hildren are so much fun to be around," Sloan said a few minutes later as they walked away from the sand castle that was still under construction, with ample water now.

"You are fun to be around," he corrected her with a shrug that struck Sloan as significant.

"Thank you. Don't you like children?"

"You're welcome, and no I don't."

"Really?" The informality of their breakfast conversation caused Sloan to ask him a question that made her feel ill-mannered as soon as she asked it. "Is that why you've never had any children?"

"I was already twenty-five when Courtney was born, and she's cured me of any illusions I might have had about wanting a child or about a child wanting me for a parent."

"I didn't mean to pry," Sloan said sincerely. "I shouldn't have asked that."

"You may ask me anything you'd like, and I will be as honest and direct as I can. I'd prefer it that way."

Since breakfast, Sloan had been mentally preparing to give flirting her best shot, but now he was asking for honesty and straightforwardness, and that was as alarming as it was impossible. "Okay," she said lamely.

"That was your opportunity to assure me that I can ask you anything, and that you will also be honest and direct."

"I'm not sure that's such a good idea," Sloan said warily, and he gave a shout of laughter.

"Let's try it out, shall we?" He put a detaining hand on her arm and stopped her behind the hedge that concealed her father's fence at the beach.

"You mean, right now?"

"Right now." With startling directness, he said, "I'd like to spend time with you while you're here. Starting with tonight."

"I can't," Sloan replied, sounding absurdly panicked to her own ears.

"Why not?"

"There are three very important reasons," she said, getting control of her voice. "They are Paris, Paul, and Carter."

"Paris told me last night that you're not romantically involved with Paul. I am not romantically involved with Paris, and since none of us are romantically involved with Carter, I don't see this as an obstacle."

"I meant that I need to spend time with them."

"We can work that out. Is there anything else in the way of our getting to know each other?"

"Like what?" Sloan asked evasively, but he saw through her ploy in an instant.

"Let's not play games with each other. I've already played them all, and you wouldn't enjoy them even if you knew how to play them."

Stalling for time, Sloan looked at the small seashell she'd picked up on the beach and pretended to examine it. He waited in silence until she had no choice except to meet his gaze; then he said, "One of the things I like about you is that you are refreshingly open and honest. However, there is something that bothers you when you're alone with me. What is it?"

Sloan wondered how honest and refreshing he'd think she was if she told him the truth. What bothers me when I'm alone with you is that I'm not an interior designer, I'm a cop working under cover, and I'm not here to reunite with my father. I'm here to spy on him. Paul isn't my friend; he's an FBI agent who is here for the same reason. Oh, and by the way, he'd also like me to find out what I can about you. She wasn't innocent and honest; in fact, she was probably the most deceitful person he'd ever met. She was also so attracted to him that her stomach knotted just thinking about how he'd react when he found out the truth.

"Are you attracted to me?" he asked bluntly.

Sloan had the distinct feeling he already knew the answer. "You know what," she said shakily, "let's not be too honest."

He was still laughing when he leaned down and kissed her lightly on the mouth. "There, that's out of the way. The first one is the hardest. Things will be easier now."

Sloan stared at him, her mind reeling with disbelief and longing and dread.

Sloan half expected Noah to leave her at the back door, but he followed her inside. She could hear Paul's voice followed by a burst of laughter that seemed strangely discordant in this house of stultifying dignity and dark wood. "It sounds like they're all in the dining room," she remarked to Noah as she followed the sounds down the hall.

The family had finished breakfast, and Paris was looking at an open photo album with Paul leaning over her shoulder. "That tennis racquet was almost as big as you were," he remarked with a chuckle.

"She was three years old there," Edith put in. "That's the same age I was when I started my lessons."

They looked up as Noah and Sloan walked in, and Carter's smile froze. "Have you two been together all morning?"

"My father and Courtney waylaid Sloan on the beach and forced her to have breakfast with us," Noah said smoothly.

Carter relaxed, his good humor restored. "Better watch out for Douglas, Sloan. He's quite a ladies' man."

Edith was never completely good-humored, Sloan noted as the old woman gave Noah a dark look. "You ought to put a muzzle on that child, Noah. Her manners are atrocious."

"She's lonely and bored," Sloan contradicted gentry. "She's extremely bright, she doesn't know anyone here, and she's surrounded by adults. Her only diversion is to shock and annoy. Children do that." In apology for having openly disagreed with her, Sloan patted Edith's shoulder and said, "Good morning, Great-grandmother."

The old lady's scowl relaxed into its habitual but less daunting frown. "Good morning," she replied stiffly.

"Sloan is very fond of children," Noah put in, helping himself to a cup of coffee from the silver pot on the sideboard. "Even Courtney."

"I don't like children," Edith bluntly reminded him. "You and I have that in common, as I recall."

"We do indeed," Noah agreed.

"That has been my only objection to you marrying Paris."

That very personal remark caused the servant at the sideboard to back out of the room through a side door, and Sloan decided to follow his lead. "I need to wash up," she said, making the first excuse that came to mind as she backed through the archway into the main hall. "I got maple syrup on my fingers when I picked up the pitcher. Excuse me."

Paul stood up. "I need to get something out of my car," he said, but when he walked out of the dining room, he went only as far as the living room across the hall. Picking up a magazine from the coffee table, he thumbed, through it.

"I'm quite serious, Noah," Edith said severely in the dining room. "I haven't survived for ninety-five years only to see my family line come to an end with Paris."

"Aren't you forgetting about Sloan?" Noah asked in an attempt to simultaneously remind her that Sloan was part of the family and avoid a discussion of nonexistent marital plans between Paris and him.

"I did forget about Sloan," she admitted, looking slightly chastened. "I suppose I haven't known her long enough to automatically think of her in that way; however you're quite right."

Noah was perfectly satisfied with her answer, but Carter's next remark set off a chain reaction of surprise followed by an instantaneous blast of anger: "Whether Sloan has children or not, she can never carry on the family line," Carter said curtly. "The idea is preposterous. She doesn't know anything about being a Reynolds, and it's thirty years too late to begin teaching her. Her children will reflect her own upbringing, her own values, not ours."

"She could learn," Paris put in bravely.

"I didn't ask your opinion, Paris. Although you may already regard her as a full-fledged member of our family, no one else will. Our friends don't know her, they've never even heard of her, and they'd never accept—"

"I have a solution for your problem, Carter," Noah interrupted with an edge to his voice. "What are your plans for tonight?"

"I haven't made any specific plans for evenings while Sloan and Paul are here," he said, taken aback by Noah's tone. "I assumed Paris and you would probably want to spend some of your evenings with them going out on the town and doing whatever it is you young people like to do."

"Good. Since no one has made specific plans for tonight, you can give a party to introduce Sloan to your friends and make damned certain they accept her."

"Impossible," Carter scoffed, already shaking his head in the negative.

"Imperative," Noah contradicted coolly. "The longer you delay, the more conjecture there will be about her and about why you're afraid for people to meet her. My father has undoubtedly mentioned her to his friends, and word will spread like wildfire."

"Be reasonable! She's only going to be here for two weeks, and then she'll be gone. Besides, I think the ordeal of a party would be too stressful for her."

"She'll just have to bear up under the strain," Noah said with thinly veiled sarcasm.

"I think a party for Sloan is a terrific idea," Paris said, flinching a little under her father's icy stare but refusing to lower her gaze.

"Paris," he warned in a withering voice, "your attitude is beginning to annoy—"

"You are always annoyed when you're wrong, Carter," Edith said. "I happen to agree with Noah and Paris. We must give a party to introduce Sloan to everyone, and the sooner the better."

"Fine," he said, throwing up his hands; then he retaliated against Paris by coolly pointing out to her the negative results of her unprecedented opposition to him. "You said you wanted to spend as much time as possible with Sloan while she's here. Instead of that, you're going to have to spend it organizing a party which she isn't going to enjoy, and getting out invitations to people who will come to gape at her but who won't accept her."

"They'll accept her," Noah said icily, "if you act as if you expect them to. If you're afraid you don't have enough influence to ensure that, then I'll be happy to lend my influence at the party, since we know all the same people." Having thrown down the gauntlet, Noah softened his voice and looked at Paris. "You won't need to give up any of your time with Sloan, Paris. I'll have Mrs. Snowden arrange the party and handle all the details.

"Paris, I assume you have a party guest list of some sort that you can give me?" She nodded, and he said, "Fine, then all you have to do is tell your staff to get the house ready today, and I'll have Mrs. Snowden do everything else."

"I shall handle the staff," Edith announced. "Sloan and Paris can spend the day getting their hair done, and whatever else it is young women do that takes all day when there's a special party to attend."

Sloan walked in just as Edith spoke, and she looked in confusion from Paris's smile to Carter's glower. "Are we going to a party?" she asked when everyone stopped talking and looked at her.

"We're giving a party for you and it's going to be wonderful!" Paris exclaimed. "Noah, thank you so much for volunteering Mrs. Snowden. I'm afraid she'll have to handle invitations by telephone."

"Mrs. Snowden enjoys a challenge."

"I really don't need a party," Sloan ventured cautiously. "I don't want anyone to go to any trouble for me."

Carter looked at the other three. "I told you she'd feel that way," he said triumphantly.

Sloan was about to reinforce Carter's opinion when Noah arrogantly informed her, "This isn't your decision to make. It is appropriate for your family to introduce you to their friends, and a party is the ideal way to do it."

Sloan sensed the hostile undercurrents between the two men and couldn't imagine how a simple party could have caused it. She considered ignoring Noah's order to keep her opinions to herself, but Paris looked so excited that Sloan couldn't bring herself to make another protest, and Edith looked so stubborn that she knew there wasn't any point in making one.

"In that case," she told Noah with an uncertain smile, "I'd like Courtney to be invited." When he nodded, she decided to retreat from the discussion and the room, and she looked at Paris. "I think I'll go upstairs and take a shower."

Paris slid back her chair and stood up. "I keep our guest lists and Christmas card lists and all that on the computer. I'll get a guest list for you right now," she told Noah. To Sloan's surprised pleasure, Paris caught up with her in the doorway, slipped her arm through Sloan's, and said, "This is going to be so much fun! We'll do a little shopping this morning, get our hair done, have a massage. Paul said he had some errands to do…"

Sloan was so distressed by the prospect of being put on display like a curiosity for a bunch of strangers to observe, judge, and conjecture about that she let Paris lead her past the staircase and around it to a closed door on the right, behind the living room. When Paris dropped her arm to open the door, Sloan remembered her shower and stepped back; then she realized what she was looking at and changed her mind. The open door revealed a large, luxuriously paneled room that could only be Carter's office. It was from here that Gary Dishler emerged from time to time.

A carved mahogany desk was at the opposite side of the room, with a credenza and bookcases built into the wall behind it. Paris walked over to the desk, removed a key from a drawer, and unlocked a pair of doors on the wall behind it. She opened the doors, and Sloan's gaze riveted on the computer monitor that had been concealed behind them. The screen was illuminated, the computer ready for use, a message flashing asking for the user to type in a password.

Paris slipped into a high-backed maroon leather chair at the desk and swiveled around to the computer.

Sloan's heart began to beat with excitement as she stationed herself beside Paris. "I use FRANCE as my password," Paris said innocently.

Sloan watched Paris pull up a file named "Palm Beach Guest List" from a computer folder called "Address Lists," then send the file to a printer. She leaned down and opened another cabinet door to the right of her knee that revealed a high-speed laser printer and the computer's central processing unit.

Sloan glanced at the CPU, but her primary interest was the icons displayed on the monitor that indicated what programs and possibly what kind of information Carter was accessing on the computer. Before she could do more than glance at all that, Paris retrieved a page from the printer and sat back up, blocking Sloan's view of the computer screen. "Do you think Carter would mind if I used his computer later?" Sloan asked as casually as she could. "I'd like to check my E-mail, and I'd like to send a few messages."

"It sounds funny to hear you call him by his name," Paris confided with a smile. "And no, I'm sure he won't mind if you use the computer, unless he's using it himself."

"Does he use it often?" Sloan asked, her excitement building.

"Yes, but not for very long. He can access the computer at the bank in San Francisco and see what's happening. He uses it mostly for that and for other business things."

Sloan knew the bank meant Reynolds Trust in San Francisco. "What sort of other business things is he involved in?"

"I don't know. Father doesn't like to discuss business. He says it's too complicated for Great-grandmother or me to understand." She removed the remaining pages from the printer, closed and relocked the doors, put the key back in the top right-hand drawer of the desk, and took a pencil from a leather holder on the desk.

"I'll take this in to Noah. I'm already dressed to go out…" she hinted. As they left Carter's office, she said happily, "We'll have a wonderful time. We'll spend the day being pampered and come home and get dressed for your 'debut.' "

Sloan left her at the staircase and headed upstairs to her room. Paris took the party list into the dining room and sat down at the table. She checked off several names on the list; then she looked at her father and her great-grandmother. "How many people do you want to invite? It's such short notice that half the people will have other plans, so we ought to figure on inviting twice as many."

"Keep it small," Carter bit out.

Noah ignored him and looked at Paris. "Check off the people you particularly want to invite, and I'll pick out the others. We know the same people."

Paris checked off several names on each of the eleven pages and handed the entire list to Noah.

"I'll have Mrs. Snowden take care of everything else," he promised, standing up. "Is seven o'clock all right with you?"

"That's fine," Edith said. "The weather has been so pleasant; I wish we could have a garden party."

"I'll see what I can do," Noah said, already turning to leave.

"Keep the damned thing small," Carter reminded him.

Edith's thoughts shifted inexorably to money. "There's no need to be extravagant," she called after him. "Feed them hors d'oeuvres, not a banquet. Two of our servants can act as waiter and bartender; we don't need to pay the caterer's staff for that."

"I'll take care of it," Noah said curtly over his shoulder.

"We'll need champagne," Paris reminded him.

"Domestic champagne," Edith stipulated.

He was around the corner, starting down the hall, when Paris caught up with him. "Noah," she said worriedly, lowering her voice, "maybe we should wait to give the party."

His jaw tightened. "What are you worried about? The cost? The fact that your family's skeleton is coming out of the closet? Or is it the competition from Sloan you're worried about?"

She stepped back as if he'd slapped her. "What are you talking about?"

"What are you trying to talk about?" he shot back.

"I—I'd rather wait and have a lovely party than toss together some shabby little affair like Father and Great-grandmother are describing. Father isn't thinking clearly. We've always given beautiful affairs, and if Sloan's party isn't like that, people will think she doesn't matter enough for us to bother. The good caterers need plenty of notice to plan menus and hire staff, and they'll all be booked solid right now. Then there's flowers and music and chairs and tables and linens—there's no way to arrange for all that in a few days, let alone a few hours."

Noah's anger with her vanished, and his expression softened. "I apologize for misjudging your motives," he said gently. "I should have known better. Leave the details to me."

Courtney and his father looked up when Noah strode into the house. "What's up?" she asked eagerly, noticing the determined set of his jaw and his long, swift strides.

"Carter is giving a party for Sloan," he replied without stopping. "Is Mrs. Snowden upstairs?"

Courtney gave an indelicate snort. "Where else would she be? She follows you from city to city, house to house, hotel to hotel, ever at your beck and call, twenty-four hours a day…"

It was an exaggeration, but Noah didn't bother to point that out. Mrs. Snowden's sister lived forty miles from Palm Beach, and when he went there twice a year, she accompanied him. It was an arrangement that worked well for both of them; Noah always had a limited amount of work for her to do even when he was on vacation, and in return for working a few hours each day, Mrs. Snowden got an all-expense-paid trip to see her sister.

"Good morning," she said, turning around from the file cabinet as he strode into a library that doubled as his office when he was in Palm Beach.

"How is your sister?" he asked automatically.

"Fine."

The social amenities over, Noah sat down behind his desk and nodded for her to sit down across from him. "We're going to give a party," he announced, shoving a notepad and pencil across the desk to her.

"I thought you said Carter Reynolds was giving the party," Courtney said, plopping into the chair beside Mrs. Snowden's and swinging her leg over the arm.

Noah ignored her, and so Mrs. Snowden picked up the pad and pencil. "When is the party to be?" she asked, pencil poised.

"Tonight."

She drew the obvious conclusion. "A small dinner party?"

"Something a little larger."

"How much larger?"

Instead of answering immediately, Noah scanned the pages of names and addresses of the Reynoldses' friends in Palm Beach. He picked up a pen and drew a line through names belonging to people he personally didn't like, and people he thought Sloan wouldn't like; then he slid the pages across the desk to her. "About a hundred and seventy-five people, I'd guess."

"Since it's such short notice and you want to serve dinner, I assume you want to have it at one of your clubs? Although, I really don't think there's enough time for—"

"I want to have it at Carter Reynolds's house on the lawn."

She blinked at him. "You want to give an outdoor dinner party tonight for one hundred and seventy-five people? That means hiring caterers—"

He brushed over that problem. "You can do it buffet style, the way we did the last one here, but have plenty of waiters available to pass food on trays for guests who don't want to stand in line. I want everything first class."

"Naturally," she said, but she looked shaken.

"Have plenty of champagne on hand—Dom Pérignon. Oh, and get some of those ice things, too. They look nice on the tables—"

"Ice sculptures?" she asked weakly.

"Yes. And flowers, of course."

"Of course," she echoed faintly.

"We'll need an orchestra, too. You know the routine. You've done it dozens of times for me in the past."

"Yes, but not on this short notice!" she exclaimed, looking ready to cry at having to admit there was something she couldn't do. "Mr. Maitland, I really don't think there's any way I can do all this."

"I don't expect you to do it," he said impatiently. "We just bought two hotels here. Let them do it."

Mrs. Snowden now saw a way to accomplish what was still going to be a Herculean task, logistically and diplomatically, and she rose to the challenge at once. "I will prevail on the managers of the hotels," she declared, beaming.

"I'm sure you will," he dryly replied. "You'll have to handle invitations by phone. Tell everyone that you're calling for Carter and that the party is being given by him to introduce them to his daughter Sloan."

She nodded. "I'll need some assistance. There are two women in our San Francisco office who can be relied upon to issue a telephone invitation to a last-minute party and carry it off graciously. I could fax them the list, but the phone calls will all be long distance. Is that all right?"

"That's fine."

"There's one more problem: The people we invite will very likely jump to the conclusion that they're being called at the last minute to fill in the numbers and that they weren't on the original guest list. In that case, they will be offended and they will refuse."

Noah reached for the mail she'd opened and laid in a leather box on his desk. "Then tell them we've just discovered that the original invitations were never sent out. Blame the post office, if you want. Everyone else does."

Courtney swung her leg off the arm of the chair and stood up. "It sounds like yet another boring Palm Beach party. I'm glad as hell my name isn't on that list. You couldn't drag me to one of these parties."

Noah looked up from the letter in his hand. "Sloan specifically asked that you be invited. Please don't make me drag you to it."

Instead of being belligerent and balky, which Noah expected, she looked stunned. "Sloan invited me? You're kidding."

"No, I'm not."

"Then I suppose I really don't have any choice," she said in a martyred voice. "I mean, if I don't go, she'll be surrounded by nothing but incredibly boring people."

She started to leave, then turned back. "Noah?"

"What?" he asked without looking up from the letter he was reading.

"Why are you doing all this for Sloan? Why isn't Carter or Edith or Paris taking care of the party?"

"Carter is behaving like an arrogant son of a bitch, and Edith is too cheap and too old to be trusted with the decisions. Paris was willing to take it on, but she's brand-new at defying them and they'd both end up getting their way. If they don't throw a decent party and properly introduce Sloan, she'll never be able to hold her head up around here." It was several moments before Noah realized that Courtney hadn't left. Exasperated, he looked up and found her studying him, her head tipped to the side. "Now what?" he asked impatiently.

"That explains why they aren't doing it. It doesn't explain why you are."

Irrationally annoyed with her probing questions, Noah glared at her. "I don't know why," he said shortly. "I suppose I felt sorry for her because Carter was acting like a snob and talking about her like she's a poor relation. It ticked me off."

"She is a poor relation," Courtney pointed out simply. "And you are also a snob."

"Thank you," he said sarcastically. "Are you finished, or do you have some obscure point to make?"

"As a matter of fact, I do have a point to make," Courtney replied. "I saw this movie once, called The Carpetbaggers. In it, there was this rich guy who owned a big movie studio and he spent a fortune making a blond hooker into a major movie star. Do you know why he did it?"

"No, why did he do it?"

"Because he wanted to marry her, but first he had to make her important enough to be worthy of him."

"What the hell has that got to do with anything?"

Courtney shrugged. "It was just a thought."

"If you're implying that I intend to marry Sloan or that I give a damn what people think of her, you're wrong on both counts. Now, go away and let me work."

When she left, Noah reread the first paragraph of the same letter twice; then he tossed it onto his desk and leaned back in his chair, glowering at the field of bluebonnets in the impressionist oil painting on the wall across from him.

He didn't know why he'd forced the issue of Sloan's party when it was counter to his own personal objectives. Tonight, other men would meet her and find her as intoxicating to look at and as entrancing to talk to as he did. They'd recognize the same tantalizing qualities of unconscious beauty and laughing candor that intrigued him, and they'd sense that there was much more to her beneath all that. Considering that he already felt ridiculously possessive about her, the party was a hindrance.

He didn't know why he'd lost his temper with Carter or appointed himself her personal defender, except that there was something so open and unspoiled about her, a kindness and a gentle pride, that he felt absurdly protective of her even where her own father was concerned.