SHE WOULD BE LATE. IN BUSINESS, ROARKE REMEMBERED, Maggie had been as timely as a German train. When it was personal, when it was pleasure, she enjoyed keeping a man waiting.

It had been a ploy he’d found amusing once, even foolishly charming. She would, always, come dashing into a restaurant, a club, a party, a half an hour after the appointed time, her face alight with laughter and apology. And her eyes full of the knowledge that they both knew what she was up to.

So he’d told her noon, and made the reservation for twelve-thirty.

He arrived a few minutes early, slid into the corner booth waiting for him. Ordered mineral water. He waved away the wine list. He had no intention to drinking toasts to times gone by.

He scanned the restaurant, thinking it was the sort of place Magdelana had loved-and Eve tolerated. Plush, polished, crowded with people who were willing to pay the tab to see and be seen nibbling on overpriced salads.

His temper was still raw-edged from the argument-if that’s what it had been-with Eve that morning. And from the cool disapproval on Summerset’s face. He disliked, intensely, being questioned and doubted by the two people he believed knew and understood him best.

Where had that lack of trust come from? That uncharacteristic flash of jealousy in Eve? Be careful, she’d warned him, he thought-and found himself insulted all over again.

So he couldn’t be trusted to share a meal in a public place with a woman he hadn’t seen in years? Itwas bloody insulting, and the insinuation was intolerable.

And it was damn well something they’d come to terms with in very short order.

Best to put it out of his mind, he told himself. He’d have lunch with the woman who had, he supposed, influenced a portion of his life at one time. And later, he’d deal with the woman who had changed his life.

Magdelana came in as he remembered-in a rush-hair and hips and legs swinging. And with a laugh, she slid into the booth and pecked his cheek. “I’m criminally late.”

“I only just arrived myself.”

“Oh.” There was a pout, just for an instant, then another laugh. “You know me too well.” She brushed her hair behind her shoulders before sending him her quick and wicked smile. “Well enough to remember what I like to drink?”

“Stoli martini, straight up,” he said to the waiter. “Very dry. Twist of lemon.”

“I’m flattered.”

“I have a good memory.”

“And for you, sir?” the waiter asked.

“I’m fine.”

“I’ll be right back with your drink, madam.”

When he left, Magdelana lifted Roarke’s glass, took a small sip. “Water?”

“I’ve afternoon meetings.”

After setting his glass down again, she rubbed her hand over the back of his. “You always did take work so seriously. But then, it looks good on you. In fact, it looks amazing on you. You were rising fast back in our day, but now?”

She sat back, jeweled eyes sparkling. “How does it feel, lover, to be Roarke-a man of insane wealth, power, and position?”

“I have what I want, and having that is always satisfying. And you?”

“Between, and restless and unsure. Just out of my second marriage, which is humbling, as I gave it a hell of a good try.” She gave him a quick, under-the-lashes glance. “I divorced Andre, or he divorced me, years ago. We, in the end, divorced each other. It was revoltingly civilized.”

Casually, Roarke sipped water. “He was a civilized man, as I recall, when we chose him for a mark.”

“You’re angry with me? Still?”

“Why would I be?”

“Oh, well, I’d hoped to get some alcohol into my system before I did this. But we’ll do it dry.”

She shifted so they were face-to-face, and her emerald eyes were direct and steady. “I’m so very sorry for how I ended things, the way I just left you without a word.”

“With the mark.”

“With the mark,” she agreed with a long sigh. “It seemed more entertaining, and more profitable at the time, to marry him rather than steal from him.”

Watching her, Roarke inclined his head. “Playing me instead of him.”

“I didn’t mean it that way, but yes, that’s the way it was at the bottom of it. And I’m sorry.”

“It was a long time ago.”

“All the same.” Again, she laid her hand over his. “I could use youth and foolishness as excuses, but I won’t. It was a terrible thing to do. Selfish and headstrong.” She paused when the waiter brought her drink, poured it from the silver shaker with some ceremony.

“Would you like to hear the specials of the day?”

Another ceremony, Roarke thought. A kind of theater where the dialogue was peppered with sauces and reductions and scents.

She wore the same scent she’d used years before. A signature, perhaps, or a deliberate choice to tease his memory.

She had been young, he thought-not yet twenty. How many selfish and headstrong acts had he committed before the age of twenty? Too many, he could admit, to count.

They’d enjoyed each other once, and he’d cared once. So, he’d take the apology, and let it go.

When they’d ordered, Magdelana sipped her martini, eyes smiling at Roarke over the rim. “Am I to be forgiven?”

“Let’s call it bygones, Maggie. We’ve put a lot of time and distance between then and now.”

“Nearly twelve years,” she agreed. “Now here we sit, and you’re the married one.”

“I am.”

“And to a cop!” Her laugh bubbled out. “You always were full of surprises. Does she know about your…hobbies?”

“She knows what I was, what I did.” Remembering that, he felt the leading edge of his irritation with Eve dull. A little. “I no longer indulge in old habits, and haven’t for some time.”

“Really?” She started to laugh again, then blinked. “You’re serious? You’re out of the game? Completely?”

“That’s right.”

“I always thought it was in your blood. I gave it up because it was fun to have Andre’s money to spend as I liked, without having to do anything for it other than look good and be charming and witty. I never expected you to retire for any reason, at any time. But I suppose your wife insisted.”

“I was nearly all the way out before I met her. It was a simple matter, and a simple choice to close the door on the rest after we became involved. She never asked.”

“No?” Watching him, Magdelana traced a scarlet nail around the rim of her glass. “She must be quite a woman.”

“She is, yes. A remarkable woman.”

“She’d have to be. Would I like her?”

For the first time he laughed. “No. Not a bit.”

“What a thing to say.” She slapped playfully at his arm. “I’m sure I would. We have you in common to start.”

“You don’t.” His gaze was cool and clear. “I’m not who I was.”

Sipping again, she sat back to study him. “I suppose none of us are who we were. I liked who you were then. I…Well.” She shook her head, set down her drink. “That was then.”

“And now? What is it you want?”

“To have lunch with an old friend, and make amends. That’s a good start, isn’t it?” she asked as their salads were served.

“To what, exactly?”

“Well, that hasn’t changed at any rate.” Lifting her fork, she shook it at him. “Your suspicious nature.” When he said nothing, she toyed with her salad. “I’ve missed you, and I admit with the changes in my life recently, I’ve been feeling a bit nostalgic. I had a good run with Georges-my second husband-and I was fond of him-am fond of him, really. Our relationship afforded me quite a bit of the style and freedom I’d gotten used to having with Andre. More, actually. For a while.”

“Style you always had.”

Her lips curved. “Yes, but I liked not having to work for it. I never enjoyed that end as much as you.”

“Divorce hasn’t left you destitute.”

“Hardly. I outlasted the terms of the prenup both times and I’m solid.” She shrugged. “And at loose ends. I’d planned to contact you, when I worked up the courage. Running into you last night that way…I nearly turned around and left again. But you saw me, so I braved it out. How’d I do?”