Night Whispers Read online

  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