips. He wanted to taste her again. Wanted the remembered heat of burying himself deep inside her—
    She tugged at their joined hands, drawing his away from where it had been happily nestled against the sweet curve of her breasts. “Spoilsport.”
    â€œOpportunist.” She smiled, all teeth. “How long do we have to do this?”
    â€œAlmost there.” He easily replaced their joined hands where his would be happiest and steered her expertly through the throng. They moved well together, in bed and out. Dangerously well.
    The slip-slide of silk over Mia’s smooth skin made him ache. He was definitely aroused by her familiar fragrance, the feel of her in his arms. Jack felt sweat in the small of his back from the effort not to grab her into his arms and kiss her with all the feelings he’d been suppressing for the past eight months.
    He danced her across the crowded ballroom with the ease and nonchalant grace of Fred Astaire. Mia’s jaw ached. Other places ached as well, but she willed herself to ignore all her body parts from the chin down.
    He was using the back of his hand and wrist to devastating effect, and the devious devil knew it. His eyes sparkled with the knowledge and with the flash of fire she remembered so well. Just feeling his touch burning into her skin was enough to make her knees weak and her brain forget all about the need for self-preservation. Mia felt like a ripe peach about to burst from her skin. Through the fine Egyptian cotton of his shirt she felt his hot skin beneath her palm. His heart beat a steady, heavy pulse in his broad chest as he manipulated them across the dance floor with sublime confidence and ease.
    She had no problem maintaining the rhythm of the dance. Nope. Her failure was in maintaining her hard-won conviction that Jack was part of her past. It seemed cruel that the acceptance that had taken months of tears and tirades to achieve was draining from her as if there was a leak in her spine. She needed to be strong. She needed to be levelheaded and realistic.
    Jack could not give her what she wanted. That was the simple truth. It didn’t matter how badly she wanted it. Her leopard was never going to change his spots.
    So much for her conviction that she was over him! Perhaps a few more decades might make that a reality.
    He kept her hand captured between then as he negotiated the other couples dancing around them. Jack was an excellent dancer. As good on the dance floor as he’d been in the bedroom—Damn. Mia closed her eyes to block out her view of his strong jaw and mouth made for sin. But the slide of their bodies, the memory of other dances, other close encounters when their naked skin had been pressed together made her eyes pop open again. Lord, it was hot in here. Hot and close and dangerous as hell.
    She wanted to be home with her cat, her three dead houseplants and a large apple-tini, in the worst way.
    Honestly, she wanted Jack Ryan all to herself. She wanted cool sheets in a dimly lit room. She wanted to rub herself over his body like a purring cat—
    Mia shut off the carnal thoughts as they approached the foot of the stairs leading to the private rooms above.
    The last time they’d been here, they’d found a secluded and dark balcony overlooking the