Private Page moved back, stammering, and she couldn’t help kissing his cheek—which only made him stammer all the more—because he’d been as sweet as cotton candy at a summer fair, talking to her about his kid sister, who ordinarily liked to follow him around at home and he’d wondered what she did now that he wasn’t there to shadow. Page scrambled over to the gramophone to set down the next recording, which was the oh so slow and oh so treacly “Smoke Gets in Your Eyes,” sung by Irene Dunne.

“Oh dear,” Jess said wryly. “I’m sure you’d prefer a nurse for this one.”

Dan shook his head. “I think I’m safer with you.”

She laughed. “And vice versa. I’m not sure Private Page would know what to do with himself if this had played while I was dancing with him.”

“Then let’s show him.”

With that, Dan placed a hand on her back, on the skin left bare by her dress. One of Jess’s hands reached up to his shoulder and their other hands clasped together.

For a long moment there was nothing beyond Dunne’s operatic voice soaring through the room, the entire congregation of people suddenly silent for this one slow dance in a ballroom in a chateau in the midst of a war zone, somewhere in France.

Then the bubble of conversation began to rise once more.

Except for Jess and Dan.

* * *

When does friend become man? When is the touch of a hand transformed into a caress? When does amity turn instead to desire?

In a ballroom in a chateau in the midst of a war zone, somewhere in France.

As they danced, Dan’s fingers uncurled so the flat of his palm rested against her bare back, and then she felt his thumb stroke her skin ever so lightly, a whisper that she could choose to ignore if it meant nothing to her. Instead, she shivered, her whole body reacting to his touch as it spread out like the aftershock of an explosion, everywhere.

She knew he’d noticed because he did it again and her response was the same: a shudder that she couldn’t control, other than to step closer, her body against his. His hand at her back held her more tightly, drawing her in so that nothing separated them except the thin and seductive notes of the music.

She remembered the way she’d curled into him on the sofa on his balcony. She remembered opening the door to his room to find him shaving, bare-chested, and the image made her close her eyes and feel the press of that same chest, unbearably covered now, against hers. There had been so many times he could have taken advantage of her, and even now Dan was so careful not to trespass onto her body without being certain it was what she wanted. She felt her heart crack a little at the tenderness his restraint implied.

The song played irresistibly on. Jess was aware of nothing around them, nothing beyond Dan’s thumb brushing up and down in minute movements on her back, and a longing to do the same to him: to feel his bare skin beneath her hand. She lifted her head so that her forehead brushed his cheek; he lowered his head in response and she whispered into his ear, “Dan.”