iz Castleberry's Fourth of July beach party was in full swing when Honey arrived. She wedged the silver Mercedes Benz 380 SL she had purchased after the show's third season onto the side of the road between a Jag and an Alfa Romeo. As she stepped down onto the sandy soil, she heard the bang of a firecracker exploding from the beach on the other side of the house. This was the first of Liz's party invitations Honey had accepted, and then only because it was informal and because Dash was going to be here.

Slinging the faded denim slouch bag that contained her bathing suit over her shoulder, she locked the car. Three years ago last month she had arrived in Los Angeles, but she felt decades older than that sixteen-year-old girl. Thinking back, she decided the horrible day toward the end of the second season when Eric Dillon had humiliated her in that phony fantasy love scene was what had finally forced her to grow up. At least the experience had put an end to the childish crush she'd had on him. No one, not even Dash, knew how much the memory of that day still made her cringe.

As she approached the beach house, she found herself wondering what the new season held in store for her. They would begin shooting at the end of the month for the show's fourth year, and the producers were finally going to permit Janie to turn fifteen. It was about time, since she would be twenty in December.

After the painful adjustments of the first two seasons, last season had been relatively uneventful. She had gotten along well with the crew, stayed away from Eric, and deepened her friendship with Liz Castleberry. But her relationship with Dash had been the most important change in her life.

She spent a lot of her spare time on the set with him, as well as nearly every Saturday at the ranch, doing chores and helping out with the horses. Not only did she love being with him, but the work gave her a convenient excuse to get away from the new house in Pasadena that Chantal had nagged her into buying because she insisted it would help Gordon get back to his painting. It hadn't helped, a fact that didn't surprise Honey at all. She liked the house much better than that awful place in Topanga Canyon, but it certainly didn't feel like home. For one thing, Buck Ochs was still in residence, and for another, her relationship with Sophie hadn't improved at all.

Shaking off depressing thoughts of her family, she approached the front entrance of Liz's beach house. The house was deeper than it was wide, with salt-weathered gray siding and salmon shutters. A small garden lay off to one side, along a low stone retaining wall that marked the boundary of the neighboring house, where Guy Isabella's daughter Lilly lived. The walk was tiled in a fish-scale pattern and edged

with clusters of crimson and white impatiens.

As she approached the front door, she hesitated. After three years in L.A., she still hadn't been to that many parties. She wasn't comfortable at social functions because she was always afraid she'd use the wrong fork and because everyone seemed so sophisticated. Besides, Ross's lie about how old she was had taken hold, and the few times she had tried to convince people of her real age, they hadn't believed her.

She rang the bell, and a sunburned middle-aged man in bathing trunks let her in. The hairy patch on his chest looked like a map of Indiana.

He threw up his hands. "Honey! Hi, I'm Crandall. I love, love, love your show. It's absolutely the only thing I watch on television. You should have won last year."

"Thanks." She wished people would stop bringing up her Emmy nomination. She hadn't won—a fact her agent attributed to her continuing refusal to take any of the other acting parts that were offered her. Eric had won two years in a row. The movies he had filmed during the last few hiatuses were turning him into a major box-office star, and it was no secret that he was going to break his contract so he could make movies full time.

"Lizzie's out on the deck," Crandall said, leading her through a white-tiled entryway decorated with misty impressionistic paintings.

The living room was filled with people in various forms of casual wear, from bathing suits to slacks, everything stylish and expensive compared to her khaki shorts and Nike T-shirt. Liz had been nagging her to dress better, but Honey didn't have the talent for it. She moved past overstuffed sofas and chairs upholstered in baby blue and pale salmon toward a wall of windows that provided a panoramic view of the sea. The room smelled of barbecue, suntan lotion, and Chloe.

Liz came through a set of French doors that opened onto the deck and made her way toward Honey. Puckering her lips, she blew a kiss into the air somewhere near her costar's ear.

"You actually showed up. Happy Fourth of July, darling. Dash told me he'd ordered you to appear, but I didn't believe you'd really do it."

"Is he here yet?" Honey gazed hopefully through the sophisticated crowd, only a few members of which she recognized, but she didn't spot him.

"I imagine he'll be along." Liz stared at Honey's hair. "I can't believe that it's actually starting to curl. Evelyn told me you've been letting her work with it. You're beginning to look like a woman instead of a grade-school bully."

Honey had too much pride to let Liz see how much she liked her new hair. On the final day of shooting last March, Liz had ordered Evelyn to soften the blunt edges and feather back the bangs. At first, since the hair was so short, Honey hadn't seen much of an improvement, but as it had grown these past four months and Evelyn had continued to touch it up, it now curled softly around her face and brushed the slopes of her jaw.

"But you still look so young," Liz complained. "And you dress like an absolute infant. Look at those shorts. They're too big, and the color is putrid. You don't have any style at all."

Honey had grown used to Liz's blunt judgments, and she was merely annoyed instead of angry. "Why don't you give up, Liz? You'll never make me into a fashion plate. I don't have the talent for it."

"Well, I do, and I can't imagine why you won't let me take you shopping."

"I'm not interested in clothes."

"You should be." Before Honey could protest, Liz was whipping her through the crowd and up a narrow circular staircase into a pink and rose bedroom that reminded Honey of an expensive flower garden. Chintz draperies were tied back from the windows with tasseled cords, and sea-green carpeting covered the floor. One corner held a watered-silk chaise, another an ornate armoire made of bleached oak. A misty pastel fabric that looked as if it had been painted by Cezanne draped the double bed. Honey spotted a pair of masculine cufflinks on the table next to it, but as much as she would have enjoyed hearing the details of Liz's love life, she had always restrained herself from asking.

Liz opened one of the louvered closet doors and began to dig around inside. "You'd have more confidence in yourself if you dressed your age."

"I have lots of confidence. I'm the most independent person I know. I take care of my family, and I—"

"Confidence in yourself as a woman, darling. It's the most amazing coincidence—" She pulled out a navy sack with crimson lettering. "I bought this for myself last week in a little boutique just off Rodeo, but when I got home, I realized I'd picked up the wrong size. I'll bet this would fit you perfectly."

"I brought a suit with me," Honey said stubbornly.

"And I can just imagine what it looks like."

Honey's hand clamped over the top of the slouch bag that contained the old red tank suit the maid at the Beverly Hills Hotel had bought for her the week she'd arrived in L.A.

Liz shoved the sack at her and fluttered her hand toward the bathroom. "Try it on. You can always take it off if you don't like it."

Honey hesitated and then decided if she tried on the suit she could at least postpone going back downstairs for awhile. Maybe by then Dash would have arrived and she wouldn't have to face so many strangers by herself.

The bathroom looked like a tropical grotto complete with lush flowering plants, a sunken pink marble tub, and gold faucets shaped like dolphins. She peeked into the sack. Tucked inside the folds of tissue paper lay a skimpy bikini in a soft peach-and-white Hawaiian print along with a short wrap skirt in the same fabric. She pulled out the separate pieces. They were certainly prettier than her red tank suit, but she didn't like the idea of letting Liz manipulate her. She began to stuff the suit back into the sack, but hesitated. What was the harm in trying it on? Slipping out of her clothes, she donned the separate parts of the bikini and turned to assess herself in the beveled mirror that lined the wall behind the tub.

She hated to admit it, but Liz was right. The suit fit her perfectly. The under-wire top made the most of her small breasts by pushing them together just enough to give her a hint of cleavage. The bottom covered up everything important and was cut high enough on the sides to make her legs look longer. Still, she wasn't used to having so much of herself exposed. She opened the short, sarong-style skirt, looking for the clasp. When she found it, she wrapped it around her waist and fastened it on the left side. It fell low on her hips, just revealing her navel.

With the curling halo of her hair, her enhanced bust line, and her navel peeking out over the top of the skirt, even she had to admit she looked a little bit sexy.

"Knock, knock. I hope you're decent." The door swung open, and before Honey could respond, Liz had entered and clipped a pair of gold hoops to her earlobes. "You really need to get your ears pierced."

Honey touched the swaying hoops. "I can't go swimming with these on."

"Why on earth would you want to swim? I haven't been in the ocean in years. At least you're wearing a decent shade of lipstick, but I think a dab of mascara would be lovely."

Liz pushed her down onto a stool, whisked some pale peach blusher over her cheeks, and then dabbed at her lashes with light-brown mascara.

"There. Now you look your age. Whatever you do, don't go near the water."

Honey stared at the gold hoops shimmering through the honey-colored tendrils at her ears and studied the soft, flattering makeup. Even her mouth was sexy. She looked like herself, and yet not like herself. Older, more mature. Much prettier. Her reflection was disconcerting. She liked the way she looked, and yet the young woman in the mirror wasn't altogether a person she could respect. She was a bit too soft, too feminine, not nearly tough enough to fight life's battles.

Liz must have sensed her indecision because she spoke quietly. "It's time to grow up, Honey. You're nineteen years old. You need to come out of your cocoon and start discovering who you are."

Awareness hit her, and Honey jumped up from the stool. "You set me up, didn't you? You didn't buy that bathing suit for yourself. You bought it for me." She snatched up the tube of light-brown mascara. "And why would someone with lashes as dark as yours happen to have this lying around?"

Liz didn't even look guilty. "I've been bored lately, and I must admit the challenge of transforming you into a reasonable facsimile of a young woman has its appeal. Of course Ross is going to have a coronary when he sees you, but that's his problem. All this secrecy about your age is ridiculous."

Honey shook her head. "You're a complete fraud."

"Whatever do you mean?"

"That bitch-goddess act you put on."

"It's not an act. I'm ruthless and unscrupulous. Ask anyone."

Honey smiled. "Dash tells everybody you're a pussycat."

"Oh, he does, does he?" Liz laughed, but then gradually her amusement faded. "You've seen a lot of Dash this past year, haven't you?"

"I like the ranch. I go out there on weekends. We ride and talk, and I help out in the stable. That housekeeper of his doesn't know how to fix the kind of food he likes. Sometimes I cook for him."

"Honey, Dash is— He can be hard on people who care about him. I don't think he means to, but he can't seem to help it. Don't make up too many fatherly fantasies about him. He only lets people so close before he pushes them away."

"I know. I think it's because of his childhood."

"His childhood?"

"He spent a lot of time in foster homes. As soon as he got attached to somebody, they'd make him move someplace else. After a while, I guess he decided it was better not to get close to anybody."

Liz stared at her in astonishment. "He told you all that?"

"Not exactly. You know how he is. But he's said a few things here and there, and I've sort of drawn my own conclusions. When you're an orphan yourself, it's not too hard to recognize the symptoms in somebody else. Dash and I have handled our situations differently, though. He doesn't attach himself to anybody, and I attach myself to just about everybody."

She looked down at her hands, embarrassed to have said so much. "My mouth is getting away from me again. It's like a disease."

Liz studied her for a moment before linking her hand through Honey's arm. "We'd better get back to the party. I have the most wonderful young man I want you to meet. He's the son of an old friend—cute, smart, and only a little bit arrogant. The best part—he's not in the business."

"Oh, I don't think—"

"Don't be a baby. It's time to test your wings. Not to mention the effect of that sexy outfit."

Ignoring Honey's reluctance, Liz led her downstairs. Honey was disappointed to see that Dash hadn't yet arrived. Lately, he'd been getting a little too bossy with her, and she couldn't wait to see how he reacted to her appearance. It was about time she showed him that she wasn't a child anymore.

Liz began introducing her to the other guests, and people greeted her with varying degrees of surprise.

"You look a lot younger on television, Honey."

"I hardly recognized you."

"How old are you, anyway?"

Ross appeared next to her just as this blunt inquiry was being made and quickly whisked her away. He had gained a few pounds over the summer and his stomach, visible beneath an open terry-cloth wrap, was sunburned.

"What do you think you're doing?" he growled, his eyes skimming from her hair to her flat, bare midriff. "You shouldn't be in public looking like that."

Liz hadn't left Honey's side. "Leave her alone, Ross. And stop being such a worrywart. There's nothing in the world —not even her real age—that would make audiences stop loving her. Besides, she's here to have fun."

They greeted several more people, and then Liz steered her out onto the deck and toward a young man standing alone by one of the umbrella tables. He had light-brown hair cut short, square, blunt features, and an athlete's trim build. Sunglasses dangled from a short cord around his neck, and a gold watch glimmered at his wrist. Despite the rumpled and faded purple polo shirt that accompanied his swim trunks, the easy assurance of his stance made Honey suspect he came from money. As Liz led her relentlessly forward, she felt herself begin to panic. She didn't know anything about men like this.

"No, Liz. I—"

"Darling, I want you to meet Scott Carlton. Scott, would you make certain Honey gets something to eat and drink?"

"My pleasure."

Honey gazed up into a pair of warm brown eyes that were regarding her with obvious admiration. Some of her tension eased.

"What are you drinking?" he asked, as Liz left them alone.

She started to request an Orange Crush, but stopped herself just in time. "Whatever you're having. I'm not particular."

"Coors it is." He went over to an ice chest and pulled out a can of beer. Returning to her side, he popped the top and handed it over to her. She took a nervous sip.

"I must be the only person in America who hasn't watched your show. I've been taking classes in the evenings for my M.B.A. I've seen photos of you, of course, in magazines." His eyes dropped momentarily to the little swell of cleavage rising from the cups of her bikini and he smiled. "You look lots different in person."

"The camera puts on weight," she said inanely. Where was Dash? Why hadn't he shown up? She hoped he wouldn't bring a date. Watching him with other women bothered her.

"Not something you need to worry about. So how long have you been in L.A.?"

She told him. He asked her a few questions about her work, and then began to tell her about his job with a well-known market research firm. She realized to her amazement that he was trying to impress her. Imagine somebody like him trying to impress somebody like her. Gradually she became aware of the fact that several of the young men were giving her sidelong glances, and her self-confidence took a baby step forward.

"If you don't mind a personal question, how old are you, Honey?"

She resisted the urge to look over her shoulder and see if Ross was nearby. "Nineteen. Twenty in December."

"Really. I'm surprised. You look older. Even though you're small, there's something about your eyes. A maturity."

She decided that she definitely liked Scott Carlton.

He was joking with her about one of his coworkers when Dash came out on the deck and her heart gave a crazy jolt. All the men around him faded like old photographs. He was taller than most of them, but it was more than his physical stature that made the others seem diminished. He was a legend, while they were merely mortals.

A young woman approached him, and Honey realized it was Lilly Isabella, Liz's next-door neighbor. She had met her once last fall when she had visited Liz. Lilly was tall and beautiful, with full breasts and slim hips. Her silver-blond hair swept back from her face like liquid silk, displaying a finely chiseled classical profile.

The sight of Lilly sapped some of Honey's confidence. She was so sexy and sophisticated, obviously born to money and privilege. She wore a light blue raw-silk top tucked into a pair of darker blue slacks that set off her long legs. A silver slave bracelet encircled her upper arm and a matching belt cinched her waist.

As Dash smiled at her, jealousy nipped at Honey. He never looked like that when he talked to her.

"Do you know Lilly?" Scott asked, following the direction of her eyes.

"Not really. We've met, but that's all. Why? Do you know her?"

"We dated for a while. But Lilly's complicated. It's hard for an ordinary guy to compete with her father. Besides, she doesn't stay with any guy for long if he's not an actor."

Honey waited, but he didn't elaborate. She watched as Dash tilted his head attentively, treating Lilly as a mature, desirable woman, even though she wasn't all that much older than Honey. Her resentment grew, and she decided it was time she showed him that Lilly Isabella wasn't the only desirable woman around. She gazed up at Scott through her lashes. "If Lilly walked away from someone as attractive as you, then she's definitely not as smart as she looks."

He grinned. "You want to go down to the beach?"

She glanced toward Dash and saw that he still hadn't noticed her. "I'd love to."

They had to pass Dash and Lilly to reach the steps. As she and Scott drew close, Dash spotted her for the first time. To Honey's delight, Scott slipped his arm around her waist. A flicker of surprised crossed Dash's features, but she couldn't tell whether it was from the change in her appearance or Scott's faarity.

"Hi, Dash." She greeted him as if she had just noticed him, then introduced Scott and spoke to Lilly.

"Honey! I didn't recognize you. You look terrific." Lilly gave her a friendly smile and exchanged a few pleasantries with Scott.

Dash's eyes surveyed Honey's bare midriff, then locked on to her breasts. He was obviously displeased, and his scowl deepened as he spotted the beer can she still held in her hand. "Since when did you start drinking?"

"Since absolutely forever," she replied in her best Liz Castleberry imitation.

"Honey and I were just going for a walk on the beach," Scott said, taking her elbow. "We'll talk to you later."

She fancied she could feel Dash's eyes boring into her back as she walked away. The idea pleased her, and she added a defiant swing to her hips.

Eric regretted accepting the invitation to Liz's party before he'd stubbed out his first cigarette. He had been filming a movie since hiatus had begun, and this was his first day off in weeks. He should have spent it in bed. Rubbing the stubble on his jaw, he looked for a corner where he could hide out undisturbed. He'd have a drink and then slip away.

As he walked across the deck, a young woman in a red sundress shot him an admiring glance. He wondered why. He was unshaved and disreputable looking, in keeping with his role as a renegade cop on the run from the kingpin of a drug ring. The movie role was a far cry from Blake Chadwick, and exactly what Eric needed to flush the saccharin of The Dash Coogan Show from his veins.

Even though he had two years left on his contract, he'd decided he had to get out now. He didn't care how much it cost or what his lawyers had to do. From now on he was concentrating on his film career and putting television behind him.

He spotted Coogan on the other side of the deck and turned his back to look out at the ocean. He avoided his costar as much as possible, maybe because he had the uneasy sense that Dash saw right through him. Being with Dash Coogan always made him feel inferior, the same way he used to feel with his own father. Eric didn't like to think about how much he wanted Dash's respect. Every time Dash called him "pretty boy," Eric felt sick.

Sunlight sparkled the tips of the waves and he thought about going for a swim, but it was too much trouble. A couple stood talking on the beach in front of him. He dismissed the man but his eyes lingered for a moment over the woman. Squinting against the glare from the sand, he saw that she was tiny but well proportioned, with small round breasts and good legs. From a distance, she looked a bit too fragile to appeal to him, but she was still tempting. Maybe he'd take a closer look when she came up on the deck. He didn't bother to consider what he would do if she weren't interested in him. That never happened.

The man reached out and touched her arm. She tossed her curls and her earrings sparked in the sun. Turning her head, she laughed.

With a shock he realized it was Honey. What had happened to the tomboy with the cropped hair and perpetual scowl? Occasionally last season, she had shown up in lipstick and a skirt. But she hadn't looked like this.

She stretched out her arm and made a sweeping gesture toward the water. The wind whipped her skirt, revealing the V of her thighs. His gaze settled there, and then he was disgusted with himself because his instinctive response seemed vaguely incestuous. No matter how much she might have changed, Honey still reminded him of Jase.

"Haven't I seen your face on a post-office wall somewhere?"

A woman's voice, rich and musical, came from behind him. He turned toward her and forgot all about Honey.

"An innocent man wrongly accused," he said.

She took a sip of wine from her glass and regarded him with a pair of widely spaced light gray eyes. A long lock of silvery hair blew across her face. She hooked it with her little finger and pushed it away.

The corners of her mouth twitched. "Why don't I believe that?"

"It's the truth. I swear."

"I can't imagine anyone describing you as innocent."

He feigned hurt. "I'm a choirboy. Really."

She laughed.

He held out his hand. "Eric Dillon."

She gave it a lazy glance. "I know."

And then she walked away.

He stared after her, intrigued as much by her aplomb as by her beauty. She walked over to a group of men and was quickly surrounded. He heard her musical laughter. The crowd parted and he saw one of the men offering her a shrimp speared on a toothpick. She took it from him, brushed it over her lips before she tasted it, then nibbled it slowly, as if she were savoring each bite.

Liz Castleberry came up behind him. "I wondered how long it would take you and Lilly to find each other."

"Is that her name?"

Liz nodded. "She's Guy Isabella's daughter."

"That turkey?" Eric gave a snort of disgust. Guy Isabella was a movie star, not an actor.

"Don't let Lilly hear you say that. She thinks he's perfect. Not even the fact that he's a lush tarnishes the halo she's put on him."

But Eric wasn't interested in Lilly Isabella's father. As he watched her with the men, he lit a cigarette.

She definitely intrigued him. Maybe it was because she didn't look like the type of woman who could be easily hurt.

Not even by him.

"I don't believe you." Honey laughed. "Nobody could break his arm three times in one summer."

"I did."

As dusk fell, Scott showed no signs of losing interest in her, and her self-confidence had grown by leaps and bounds. Now she found herself extending her leg ever so slightly through the slit in her skirt and hanging onto Scott's words as if each one were shaped from precious metal. Once she'd gotten the hang of it, flirting hadn't proved to be difficult at all. In a queer way it made her feel strong, although it was a

different kind of strength from what she experienced when she cussed at somebody. Flirting gave her another sort of power, one she didn't fully understand but that she was definitely enjoying. She hoped Dash was watching.

"I can't imagine someone as athletic as you ever being awkward." Her voice held just the right degree of admiration.

"You should have seen me when I was fourteen."

He pitched his beer can over her shoulder toward the trash container that sat in the sand behind her. It bounced off the rim. This was their second trip to the beach. After their earlier walk, they had eaten and chatted with some of the other guests. She had spotted Eric, looking gorgeous and unsavory with a week's worth of stubble on his chin, but her old fascination with him had been murdered that day under the oak tree.

Dash, however, was definitely distracting her. Every time she looked at him he had a woman hanging on his arm. In retaliation, she concentrated on Scott. Lovely Scott, who licked her with his eyes and treated her as if she were every inch a mature, desirable woman.

"I'll bet you were cute when you were fourteen," she said as they waded at the edge of the water.

"Not half as cute as you are right now."

Incredibly, she felt her mouth forming a coquettish pout. "You make me sound like a puppy dog."

"Believe me, you don't look anything like a puppy dog."

She had only a few seconds to enjoy his compliment before he slipped his arms around her body and drew her against him. Her bare midriff brushed against the soft knit fabric of his shirt. He lifted his hand and cupped the back of her neck. Then he lowered his head and kissed her.

His kiss wasn't anything like those lying kisses Eric had once given her. This one was real. He opened his mouth to encompass hers. A wave swirled around her calves, unbalancing her enough so that she leaned into him. He held her more tightly, and warmth spread through her body.

"God, you're really something," he whispered against her open lips. "I want to make love to you."

"You do?" She suppressed the urge to look toward the deck and see if Dash was watching.

"Can't you feel how hard I am?"

He pressed his hips against her stomach. A delicious heat spread through her, along with a new sense of power. She had done that to him.

One of his hands slipped down from the small of her back to cup her bottom. He gave it a gentle squeeze. "You're terrific. Has anybody ever told you that?"

"Everybody." She gazed up at him. "Has anybody ever told you that you're a wonderful kisser?"

"You're not so bad yourself."

She smiled and he kissed her again. This time his lips parted and he slipped his tongue into her mouth. She received the intimacy with curiosity and decided kissing was definitely something she wanted to learn more about. An image of who she wanted her teacher to be flashed through her mind so quickly that she couldn't grab hold of it.

She pushed against his hips to make certain she hadn't lost her effect on him and discovered that she hadn't. His hand slid between their bodies and closed around her breast. She tensed, not wanting so much intimacy so quickly. He slipped his thumb inside the bikini bra and found her nipple. She began to pull away.

"Just what in the goddamn hell do you think you're doing?"

She sucked in her breath at the sound of the gruff, familiar voice coming from behind her.

Scott released her slowly, removing his hand from her breast and frowning at the interloper over the top of her head. "Do you have a problem?"

Turning slowly, she confronted a furious Dash Coogan, his face as dark as a thundercloud, invisible six-shooters riding on his hips. He was paying no attention to Scott, but was glaring at her instead, and he looked as if he were ready to take on all of Dodge City.

"You're drunk," he accused.

Lifting her chin, she returned his stare glare for glare. "I've had two beers. Not that it's any of your business."

"What's this all about, Mr. Coogan?"

Scott's respectful form of address seemed to make Dash even angrier, and the corner of his mouth curled unpleasantly. "I'll tell you what it's about, sonny. You're getting a little too free with your hands."

Scott looked puzzled. "I'm sorry, but I don't see what this has to do with you. She's a consenting adult."

"Not even close." Lifting his arm, he jabbed his hand toward the house. "You get your butt back there right this minute, little girl. That is if you're sober enough to walk that far."

She drew herself up to her full height. "Go to hell."

"What did you say to me?"

"You heard me. I'm not a little girl, and I have no intention of letting you order me around. Scott and I are leaving right now for his apartment."

He took a step closer, his eyes narrowing to slits. "I wouldn't bet on it."

She had to tilt her head all the way back so she could stare him down. A dangerous excitement had taken hold of her, a need to dance on the edge of a perilous cliff. "We're going to his apartment, and I'm going to spend the night there."

"Is that so?"

Scott was growing increasingly uncomfortable. "Honey, I don't know what kind of relationship you have with Mr. Coogan, but—"

"We don't have any relationship at all," she said, daring Dash to contradict her.

His voice was low and flat as he addressed Scott. "She's just a kid, and I'm not going to have you taking advantage of that. The party's over for tonight."

"Mr. Coogan—"

Ignoring him, Dash grasped Honey's arm and began steering her across the sand toward the house, just as if she were a disobedient five-year-old.

"Don't you do this to me," she hissed between her teeth. "I'm not a child, and you're ruining everything."

"That's exactly what I had in mind."

"You have no right to interfere."

"You don't even know that boy."

"I know that he's a great kisser." She tossed her head, deliberately making her curls fly. "And I imagine he'll be an even better lover. He'll probably be the best lover I ever had."

He didn't slacken his pace. Her shorter legs were having a difficult time keeping up with his longer ones, and she stumbled slightly in the sand. His grip tightened on her arm. "That wouldn't be too hard, would it?"

"You don't think I've had lovers before? That just goes to show what you know. I've had three lovers just this summer. No, four. I forgot about Lance."

Instead of taking her back up on the deck, he drew her around the side of the house. "Oh, I know you've had lovers. All the men on the crew talk about how easy you are."

She came to a dead stop. "They do not! I never did anything with a single person on the crew."

He pulled her forward. "That's not what I hear."

"You heard wrong."

"They told me you'll undress for anything in pants."

She was outraged. "I will not! I never undressed for a man in my life. I—" She clamped her mouth shut, realizing too late that he'd trapped her.

He shot her a triumphant look. "You're damned right, you haven't. And we're going to keep it that way for a while."

They had reached his car, a four-year-old Cadillac Eldorado. He opened the door and pushed her inside. "Just in case you're lying to me about how many beers you've had, I'm driving you home."

"I'm not lying. And you're not my father, so stop acting like one."

"I'm the closest thing you've got to a father." He slammed the door.

As he stalked around the front of the car, she remembered a time in her life not all that long ago when she would have given anything to hear him speak those words. But something inside her had changed. She didn't know when it had happened or why. She only knew that she didn't want him to act like a father any longer.

When he got behind the wheel, she confronted him, turning her head so swiftly that one of the gold hoops swung forward and bounced against her cheek. "You can't lock me up, Dash. I'm not a kid anymore. I like Scott, and I've decided to go to bed with him. If not tonight, then another night."

He pulled out onto the road, tires spinning in the gravel. He didn't speak until they had passed the guardhouse at the entrance of the private compound and were out on the highway. As the headlights of a passing car cast slanted shadows over his face, he said softly, "Don't give it away cheap, Honey. Make it mean something."

"Like your affairs?"

He snapped his head back to the road. She waited. When he didn't say anything in his own defense, her anger grew. "You make me sick. You'll go to bed with any woman who throws herself at you, but you still have the nerve to give me lectures on morality."

He hit the button on the radio, blasting George Jones through the car and drowning out any further conversation.