Never Too Late for Love. Marie Ferrarella

But for all the friends she had garnered, all the men she felt affection for and who returned the feeling, there was no one for this special moment. No one who had been there from the beginning, to watch a frightened young girl become a mother and somehow manage not to mess up the life of the tiny miracle she’d been entrusted with.

      The only person who’d been there, whom she could have shared this with, was gone. Margo thought of Elaine, the woman who had come to her aid, who’d taken her out of a tiny, one-room apartment and a dead-end job as a chorus girl in Las Vegas and brought her into her home and her heart. It was because of Elaine that she had been able to blossom, to be who and what she was today.

      “Your aunt Elaine would have loved seeing you like this.”

      Melanie smiled fondly. Aunt Elaine had been gone almost three years now. The void she left behind would never be filled. But loving Lance had helped a great deal. “I know, Mama, I know.”

      She didn’t want to be maudlin at a time like this. Margo’s eyes fixed on the young man standing on the priest’s left. “So that’s him, eh?”

      Melanie’s smile lit up her whole body. “Yes, that’s him.”

      “Very nice.” Almost there, Margo’s eyes strayed to the groom’s side of the church. Bruce was in the front row, on the aisle. “The early edition is every bit as handsome as the later one.” She gave Melanie’s arm a little squeeze. “You two’ll make beautiful music and equally beautiful children.”

      They had come to the front of the church. With a tinge of reluctance that caught her completely off guard, Margo handed her daughter over to a man with kind eyes, then stepped back.

      

      “I see you’re not dancing.”

      Bruce caught the scent of sexy perfume that accompanied the voice and felt a hand on his shoulder. For the second time that day, Bruce was surprised by the same woman.

      He looked up to see Margo standing just to his left The remark was based on the fact that he was sitting alone at a table for eight. Everyone else was on the floor, dancing to the orchestra music.

      He shrugged as he felt the hand slide from his shoulder. “I don’t really like to dance.”

      She knew there were men who truly loathed to dance, but there was something in his voice that had Margo not quite buying Bruce’s excuse.

      She moved to stand in front of him to get a clearer view of his face. “Don’t like to dance or don’t know how to dance?”

      One quick glance told her what she wanted to know. She took his hand in hers, struck by the understated power she felt. She’d always had a fondness for strong men.

      “Just as I thought. Come on, let me show you.” She was already urging him to his feet. “It’s all in the hips, really.” To prove it, she placed one of his hands on her hip and moved slowly.

      Bruce felt something tighten in his gut even as he found himself being charmed. “What is?” he asked belatedly.

      “Rhythm,” Margo said, still demonstrating. Gently, as if she were coaxing a fawn out on the ice, she got him to the dance floor. “Let it take you over. Don’t think of it as dancing, think of it as moving with the rhythm.” Locking her hand with his, she was ready with the first lesson.

      When he looked down he saw that her dress seemed to cling to her body like a second skin. The smile on her lips was inviting as her body sealed itself to his. Then she said, “You look like the kind of man who knows just how to move with rhythm.” Before he could protest again, Bruce found himself on the floor with Margo, surrounded by other couples. He didn’t want to call attention to himself, but he hated feeling like a fool.

      She read the reluctance in his eyes, and felt it in his body. He was afraid of being embarrassed. She’d lost the fear of being embarrassed herself years ago. “Don’t worry, we’ll pretend you’re leading.”

      Her assurance struck him as particularly baseless. “How can I pretend that I’m leading when I don’t know what I’m doing?”

      The same smile he’d seen on Melanie lit up Margo’s eyes. “Simple. Presidents do it all the time.”

      She winked at him, a lightning-fast flutter of dark brown lashes that had a far greater effect on him than he thought it should. In a last-ditch effort to save himself, he issued her a warning he thought was only fair. “I’m going to step all over your feet.”

      Oh no, she thought, he wasn’t going to get out of having fun that easily.

      “My feet can look out for themselves.” She jiggled his arm slightly. “Loosen up, Bruce. Just let yourself have a good time.”

      He thought he was having a good time. “Loosen up?” he echoed. “I wasn’t aware that I was ‘tight.”’

      She looked up into his eyes, wondering if she was making him tense, or if he was just that way in general.

      “Oh yes, there’s tension all through your shoulders.” She brushed her hand lightly across one to make her point. “And judging from the distance from one end to the other, that’s a lot of tension.”

      He took her hand into his, more to immobilize it than to conform to any proper dance position. “I’m out of practice on more than one score.” He saw the merriment in her eyes and cocked his head, forgetting to feel like a fish out of water. “Are you flirting with me?”

      Amusement danced along cheekbones that a sculptor would have wept over with joy. “If you have to ask, I’m the one out of practice.” She relaxed, finding something utterly comforting about being with this man. For the moment she allowed herself to sink into the sensation. “But yes, I’m flirting with you.”

      They hardly knew each other, he thought. “Why?”

      She raised and lowered her slim shoulders. “Why does a woman usually flirt?” He underestimated himself about the dancing, she thought. He was dancing very nicely.

      The smile on his lips was self-deprecating. “I said I was out of practice.”

      Margo enumerated the reasons for him. “A woman flirts with a man to be complimented. Or because she’s with a good-looking man and would like his attention. She flirts because it feels good. Or to be friendly because that’s her way.”

      They danced by Lance and Melanie. Margo felt a slight tug on her heart. She’d encouraged Melanie to be independent since she’d taken her first step, but she’d never seen how well the lesson had been learned until this moment. Melanie was all grown-up and on her own.

      “Or maybe,” Margo said quietly, watching the younger couple dance, “because her only daughter’s just gotten married and she’s feeling a little world-weary, a little lost.”

      Bruce waited until the pause drew itself out into silence. “Is this where I’m supposed to choose one of the above?”

      Rousing herself, Margo smiled as she nodded. “Yes, this would be the logical place.”

      “The last one?” He thought it was a safe guess.

      She’d opened up a little more of herself than she’d meant and now retreated. Light laughter filled the air. “Wrong. To be friendly.” she told him. Purposely Margo maneuvered Bruce so that her back was to her daughter. Getting misty twice in one day was twice too many. “I like people, Bruce. I like them to like me. With men, that means a little flirting.”

      

      Across the floor Melanie watched their progress with amusement and a touch of concern. She liked Bruce. Liked him a great deal. A man like that was completely unarmed when it came to someone like her mother. Unarmed and unprepared.

      She raised her eyes to her new husband. “My mother is dancing with your father. Think I should warn him about her?”

      Lance would have hated to admit it at one time, but he