ourtney poked her head into the kitchen, where a stout woman in her early sixties was stirring chopped pecans into pancake batter. "Morning, Claudine. Where is everyone?"

"Your brother decided to have his breakfast on the terrace," she said without looking up. "Your father is outside, too."

"I'll have a waffle. I'm glad you don't get sick very often. Yesterday we had to fend for ourselves at breakfast. I burned my bagel."

"It's a miracle you survived," Claudine unsympathetically replied.

"When I have my own cook, I'm going to have a French chef!"

"Good, then you'll get fat from all that rich food, and it will serve you right."

Satisfied with their ritual morning sparring session, Courtney grinned and retreated back through the doorway. "I think I'll have French toast instead of pancakes."

Outside, she stopped at a serving cart where Claudine had set out a pitcher of fresh orange juice. She poured orange juice into a glass; then she sauntered down the terrace steps to the second level, where Noah was seated at a table beneath a bright yellow umbrella, reading one of several newspapers stacked near his elbow.

"How did you make out with Sloan Reynolds last night?"

"I didn't."

"You're kidding," Courtney said with unconcealed delight as she slid into the chair next to him. "You struck out?"

He turned to the financial section before he answered. "I crashed and burned," he murmured without looking up.

"The woman must be blind!"

Noah mistook her remark for loyalty and flashed her a brief smile. "Thank you."

Courtney was quick to correct his mistake. "I meant she must be blind, or else she can't read, because she obviously hasn't had a look at your financial statement If she had, she'd be sitting in your lap, right now." When that failed to evoke a reaction from him, she looked over her right shoulder across the lawn, toward the beach. "Where is our father?"

"The last time I saw him, he was digging in a flower bed near the edge of the lawn."

Courtney leaned back and peered around a clump of trees, looking for him. "That's not what he's doing now. He's standing around like he's watching for someone. I'll bet he's watching for Sloan! It was about this same time yesterday when he saw her."

That got Noah's attention, Courtney noticed. He twisted around in his chair and squinted into the sun.

"Just because you struck out doesn't mean he will. Maybe she prefers older men. I would love to have a look at this woman. I think I'll go down there and hang around with him."

"No you won't. Don't embarrass us."

"I like to embarrass us."

Noah had a feeling she was right about their father's reason for lingering by the shrubbery at the edge of the lawn, and he sighed in disgust. "Roger Kilman called for him a little while ago. Run down there and tell him he had a phone call. It's absurd for him to be standing around like that."

"Jealous?"

"That's enough!" Noah warned sharply, then he instantly regretted his tone. "Will you just do what I asked you to do without an argument for a change?"

"Possibly," Courtney replied with a sudden smile, watching her father wave at someone and start forward. A moment later a blonde in running shorts and a tank top jogged into view on the beach and stopped to talk to him. Courtney watched for a few moments. "I'll bring him back here no matter what it takes," she promised enthusiastically, already sliding her chair back.

Sloan had given Douglas Maitland several reasons why she couldn't accept his invitation to join him for breakfast on the terrace, but he overrode her protests with charming insistence, pointing out that her family were all late sleepers; then he put his hand beneath her arm and marched her forward.

A sloping, beautifully landscaped lawn stretched the two-hundred-yard distance from the beach to the house, where it ended in a broad limestone terrace with three levels. Umbrella tables, chaise lounges, and white wrought-iron chairs with bright yellow cushions were invitingly arranged on each level, and as they neared the terrace, Sloan belatedly realized that one of the tables was already occupied by a man and a girl.

Sloan didn't need to see his features to be certain the man was Noah Maitland. She had seen him only three times, but his chiseled profile, his glossy black hair, and his wide-shouldered physique were emblazoned on her brain, and her nervous system reacted to the stimulation of his presence with an annoying jolt of adrenaline.

Sloan was trying to think of some last-minute excuse for a hasty retreat when the girl at the table jumped up and trotted down the terrace steps, heading straight toward them.

"You are about to meet my daughter, Courtney," Douglas warned her cheerfully, and tightened his grip on Sloan's elbow as if he sensed her desire to flee and somehow automatically attributed it to the girl's impending arrival. "It is an experience most people find difficult to forget. Her mother was my fourth wife. A lovely woman, but she realized she didn't want children after Courtney was born. Courtney has only seen her a few times, so she hasn't had the benefit of a mother's influence. We make allowances for that."

Tall and thin, the teenager had permed dark hair that she wore in a thick ponytail over her left ear, and she walked with a coltish exuberance that didn't fit with Sloan's image of the spoiled, conceited, whiny teenager whom she assumed Douglas was warning her about. Courtney's first words didn't fit with that image either. "You're Sloan, aren't you?" Sloan started to nod, and Courtney put out her hand. "I've been dying to meet you. I'm Courtney."

Sloan was not only taken aback; she was more than a little charmed by the child's enthusiasm, her mischievous smile, and her familiar gray eyes. "I'm very happy to meet you," Sloan said, shaking her hand.

"People sometimes start out feeling that way, but they usually change their minds."

Sloan dealt with teenagers all the time in Bell Harbor, and she had a feeling that if she didn't follow through with Courtney's opening salvo, she'd be showing Courtney a lack of interest rather than good manners. "Why is that?"

"Because I say whatever I think."

"No, my dear," Douglas contradicted mildly, "it is because you refuse to think at all."

Courtney ignored him and rushed toward the terraced steps, forcing them to hurry to keep pace with her. "Noah is going to be so glad to see you," she predicted as they approached him from the side. "Noah, look who I found—"

He was not glad to see her, Sloan noted. He glanced over his shoulder, and Sloan saw annoyance flash across his face before he laid down his newspaper and politely stood up. "Good morning, Sloan," he said with flawless formality and no warmth.

"I ambushed her on the beach," Douglas confessed, pulling out a chair for Sloan across from Noah's and settling into one on her right. Courtney took the chair on Sloan's left, and a woman appeared on the terrace carrying a tray with a coffeepot and cups.

"We're going to be four for breakfast, Claudine," he told her. "Sloan, what would you like to have?"

"Whatever you're having will be fine," Sloan said, trying not to think about how unfriendly Noah seemed and how stilted and awkward that was going to make the meal for her. She needn't have worried. While Claudine was still filling the coffee cups, Courtney lit a conversational bonfire. Perching her chin on her fists, she looked from Douglas to Noah and then to Sloan. "How does it feel to be the only woman in Palm Beach to have both Maitland men chasing you? And who is the leading contender?"

Sloan thought she must have misunderstood her. She blinked. "I'm sorry?"

"Courtney, please—" Douglas started to intervene, but he changed his mind when Courtney explained, "Noah said Sloan shot him down last night."

Douglas turned an intrigued smile on Sloan. "Did you really?"

"No, I—" Sloan glanced at Noah, who was scowling at Courtney, who wasn't daunted in the least.

"Yes, she did," Courtney told her father. "Noah said so this morning." Turning to Sloan, she said, "I asked him how things went with you last night, and he said he 'crashed and burned'—"

"No," Sloan blurted desperately. "You misunderstood. He—he didn't even get off the ground—"

She didn't realize what she'd said until Douglas gave a bark of laughter and slapped his knee. Sloan felt as if the Cheshire Cat from Alice in Wonderland were going to materialize next if she didn't get the situation under control. Since Noah seemed to be the only other relatively normal person at the table, she looked directly at him. "What I meant to say," she explained very clearly and concisely, "is that you couldn't have 'crashed and burned' because you weren't even trying to—to—"

A flicker of amusement lit his gray eyes, "to get off the ground?"

"Exactly," Sloan said emphatically. She'd been at the table for less than two minutes and she felt as if she'd already fought her way through a treacherous minefield. "Thank you," she added feelingly.

Noah had intended to make an excuse to absent himself from the meal, but the beguiling gratitude on Sloan's face changed his mind. "Don't thank me yet. This could get worse."

"I guess you weren't in very good form last night, Noah," Courtney concluded.

"I guess I wasn't," he said.

Courtney decided to switch to a more vulnerable target and aimed at Sloan. "Noah said you have a black belt in karate and that he saw you throw Carter on his ass—"

"That wasn't karate," Sloan interrupted, trying not to look shocked.

"What was it?"

"They were some martial arts moves taught in self-defense classes. They probably came from tae kwon do or jujitsu."

"Do you know any karate?"

"Yes."

"Do you have a black belt?"

"I teach self-defense to women," Sloan evaded. "As a volunteer."

"Would you show me some moves so I can defend myself?"

"We're the ones who need to defend ourselves from you," Douglas said dryly.

Sloan was inclined to agree with him, but she couldn't resist the irrepressible teenager. "Yes, if you'd like."

"Promise?"

"I promise."

Stalling for time, Sloan took a sip of water while she tried to think of some way to divert Courtney from the inquisition in which she clearly took unrestrained delight. She almost choked when Courtney helpfully suggested, "At this point, most people ask me what courses I'm taking at my school and what my college plans are."

Sloan bit back a guilty laugh, looked away, and encountered Noah's knowing gaze and sympathetic grin. She'd assumed he lived a life of elegant leisure, far above the stresses inflicted on ordinary humanity, and the realization that he had "to endure" the whims of a precocious teenager made him seem very human and very likable. Unaware that her expression had softened as much as her attitude, she smiled at him and then turned to Courtney. She wanted to say something that was true and not superficial, and after a moment, she said with quiet sincerity, "I'll bet your IQ is off the scales."

"You're right. So is Noah's. Now, where did you go last night? Where were you when you shot Noah down and he crashed and burned?"

"We went to the Ocean Club, and I didn't do—" Sloan said desperately.

"We were on the dance floor," Noah clarified piously. "I was trying my best to carry on a flirtation, and she volunteered to fix me up with a friend of hers."

Douglas laughed out loud, and Courtney studied her with wide-eyed respect. "Are you really immune to his great looks and legendary wealth? Or—were you just playing hard to get?"

Mortified, Sloan looked at Noah, who waited to hear her answer.

"Don't keep us in suspense, my dear," Douglas prodded with an expectant grin.

The entire conversation was so outrageous that Sloan covered her face with her hands, leaned back in her chair, and started to laugh. She laughed so hard she made the others laugh, and when she tried to explain, the expressions on their faces made her laugh again. "I don't… don't know the first thing about flirting," she told Courtney. "If I'd had a… a telephone, I'd have called my friend Sara from the dance floor… and asked her…"

"Asked her what?" Courtney said eagerly.

"I'd have asked her what I should say to a man who asks what he can do to… to impress me."

"You mention jewelry," Douglas promptly advised. "You bring up a diamond bracelet."

That incredible suggestion sent Sloan into fresh peals of laughter. "Is that what wealthy Palm Beach women do?" she managed between giggles. No longer self-conscious, she lifted her gaze to Noah's. "What would you have done if I'd… I'd mentioned a diamond bracelet?"

Noah looked at her soft, provocative mouth and lifted his gaze to her face. Beneath a heavy fringe of russet lashes, her shining eyes were an amazing lavender blue, mesmerizing in their lack of guile, and her smooth cheekbones were flushed a becoming pink. Strands of hair had escaped from her french braid, and they glistened like spun gold at her temples. Plucky, unpretentious, and unaffected, she sparkled from within and glowed on the surface. She was, he decided, the most wholesomely beautiful female he'd ever seen. She was also becoming embarrassed by his scrutiny, her laughter fading from her trembling lips, her long lashes flickering down to hide her eyes.

"On second thought," Douglas joked as he correctly interpreted Noah's thoughts, "don't bother with a bracelet, Sloan. You can go straight for a diamond necklace."

Time passed very quickly after that. By the time the breakfast plates were being cleared away, Sloan felt almost as if she were a family friend, and much of that was due to Courtney. With democratic impartiality, the outspoken teenager had switched her attention from Sloan and aimed a series of equally impertinent, and frequently hilarious, comments at her father and then her brother. No one was spared, and by the end of the meal, her three victims had bonded with each other in shared helplessness, sympathy, and laughter.

In that short time, Sloan learned an amazing amount about both men from Courtney, including the fact that Noah had been married for three years to someone named Jordanna, who had supposedly soured him on marriage, and that two of Douglas's wives had been Sloan's age.

Courtney gave her father absolutely no quarter, and he let her get away with it, but Noah had limits, Sloan noticed, and those limits evidently involved his work. He ignored Courtney's numerous gibes about his personal life and even some of the women he'd been involved with, but when she started to make a remark about his "business associates," Noah's jaw tightened and his voice turned ominous. "I wouldn't go there, if I were you," he warned her.

To Sloan's surprise, the irrepressible fifteen-year-old stopped in midsentence and did not "go there."

Claudine arrived with a coffeepot and started to refill Sloan's cup, but Sloan looked at her watch and shook her head. "Those were the most delicious pancakes I've ever had," she told the cook, and Claudine beamed at her. "I have to go," she said to the others. "Everyone will be looking for me."

"Wait," Courtney said, trying to forestall her departure. "Why did you learn martial arts?"

"To make up for my lack of height," Sloan said lightly as she shoved her chair back and stood up; then she smiled down at her youthful hostess and said, "Thank you for the most memorable meal I've ever had. And thank you for making me feel like a member of your family."

It registered on Sloan that Courtney actually seemed at a loss for words for the first time since she'd set eyes on Sloan, but she was distracted by Noah who stood up and said, "I'll walk you home."

In silence, Courtney and Douglas studied the pair as they strolled side by side across the lawn.

Propping her bare feet on Noah's chair, Courtney crossed them at the ankles and wriggled her toes, studying the brownish red lacquer she'd applied to her toenails. "Well?" she said finally. "What do you think of Sloan now?"

"I think she's lovely and utterly delightful," Douglas replied. "I also think," he added mildly as he stirred a spoonful of sugar into his coffee, "that you went beyond reasonable bounds with some of your comments. In the past, you've always exercised a modicum of restraint in front of strangers, but this morning, you didn't."

"I know," Courtney cheerfully agreed. "I was great! Noah should double my allowance for what I accomplished today."

"What do you think you accomplished?"

"It's—like—so obvious! I made Sloan relax. She was uptight at first, and who could blame her? I mean, she doesn't know anyone in Palm Beach; she doesn't even know her own family. She's lived in a small town her entire life, she doesn't know how to flirt, and you can bet she's never had any money."

"I'm certain Carter provided very well for her mother and her."

"Well, if you'd have been listening to the way she answered my questions, instead of staring at her big, beautiful—"

"Courtney!"

"—eyes. I was going to say 'eyes,' " she said truthfully. "Anyway, if you'd have been listening instead of staring, you'd have found out that her mother works as a clerk in a boutique and Sloan went to a local college and worked part-time. Are you following me so far? Can you see where I'm going with all this?"

"Not yet, but I'm trotting along in your wake, trying to keep up."

Courtney rolled her eyes at his obtuseness. "Considering all the stuff she revealed about herself, can you imagine how overwhelmed she must be by Noah? I mean, besides the fact that he's tall, dark, gorgeous, and sexy, he is also rich and sophisticated. I went to a lot of trouble to make him seem more normal and approachable to her."

"Ah, I see," Douglas said dryly. "I suppose that explains why you found it necessary to refer to his ex-wife as The Wicked Witch from the West' and to imply that his mistress has buckteeth?"

"I never referred to Nicole as his mistress!" Courtney protested indignantly. "The word 'mistress' has an elitist sound to it that might have scared Sloan off. I referred to her as 'Nicole.' "

She leaned forward to inspect a possible chip in her pedicure and sighed dramatically. "Poor Sloan. Noah is going to turn on the charm. He'll take her out on one of the yachts, lavish her with attention, dazzle her with a trinket, and he'll lure her into bed. She'll fall for him, just like women always do; then she'll find out he's as hard as nails and the only thing he really cares about is making money. He'll get too involved in 'business' to bother with her; she'll sulk; he'll get bored; then he'll dump her and break her heart. You know," she concluded cheerfully, "if I weren't his loyal, devoted sister, I'd warn Sloan that he's really a complete bastard!"

The shy self-consciousness that Sloan thought she'd overcome at breakfast began to return as he walked beside her, but Noah eased it by asking her if she liked to go sailing and then telling her about the time Douglas and Courtney nearly capsized in a storm off the coast of Nassau.

Two houses away from her father's house, a group of youngsters were building a sand castle. The youngest, a chubby little toddler of about a year and a half was still unsteady on his feet and trying valiantly to keep up with two older boys as he ran to the surf with his pail. He careened past Sloan on his return trip, tripped, and fell, his water spilling on the sand.

"Need some help?" Sloan asked, crouching down to his level. Still clutching the handle of his pail in his fist, he rolled onto his rump, looked at her, and burst into wails of dismay. Sloan swept him up—baby, pail, and sand—and hugged him to her, laughing. "Don't cry, little one," she soothed, patting his back while the nanny, whom Sloan had spoken to earlier that morning, started forward and then stopped. "Don't cry. We'll help you."

He quieted, rubbed a sandy fist in his eyes, and hiccupped. Sloan put him down and took his free hand in hers. "We'll help you," she promised again, and looked at Noah. "We will, won't we?" she said.

Noah looked down into those beseeching pansy-blue eyes of hers and then at the baby's hopeful brown ones. Silently, he reached for the pail. Sloan smiled at him. The baby smiled at him. His brain captured the moment like a snapshot.

He wanted her.