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recapture anything,” he whispered against her lips. “It’s there. It’s always been there. Ever since I first saw you in your mother’s kitchen.”
    He was right. The feelings were still alive. Oh, God, they were. Her body was on fire and she hadn’t felt this way since…since those winter nights on the beach. But she couldn’t give in to this. She wouldn’t.
    “Jackson—”
    “I’ll call you tomorrow.”
    “No, I—”
    “Yes,” he asserted, and she got into the car without another word. Just before he slammed her door, he said, “Tomorrow, Emily.”
     
    E MILY DIDN’T REMEMBER much of the drive home. She kept hearing Jackson’s words. “Tomorrow, Emily.” Over and over they echoed through her head, her heart, and she realized she’d crossed a dangerous line between the past and the future.
    Now she was older and much wiser, and the words shouldn’t affect her so intensely, but they did. Had shelearned nothing? Yes, Jackson’s explanation for not coming back was a good one, but still… If he’d loved her as much as she’d loved him, nothing would have kept him away. Instead he’d managed to resume his life without her and she had dealt with hers as best she could.
    She’d made bad decisions, and nothing she did now would change that. She sensed that seeing Jackson again was another bad choice. It was probably best to leave the past where it was—in the past. She couldn’t handle anything else.
    As she climbed into bed, she decided there would be no tomorrow for her and Jackson. She’d call him and make an excuse. Having settled that, she felt better. Surprisingly she fell asleep easily.
    Except that she had a different dream.
    And Jackson was in it.
    She didn’t wake up crying or trembling. She was actually smiling, and that shook her. She tried to understand this new dream. She and Jackson were on the beach and they were holding a little girl. Their daughter. Emily kept saying “I’m so glad I told you,” and he kept saying “Thank you.”
    She pulled her knees up to her chin, trying to still the joy inside her. She didn’t have to look far to grasp the meaning of her dream. She wanted to tell Jackson about their daughter.
    She closed her eyes, trying to collect her thoughts. The dream was also about guilt—her guilt. It was consuming her, and it had become more voracious since yesterday. Since his return. Her subconscious had clarified what she had to do and why. She would tell him. He deserved that much; he believed their time together was innocent and beautiful, but it was marred with so many ugly things.
    She would tell Jackson about their baby…and the adoption. She wasn’t sure what his reaction would be, but he had a right to know. Beyond that she didn’t want to think. But she had to.
    Whatever the consequences, she’d pursue this unaccustomed urge, this need to tell him the truth. Maybe it was the love in his voice when he talked about having kids. Maybe that had triggered her dream. Or it could just be plain old selfishness. She wanted to tell him because she had a desire to share her precious baby with someone. She’d never done that. She’d never spoken of her daughter or the adoption and the grief she’d experienced, and she desperately needed to. She wanted to talk about all of this with her baby’s father…Jackson.
    She curled up in bed. If she told him, there would be disbelief in his eyes, along with hatred and anger and disgust. She would see herself through his eyes. Could she endure that?
    Grabbing a pillow, she held it tight. “Yes,” she said into the darkness. Right or wrong, she would tell Jackson about their daughter.

CHAPTER THREE
    W HEN J ACKSON REACHED the hotel, the first thing he did was call his friend and partner, Colton Prescott.
    “Hey, Jackson, I’m glad you’re home,” Colton said before Jackson could speak. “I’m dealing with the Conley contract, but they want to talk to you.”
    “I’m not home. I’m still in