Night Whispers

by Judith McNaught

  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.

  28

  “Late night?” Paris asked cheerfully, perching on the side of Sloan’s bed, already dressed for the day.

  Sloan rolled over onto her back. “Very late,” she said with a sleepy smile, thinking of Noah. “What time is it?”

  “Ten-thirty.”

  “That late!”

  Paris nodded. “It’s lucky I remembered to tell Dishler not to turn on the security system when he went to bed. Otherwise, you’d have tripped the alarm when you walked past the infrared beams at the edge of the yard by the beach.”

  Sloan’s eyes widened. She hadn’t given a thought to setting off the house’s security system last night. In fact, she hadn’t given a thought to how she was going to get inside until she was reaching for the back door and found it unlocked. She could imagine how thrilled Carter would have been if the house sirens had gone off, the lights had all gone on, and he’d got up to discover she’d been with Noah.

  “I’ll get you a house key and a gate opener this morning. There’s a keypad at the gates, and you can turn the alarm system off there by entering a security code. If you don’t, you’ll trip the alarm when you drive past the first set of infrared beams. They surround the property on all sides, so there’s no way to sneak past them.”

  She told Sloan what the alarm code was, and Sloan nodded, but she didn’t want Paris to think she normally behaved as she had last night, or that she intended to continue. “I don’t intend to make a habit out of . . . that,” she said awkwardly, levering herself into a sitting position.

  “Really?” Paris teased. “Well, ‘that’ has already telephoned this morning to make arrangements for tonight.”

  “He did?” Sloan asked, unable to hide her happy smile.

  “Yes, and the four of us are having dinner tonight,” she said, sounding girlishly delighted about the plans. “The dress is formal, black tie, but the destination is unknown. Noah’s driver will pick us up just before sunset. That’s about all he would tell me.”

  Sloan drew her knees to her chest and wrapped her arms around them. “What about you—did you have a good time last night?”

  Paris nodded. “Paul makes me laugh, and he’s comfortable to be with, but he said the strangest thing to me while we were dancing.”

  “What did he say?” Sloan asked, enjoying the cozy sisterly discussion of men.

  “He said I intrigued him because I have so many layers. I—I’m not certain he meant it as a compliment.”

  “How could he mean it as anything else?” said Sloan so emphatically and loyally that they both laughed, but Paris’s next statement made Sloan’s smile fade.

  “The interesting thing is,” Paris continued, “I think Paul is the one with a lot of layers, don’t you?”

  “I . . . don’t know.”

  “I’m pretty ce
rtain I’m right. I notice tiny little things about people that other people overlook. Father always says I can spot a phony across the room.”

  “Except for Henry,” Sloan pointed out swiftly, referring to Paris’s dishonest fiancé.

  “True,” Paris admitted with a wry smile. “And I didn’t mean to imply that I think Paul is a phony, because I don’t—not at all.”

  Sloan wasn’t completely convinced Paris didn’t think that. Torn between trying to change the subject or open it up further, Sloan reluctantly chose the latter. “What do you notice about Paul that seems unusual?”

  “For one thing, men always like to talk about themselves, but Paul doesn’t. What’s more, he’s so good at asking questions, and so attentive when you answer, that you never quite realize he’s done all the listening and you’ve done all the talking. Now, if he were shy, I’d understand that, but he isn’t shy at all. And that’s another thing I find kind of unusual . . .”

  “What do you mean?” Sloan said a little weakly.

  “I mean he’s not the least bit intimidated by anyone he’s met, not even Father, who always intimidates younger men who aren’t as—well—successful as he is.”

  “I’m not intimidated by him,” Sloan pointed out.

  “No, but men judge themselves on their accomplishments and wealth, and we don’t.”

  She was so direct and perceptive that Sloan was having a hard time equating this Paris with the reticent sister she’d come to know.

  “There’s one more thing. Paul is in the insurance business, and Father has been grumbling about the cost of the group insurance policies for his employees at the bank. Yet, when I gave Paul an opening with Father to talk about selling us one of their group plans, Paul didn’t take advantage of it.”

  “Maybe he thought it would be bad manners to try to sell insurance to his host.”

  “It wouldn’t have been, because I brought it up, not Paul.”

  “Maybe Paul was embarrassed that you did.”

  “I don’t think Paul embarrasses very easily.”