from Chapter One

"Judy, how are you? I can't believe it's been so long since we've all gotten together."

"Hello, Eileen. How's your son? Thank so much for com¬ing tonight."

The crush of bodies entering the Stanford University Faculty Club momentarily dwindled away and Emma let out a breath of relief. She had spent all day decorating the large event room with tasteful flowered centerpieces, cardinal red tablecloths, and dozens of "then and now" photo collages. She had been smiling so hard, for so long, that her lips were numb and her cheeks felt like they were going to crack. Trying to focus on what Eileen had been saying about her three-year-old had been nearly impossible with Steven, her ex-husband, groping his new, extremely young, very beauti¬ful girlfriend not twenty feet away. The ink was barely dry on their divorce paperwork from the county clerk's office, but Steven had already moved on.

Worse than that, so much worse, was the knowledge that at any minute, Jason Roberts would be walking through the door.

And she'd be expected to greet him with an impersonal smile. A smile that said no more than, "Hello, it has been a long time, hasn't it?"

The sad truth was that Emma didn't know if she had it in her to act like a composed, mature thirty-two-year-old woman. Not when all she really wanted to do was wrap her legs around Jason and beg him to do her.

Just then a good-looking young waiter sauntered her way. "Would you like a drink, ma'am?"

Ma'am? When had she graduated from Miss? Was that what Jason would think when he saw her? That she was a shriveled excuse for a woman? Oh God. She couldn't stay at the reunion another second longer. She'd done her duties as organizer and now she'd have to flee. Wimping out was the only option.

The waiter's voice cut through her frantic planning. "Margaritas and martinis are all I've got left right now." She could barely focus on him as he looked her up and down and decided, "You look like a fruity-drink gal to me."

Something in his voice snapped her out of her panic, something flirty and young that made her feel like maybe calling her ma'am had been a mistake. Maybe she wasn't old and shriveled after all. Besides, she knew that taking the coward's way out wasn't really an option tonight.

Everything she'd feared for so long, everything she regret¬ted was coming back to slap her in the face tonight.

Maybe this time if she faced her mistakes, she prayed silently, she could finally recover.

"I really shouldn't," she said as she looked down at the drink in her hand, but she was so desperate to escape from the awful reality of her life that before she knew it the glass was at her lips.

The strawberry liquid eased its way down her throat into her belly. Had she been a fruity-drink girl all these years and not known it? And if that were true, what else had she not permitted herself to be? Fun? Happy? Satisfied?

One sip was enough, however, to make her think about how many calories were in the glass she was holding. And the workout she'd have to do tomorrow to burn this drink off. Normally, she would never allow herself to drink anything but bottled water-empty calories were not something she allowed herself to ingest, no matter the occasion-but if ever there was a night to bend the rules, it was tonight.

Surveying the crowd, Emma turned her thoughts force¬fully back to the successful party well under way. She knew she should be pleased by how well the evening had turned out, especially considering she'd been organizing the ten-year reunion for more than a year. On any other night, she would have been right in the middle of it all, talking about jobs and kids and vacations.

Tonight, it was all she could do just to keep the smile on her face.

The waiter passed by again and said, "Need a refill?" but she had already grabbed a full glass. "Bad day, huh?" He gave her a sympathetic smile before walking away.

You have no idea, she thought, giving in to the stupid impulse that made her say, "Keep 'em coming," even though she could practically feel the fat molecules attaching them¬selves to her hips.

"Downing margaritas while checking out that waiter's ass looks like fun. Can I join you?"

Guilty as charged, Emma jumped at her best friend Kate's sudden arrival at her elbow. "That's notwhat I'm doing," she said, but the empty glass in her hand was evidence to the contrary, as was the wink the waiter gave her from across the room.

"Bull," Kate said, dragging Emma over to a dimly lit table in the corner behind the DJ. "I know you're freaking out about being at the same party as Steven, aka ‘the man you never should have married,'" Kate added with a contemptu¬ous twist of her blood-red mouth, "but trust me, dating the head cheerleader when you're in your thirties is desperate and pathetic. You're the kind of classy babe his Playboy bunny wishes she could be."

The words were out of her mouth before Emma realized they were coming. "Thanks, Kate, but I seriously doubt that most supermodels wished they were a huge failure in their parents' eyes for getting divorced before providing them with grandchildren." The alcohol made Emma feel bold enough to admit, "What if I want to be a Playboy bunny like her? What if I want to drive men wild with my huge, perky breasts and wicked ways? What if I want to weigh fifteen pounds too much but somehow make it look good anyway?"

She grabbed another drink from a passing waiter, thinking that the only man she'd ever wanted to drive wild-Jason- would likely cut her in two with nothing but a jagged glance when he finally arrived.

Kate grabbed Emma's hand. "You're wonderful and sexy and Steven never deserved you."

"So then why did I marry him? I'm the one who made the decision. Who chose him."

Kate cut right to it in her typically straightforward way. "You were so young. Way too young. Your parents were in love with him and you thought getting married was the right thing to do. You were so certain that you would grow to love him."

Emma blinked away the tears that were about to fall. It was true, her parents had adored Steven from the minute they laid eyes on him at a Stanford faculty function ten years ago. As the reigning football star on the West Coast, he was perfect son-in-law material. So she'd paid the bills and gotten his suits dry-cleaned, but there had never been passion between them. Glimmers of friendship, but never desire.

"You pulled me aside before the wedding, Kate, and told me I didn't have to go through with it. Why didn't I listen to you? Even when you pointed out that I still loved-"

No, she couldn't say his name out loud. Not now, when all of her perfect choices had turned out to be anything but. Not when the memory of her latest middle-of-the-night fan¬tasy was still burning between her legs.

Kate, of course, had no such qualms. "You have wanted to be with Jason Roberts since the day you met him. You still do."

Emma looked at Kate with surprise.

"What? You think just because you don't ever talk about him that I don't know how you feel?"

Emma hated how transparent she was. How even though she'd tried to deny her feelings for Jason for years they were still written all over her face.

"I need more to drink," Emma said, craning her neck, looking over Kate's shoulder for the cute waiter.

Emma knew that she was going to feel bloated and sick tomorrow, that she was going to have spend the entire day at the gym with nothing but lettuce and rice cakes for dinner, but she didn't care. Booze was taking the edge off. And Lord knew she needed the edges of her life hacked off with a machete tonight. Pathetic loser that she was, she had TiVo'd every single one of Jason's Food Network shows, all of his book signings, anything where his name was listed as a guest.

And even though she'd fantasized about seeing him again a million times, a part of her still hoped that he wouldn't come tonight. That he'd be too busy with his top-rated cooking show. Or his world-famous restaurant. Or one of his supermodel girlfriends.

Because then she wouldn't have to face him. Wouldn't have to figure out what she could possibly say, if he would even talk to her.

I always loved you. No, too pathetic.

I'm sorry. Definitely not good enough to make up for what she'd done. For how she'd done it.

Make love to me. He'd laugh in her face. Jason could have any woman in the world. Why would he possibly want her? Even her own husband, make that ex-husband, hadn't wanted her.

Emma was reaching for another truth-blotting drink when Kate's red-tipped hand gripped her forearm. "He's here."

Emma's blood grew cold. She craned her neck in despera¬tion, praying for a back door to appear out of thin air. "He can't see me looking like this," she hissed, desperate for a hiding place.

She had always dreamed of looking like a goddess the next time they met. Of blowing him away with her allure and sophistication and irresistibility. Instead, she was drunk and nervous and only now realized how boring and dried up she was in her silk-lined cream Ann Taylor linen dress.

Kate turned to face her. "You know what you have to do tonight, don't you?"

Emma blinked hard and tried to swallow, tried to speak, but her mouth was the Sahara. Finally finding her voice, she whispered, "I can't."

Kate's eyes hardened. "Yes, you can. You're single. You're gorgeous, no matter what you seem to think. Just once, if only for tonight, take this chance for you. Stop trying to please everyone else, honey. It's time to please yourself."