He wasn't able to take his eyes off her. The way the clusters at her ears shot fire. The way the candlelight flickered dreamily in her eyes. But all through the evening, he had felt as though she had blocked off a part of herself, the most important part of herself. And he might never see the whole woman again.

“My home?”

“Yes, where you live.”

“It's just a house.” It occurred to him quite suddenly that it didn't mean a thing to him. An excellent investment, that was all. “It's only a few minutes from the office.”

“That's convenient. Have you lived there long?”

“About five years. Actually, I bought it from my father when he and his third wife split They decided to liquidate some assets.”

“I see.” And she was very much afraid that she did. “Does your mother live in Boston, too?”

“No. She travels. Being tied down to one place doesn't agree with her.”

“Sounds like Great-Aunt Colleen.” C.C. smiled over the rim of her cup. “That's my father's aunt, or Bianca's oldest child.”

“Bianca,” he mused, and thought again of that moment when he'd felt that soft and soothing warmth over his and C.C.'s joined hands.

“She lives on cruise ships. Every now and again we get a postcard from some port of call. Aruba or Madagascar. She's eighty-something, obsessively single and mean as a shark with a hangover. We all live in fear that she might decide to visit.”

“I didn't realize you had any relatives living other than Coco and your sisters.” His brows drew together. “She might know something about the necklace.”

“Great-Aunt Colleen?” Considering it, CC. pursed her lips. “I doubt it. She was a child when Bianca died, and spent most of her girlhood in boarding schools.” Without thinking, she pulled off her earrings and massaged the tender lobes. Desire spread like brushfire through Trent's blood. “Anyway, if we could find her—which isn't likely—and mentioned the whole business, she'd probably come steaming back to hack away at the walls. She doesn't have any love for The Towers, but she has a great deal for money.”

“She doesn't sound like a relative of yours.”

“Oh, we have a number of oddities in our family closet.” After dropping the earrings into her bag, she leaned an elbow on the table. “Great-Uncle Sean— he was Bianca's youngest—was shot climbing out of his married paramour's window. One of his paramours, I should say. He survived, then took off for the West Indies, never to be heard of again. That was sometime during the thirties. Ethan, my grandfather, lost the bulk of the family fortune on cards and horses. Gambling was his weakness, and that's what killed him. He had a wager that he could sail from Bar Harbor to Newport and back within six days. He made it to Newport, and was heading back ahead of schedule when he ran into a squall and was lost at sea. Which meant he lost his last bet as well.”

“They sound like an adventurous pair.”

“They were Calhouns,” CC. explained, as if that said it all.

“I'm sorry the St. Jameses don't have anything to compare with it.”

“Ah, well. I've always wondered if Bianca would have stepped back from that tower window if she'd known how messed up her children would become.” C.C. looked thoughtfully out to where lights played on the dark water. “She must have loved her artist very much.”

“Or was very unhappy in her marriage.”

C.C. looked back. “Yes, there is that. Maybe we should head back. It's getting late.” She started to rise, remembered, then slid her bare foot around the floor beneath the table.

“What is it?”

“I've lost my shoes.” So much, she thought, for the sophisticated image.

Trent bent down to look himself and got an eyeful of long, slim leg. “Ah...” He cleared his throat and trained his eyes on the floor. “Here you go.” He took both, then straightening, smiled at her. “Put your foot out I'll give you a hand.” He watched her as he slipped the shoes onto her feet and remembered that he'd once thought she would never stand for being a Cinderella. He trailed his finger up her instep and caught the flicker in her eyes. The flicker of desire that, no matter what common sense told him, he very much wanted.

“Have I mentioned that you have truly incredible legs?”

“No.” She had one hand balled in a fist at her side and struggled to concentrate on it rather than the sensations his touch had spurting through her. “It's nice of you to notice.”

“It's difficult not to. They're the only ones I've known that look sexy in coveralls.”

Ignoring the thud of her own heart, she leaned toward him. “That reminds me.”

He could kiss her now, he thought. He had only to shift a mere inch to have his mouth on hers, where he wanted it. “What?”

“I don't think your shocks have more than another couple thousand miles on them.” With a smile, she rose. “I'd look into that when you get home.” Pleased with herself, C.C. started out ahead of him.

When they settled in the car, she congratulated herself. A very successful evening all in all, she thought. Maybe he wasn't miserable, as she was, but she was damn sure she'd made him uncomfortable a time or two. He'd go back to Boston the next day.... She turned to stare out the window until she was certain she could deal with the pain. He'd go back, but he wouldn't forget her quickly or easily. His last impression of her would be one of a composed, self-contained woman in a sexy red dress. Better, C.C. decided, much better than the picture of a mechanic in coveralls with grease on her hands.

More importantly, she'd proven something to herself. She could love, and she could let go.

She looked up as the car started to climb. She could see the shadowy peaks of the two towers spearing into the night sky. Trent slowed the car as he looked, as well.

“The light's on in Bianca's tower.”

“Lilah,” C.C. murmured. “She often sits up there.” She thought of her sister sitting by the window, looking out into the night. “You won't tear it down, will you?”

“No.” Understanding more than she knew, he closed his hand over hers. “I promise you it won't be torn down.”

The house disappeared as the road curved away, then all but filled the view. They could hear the beat and slap of the sea as they looked at it. Lights were sprinkled on throughout, glowing against the dull gray stone. A slender shadow moved in front of the tower window, stood for a moment, then slid away.

Inside, Lilah called down the stairs. 'They're back.” Four women raced to the windows to peer out.

“We shouldn't spy on them,” Suzanna murmured, but moved the curtain aside a bit more.

“We're not.” Amanda strained her eyes. “We're just checking, that's all. Can you see anything?”

“They're still in the car,” Coco complained. “How are we supposed to see what's going on if they're going to sit in the car?”

“We could use our imaginations.” Lilah shook her hair back. “If that man isn't begging her to go to Boston with him, then he really is a jerk.”

“To Boston?” Alarmed, Suzanna glanced over. “You don't think she'd go to Boston, do you?”

“She'd go to the Ukraine if he had the sense to ask her,” Amanda commented. “Look, they're getting out.”

“Maybe if we just cracked a window a little bit, we could hear—” “Aunt Coco, that's ridiculous.” Lilah clucked her tongue.

“You're right, of course.” Color tinged Coco's cheek.

“Of course I'm right. They'd hear the windows creak if we tried.” Grinning, she pressed her face against the glass. “We'll just have to read their lips.”

“This was nice,” C.C. said as she stepped out of the car. “I haven't been out to dinner in a while.”

“You had dinner with Finney.”

She gave him a blank look, then laughed. “Oh, Finney, sure.” The breeze played with her bangs as she smiled. “You've got quite a memory.”

“Some things seem to stick to it.” The jealousy he felt was, unfortunately, no memory. “Doesn't he ever take you out?”

“Finney? No, I just go to his place.”

Frustrated, Trent jammed his hands into his pockets. “He should take you out.”

She smothered a chuckle as the image of old Albert Finney escorting her to a restaurant ran through her mind. “I'll be sure to mention it to him.” She turned to start up the steps.

“Catherine, don't go in yet.” He took her hands. At the windows four pairs of eyes narrowed. “It's late, Trent.”

“I don't know if I'll see you again before I leave.”

It took all her strength to keep her eyes steady. “Then we'll say goodbye now.”

“I need to see you again.”

“The shop's open at eight-thirty. I'll be there.”

“Damn it, C.C., you know what I mean.” His hands were on her shoulders now.

“No, I don't.”

“Come to Boston.” He blurted it out, shocking himself while she stood calmly waiting.

“Why?”

To give himself a moment to find control again, he stepped back. “I could show you around.” How much more inane could he get? Trent wondered. How much more beautiful could she look? “You said you'd never been. We could...have some time together.”

Inside her wrap, she shivered, but her voice was calm and smooth. “Are you asking me to come to Boston and have an affair with you?”

“No. Yes. Oh, Lord. Just wait.” He turned to pace a few steps away and breathe.

Inside, Lilah smiled. “Why, he's in love with her after all, but he's too stupid to know it.”

“Shh!” Coco waved a hand. “I can almost hear what they're saying.” She had an ear at the base of the water glass she pressed up to the window.

At the bottom of the steps, Trent tried again. “Nothing I begin ends the way I expect it to when I'm with you.” He turned back. She was still standing with the house behind her, the dress glimmering like liquid tire in the dark. “I know I have no business asking you, and I didn't intend to. I intended to say a very civil goodbye and let you go.”