loan stood at the front door with Paris and her rather saying good night to a couple who were close friends of his and who'd remained to discuss politics long after Noah and everyone else had left. Edith had retired much earlier, and Paul had evidently foreseen that Senator and Mrs. Thurmond Meade were going to linger, because he'd excused himself and gone up to bed a half hour before.

"Good night, Sloan," Mrs. Meade said. "I'm so happy to have met you. I'm going to try that recipe for key lime pie you gave me—it helped my sore arm immensely tonight."

She turned to Paris, leaned forward, and almost touched her cheek to Paris's in a now-familiar gesture that Sloan realized passed for a good-bye kiss among the fashionable Palm Beach set. "You naughty girl," she told Paris. "I can't believe you've kept your talent a secret all this time. If Sloan hadn't told all of us that you designed her dress and yours, none of us would have ever known! I heard Sally Linkley ask you to show her your sketches, but I want to see them first. It's only fair that I get first choice—I've known you longer than Sally has."

Senator Meade stepped forward and said more formal good-byes to Paris and Sloan, but when he shook hands with Carter, his compliments were enthusiastic and genuine. "You're a lucky man, Carter. You have two beautiful daughters. Paris has always been a credit to you, but you can be very proud of Sloan as well. She won everyone over tonight."

Carter smiled and shook hands with him. "I know she did."

When he closed the door and turned to Sloan, Carter was every bit as sincere as Senator Meade. "Sloan, I cannot tell you how proud of you I was tonight."

He truly liked her very much at that moment—not because she was likable, Sloan suspected, but because he was a narcissist and she'd added to his prestige by favorably impressing his friends. To her surprise, she had liked many of his friends tonight. She could not like him, however, and she tried hard to hide it as she smiled and said, "Thank you."

When he started up the stairs, she glanced at the antique grandfather clock in the foyer and her heart plummeted when she realized how late it was. By now, Noah would no longer be waiting on the beach for her. Fate—and Senator Meade—had interceded and saved her from doing a very foolish thing. She should have felt relieved. She felt terribly disappointed.

Paris didn't share her disappointment over the lateness of the hour. Wrapping Sloan in a fierce hug, she said, "You were a smash! Everyone was talking about how lovely you are, how charming, how witty—and the party was a huge success, too. That's why people stayed so late."

Sloan made it all the way to her bedroom door before she began to lose the battle against going down to the beach to see if Noah might still be there.

"Good night," Paris whispered.

"Good night," Sloan said, but she hesitated, her hand on the doorknob.

Paris noticed. "You've been up since early this morning. Aren't you tired?"

Sloan shook her head, and then she confessed the rest of the truth: "Noah asked me to meet him on the beach after the party," Sloan confessed.

"He did?"

"Yes."

"Then why are you up here?" Paris asked with a smile.

That was all the encouragement Sloan needed.

The back lawn was brightly lit and swarming with activity as men and women from the hotel worked to pack up and reload everything they had brought for the party. Some of the staff who worked for Carter were helping as well, Sloan noted as she said hello to two of the maids she recognized.

No one acted as if there was anything peculiar about her apparent desire to go for a moonlight stroll on a deserted beach at one A.M., wearing a fabulous chiffon dress and dainty high-heeled sandals, but Sloan felt incredibly conspicuous, nonetheless.

She was relieved when she finally reached the beach and turned out of their view, but her relief immediately gave way to an overwhelming sense of disappointment when Noah was nowhere in sight.

She looked in the direction of his house, but unless he was blocked by someone's shrubbery, he had obviously gone home. She took off her sandals and wandered slowly down the shore, the sandals dangling from her fingertips, half expecting him to materialize from somewhere in the shadows.

The closer she got to his house the more dejected she became. Her traitorous heart reminded her of how it had felt to dance with him and the way his gaze had fixed boldly on her lips when she said she didn't know how to thank him for the party. "We'll have to think of a way," he'd said. And when she asked why he wanted to meet her on the beach after the party, his answer had made it stirringly plain. "We'll invent a reason when we're there."

She stopped at the edge of his back lawn, her eyes searching the terraces in the moonlight, seeing only vague shapes and dim outlines.

It was just as well, she told herself bracingly. Noah Maitland was too sophisticated, too jaded, and much too sure of himself for her. He thought nothing of trying to seduce her on a dance floor, and only two days after meeting her. He would break her heart if she gave him the chance.

She was very, very lucky to have had a second narrow escape from certain disaster tonight.

She was glad he hadn't waited.

She was thrilled he'd gone to bed.

She swallowed over a lump in her throat and started to turn. On the terrace one of the shapes moved, grew taller, and she heard her name, low and imperative. "Sloan!"

She was so elated that he hadn't gone inside she nearly broke into a run when he walked down the terrace steps and stopped there, waiting for her. He'd taken off his jacket and tie, partially unbuttoned his white shirt, and folded his shirtsleeves back onto his forearms. Somehow, he managed to look even more attractive this way than he had earlier.

Sloan stopped in front of him, happy, nervous, self-conscious, and trying desperately to seem normal. "The last of the guests stayed late."

He accepted her explanation with a brief nod; then he shoved his hands deep into his pants pockets and looked at her in lengthening silence.

Sloan had half expected him to reach for her the minute she was at arm's length, and as he continued to look at her, she wished he would. When she finally realized he wasn't going to, she attributed his hesitation to the same problem she'd been worrying about since they'd danced at the party. Since the problem had been bothering her, she naturally assumed it would be bothering him, too. Suppressing her private regret, she said quietly, "We can't do this. If Carter thinks there is anything at all happening between us, he'll blame Paris for not encouraging you more than she has."

In a noncommittal voice, he said, "In that case, I suppose I could honestly tell him I'm not interested in marriage."

"Then he'll blame you."

"Do you always worry about other people?"

Noah noted that she took the question very seriously, sighed, and then somberly nodded. "It's one of my many faults."

Faults? he thought with grim humor. He wondered if she knew what a real fault was. In the glow of moonlight, with the wind teasing her skirts and blowing her golden hair against her cheek, she reminded him irresistibly of a barefoot angel with sandals dangling from her fingers instead of a celestial harp.

She was the sort of woman who helped children carry pails of water to their sand castles and stopped to help elderly gardeners in pain. He thought of how elated Courtney had been because Sloan had thoughtfully suggested he dance with her, and how much Paris had blossomed in the last two days. Courtney had been right tonight—Noah had no reason, and no right, to do anything that might dull Sloan's sparkle or diminish the amazing effect she had on people.

On the other hand, she was thirty years old… That was old enough to know what coming here tonight was leading toward, old enough to understand the rules and play the game. Old enough to know how to handle it when the game was over.

Except, as he already knew, she didn't know how the game was supposed to be played. By her own admission she didn't even know how to flirt. A sardonic smile twisted his lips as he contemplated the havoc she could wreak on the male population if she ever bothered to learn how. At her party tonight, he'd watched sensible, sophisticated men turn into putty when she smiled and spoke to them.

What baffled him was that either she didn't realize the effect she had on men, or she didn't care. In fact, there were only two things about Sloan he was completely certain of: She didn't know anything about men like him; and she deserved much more than what he was willing to offer.

"What are you thinking?" Sloan asked finally as the last vestiges of her courage drained away, leaving her feeling foolish and conspicuous.

"I was thinking you look like a barefoot angel," he replied unemotionally.

Sloan was stunned. She thought about who she was and why she was in Palm Beach, and her voice shook with guilty certainty. "Believe me when I tell you I'm no angel. I'm very far from that."

He took his hands out of his pockets and pulled her to him. "Good," he said bluntly, and lowered his head to kiss her.

It was the suddenness of his reaction, as much as the reaction itself, that made Sloan realize he probably thought she was referring to sexual conduct She'd already deceived him about so many other things that she felt compelled to be completely honest about this one. "When I said I was far from an angel just now," she explained quickly, "I was not referring to anything having to do with—with sexual relationships."

His head lifted, his narrowed eyes searching hers. "You weren't?"

Sloan shook her head and tried valiantly to project an intelligent, mature, and open attitude about something that she felt excruciatingly uncomfortable discussing with him. "With respect to… those sorts of relationships… I haven't had what you… what some people might consider much experience."

Noah gazed down at her entrancing face and glorious eyes. The same wayward emotion that suddenly made him feel like smiling also roughened his voice. "You haven't?"

"Actually, I've only had two of those relationships."

"Only two?" he teased. "I'm terribly disappointed."

She might not have known how to flirt an hour ago, but it took her less than five seconds to notice the laughter lurking in his eyes, guess the cause of it, and encourage more of it. With twinkling blue eyes and a voice as apologetic—and insincere—as his had been, she nodded and said, "I wish I could tell you I've had dozens, but I've only had two."

"What a pity. Dare I hope they were both very short and completely meaningless?"

The beauty in his arms solemnly and slowly nodded, biting her lip to hide her smile. "Oh, yes," she whispered tragically. "They were extremely short and totally meaningless."

"Excellent!" He bent his head, intending to kiss the smile off her lips; then he paused, his mouth an inch from hers. "Were they really?" he asked seriously, unable to check the ridiculous impulse, the unprecedented need, to know about a woman's other lovers.

Her long lashes fluttered open and she looked steadily into his eyes; then she laid her fingers against his cheek and jaw. "Yes," she whispered achingly. "They really were."

Unable to tear his gaze from hers, Noah turned his face into her hand and kissed her palm. The tremor that ran through her when he did it seemed to shake through him as well.

On the second floor of the house, Douglas reached out to turn off the lamp beside his bed just as Courtney slammed into his room looking like a thundercloud. "You will not believe what is going on out on the terrace," she stormed, marching over to his window. "Five minutes ago, I heard Noah's voice, and I looked out my window and saw Sloan walking up to the house. Now look what's happening!" She swept back a curtain, stepped out of the way, and pointed toward the window. "Just look at that!"

Worried, Douglas rolled out of bed, hurried to the window, and peered into the darkness. His frown gave way to a slow, gratified smile as he took in the scene on the terrace below. Noah was holding Sloan in a crushing embrace, his arm angled low across her hips, holding her body against his while he kissed her and twisted them both down onto one of the chaise lounges. And Sloan wasn't resisting; she was kissing him back.

Douglas removed the edge of the curtain from Courtney's fist so that it could fall back into place. "Did you say that only got started five minutes ago?"

"Yes!"

"That's amazing," he said happily.

"He has women all over the place. I don't see why he has to try to seduce Sloan!"

"I don't think I'd call that seduction."

She was so angry she stamped her foot. "What would you call it?"

"Spontaneous combustion," he said with a smile in his voice; then he turned on the television set and took a deck of cards from the cabinet below it. "I'm in the mood for a late movie and one of our gin rummy tournaments."

"I'm going to bed," she said, starting toward her bedroom, where he knew she could continue spying on Noah.

"You're staying right here, my dear."

"But I'm—"

"You're planning to spy on your brother," Douglas said mildly; "however, that would not only be impolite, it would also be a waste of time, because you've already seen all there is to see. Nothing else is going to happen out there tonight; you may take my word for it." He sat down in a chair and began dealing out the first hand of cards.

"What makes you so sure?" she demanded, flopping into the chair across from him with a mutinous expression on her face.

"I'm sure because I know your brother. Noah isn't stupid enough, or rude enough, to ravish any woman on a lawn chair in his backyard."

She hesitated, considering that; then she shrugged as if dismissing the entire subject. The silent gesture was the closest she would come to admitting he might be right. She picked up the hand he'd dealt her and glanced at her cards. "You still owe me a hundred forty-five dollars from last time," she reminded him. "If you don't pay up tonight, I'm going to have to charge you interest."

"At what rate?" Douglas inquired, arranging his cards in his hand.

"Eighteen percent on anything more than thirty days past due. I have to start thinking about my own future."

"You won't have a future if you try to charge me eighteen percent."

She won fifteen dollars more from him, and they both fell asleep watching the late, late movie.

"It's very late," Sloan whispered when Noah finally lifted his mouth from hers. "I have to go back."

"I know." Noah eased his arm out from under her, glanced at his watch, and was amazed to see it was after three A.M. He got up and offered her his hand to help her off the chaise lounge.

As she stood, Sloan looked down at her bare feet and hopelessly wrinkled dress and quickly raised her hands to her hair, trying to restore it to some semblance of order. She was suddenly mortified about her appearance and self-conscious about what they'd been doing for the last two hours. If anyone saw her sneaking into the house like this, she was going to feel like the Whore of Babylon. Worse, she probably looked like that to Noah right now.

She looked delightfully mussed, Noah thought—a fully dressed woman who'd lain beside a man who couldn't keep his hands off of her, who'd shoved his hands into her hair and kissed her until her lips were swollen. He couldn't believe he'd just spent two comparatively chaste hours with her on an uncomfortable chaise lounge, and yet, what he had done with her had been as exciting as having sex with another woman and, in some ways, more satisfying.

She walked beside him down the terrace steps, her hands clasped behind her back, sandals dangling from her fingers. Her head was bent as if she was lost in thought, and Noah began to reconsider the last hours through her eyes… In actuality, he'd behaved like an oversexed, overeager, inexperienced sixteen-year-old necking and petting in the backyard without sense enough or courtesy enough to take her somewhere where they'd have privacy and comfort. He was embarrassed about his behavior; he was embarrassed because he had something to be embarrassed about…

As they neared a stand of palm trees at the rear of the lawn, Noah said flatly, "I'm sorry about all that. I shouldn't have let it go on so long or get so far. I practically molested you on a damned lawn chair."

Sloan's heart soared at the discovery she wasn't the only one feeling uncertain and embarrassed. "A lawn chair?" she repeated thoughtfully; then she raised laughing eyes to his. "Molested? Is that what you were doing?"

Stifling a shout of laughter, Noah pulled her into his arms.

She looked at him teasingly, and rested her hands on his chest "My memory must be hazy, but—"

"I wouldn't want your memory to be hazy," Noah whispered, already bending his head. "I did this—" He brushed a kiss against her temple. "And this—" He trailed his lips to her ear and kissed it, smiling to himself when she shivered and pressed closer to him. "And I did this…" Her eyes closed and he put a light kiss on each lid before he dragged his mouth across her cheek to her lips. "And this—" He parted her lips with his and kissed her with a melting hunger, slowly exploring her mouth with his tongue, drawing her tighter to his hardening body, but when she leaned into him and began kissing him back, Noah lost his head for the second time that night. He backed her against a tree, caught her hands in both of his, and pinned them near her head while he deepened the kiss and pressed himself against her.

His tongue ravaged her mouth, his body moved slowly against hers, and her breasts swelled invitingly against his chest. He loosened his grip on one of her hands and slid his palm down her soft skin at her throat to her breast, brushing it with his knuckles and then covering it possessively. Her free hand curved round his nape, her body arched to his, and he fumbled with the jeweled clip at her nape that held the bodice of her dress up. A split second before he released it, he realized what he was doing and managed to check the impulse.

Struggling for control, he tore his mouth from hers and stared down at her moonlit face. "This is insanity," he whispered hoarsely; then he slowly lowered his head and buried his lips in hers again.