Trent wasn't certain where the leak had come from, though he wasn't surprised by it As he'd expected, his lawyers had grumbled over the clause Lilah had insisted on. Whispers of emeralds had sneaked down the hallways. It was only natural that they would find their way onto the street and into print.

Newspapers and tabloids had been rife with speculation on the Calhoun emeralds for more than a week. They'd been termed priceless and tragic and legendary—all the right adjectives to ensure more newsprint.

Fergus Calhoun's business exploits had been rehashed, along with his wife's suicide. An enterprising reporter had even managed to track down Colleen Calhoun aboard a cruise ship in the Ionian Sea. The grande dame's pithy reply had been printed in italics.

“Humbug. ''

He wondered if C.C. had seen the papers. Of course, she had, he thought. Just as she'd probably been hounded by the press.

How was she taking it? Was she hurt and miserable, forced to answer questions when some nosy reporter stuck a tape recorder in her face? He smiled a little. Forced? He imagined she'd throw a dozen reporters out of the garage if they had the nerve to try.

God, he missed her. And missing her was eating him alive. He woke up each morning wondering what she was doing. He went to bed each night to toss restlessly as thoughts of her invaded his brain. When he slept, she was in his dreams. She was his dream.

Three weeks, he thought. He should have adjusted by now. Yet every day that he was here and she was somewhere else, it got worse.

The revised contracts for the sale of The Towers were sitting on his desk. He should have signed them days ago. Yet he couldn't make himself take that final step. The last time he had looked at them, he had only been able to focus on three words.

Catherine Colleen Calhoun.

He'd read it over and over, remembering the first time she'd told him her name, tossing it at him as though it had been a weapon. She'd had grease on her face, Trenton remembered. And fire in her eyes.

Then he would think of other times, odd moments, careless words. The way she had scowled at him from her perch on the arm of the sofa while he'd had tea with Coco. The look on her face when they'd stood on the terrace together, watching the sea. How perfectly her mouth had fit to his when he had kissed her under an arbor of wisteria not yet in bloom.

It would be blooming now, he mused. Those first fragrant flowers would be opening. Would she think of him at all when she walked there?

If she did, he was very much afraid the thoughts wouldn't be kind.

She'd cursed him when she'd seen him last She'd leveled those deep green eyes at him and had hoped that the kiss, the last kiss they'd shared, would keep him up at night He doubted even she could know how completely her wish had come true.

Rubbing his tired eyes, he walked back to his desk. It was, as always, in perfect order. As his business was—as his life had been.

Things had changed, he was forced to admit. He had changed, but perhaps he hadn't changed so completely. Once again, he picked up the contracts to study them. He was still a skilled and organized businessman, one who knew how to maneuver a deal and make it work to his advantage.

He picked up his pen and tapped it lightly on the papers. A germ of an idea had rooted in his mind a few days before. Now he sat quietly and let it form, shift, realign.

It was unusual, he considered. Maybe even mildly eccentric, but...but, he thought as a smile began to curve his mouth, if he played his cards right, it could work. It was his job to make it work. Slowly he let out a long breath. It might just be the most important deal of his life.

He picked up the phone and, employing all of the St. James clout, began to turn the first wheels.

Hank finished sanding the fender on the '69 Mustang, then stood back to admire his work. “Coming along just fine,” he called to C.C.

She glanced over, but her hands were full with the brake shoes she was replacing above her head. “It's going to be a beauty. I'm glad we got the shot at reconditioning it.”

“You want me to start on the primer?”

She swore as brake fluid dripped onto her cheek. “No. You told me three times today that you've got a hot date tonight. Get cleaned up and take off.”

“Thanks.” But he'd been too well trained to leave without replacing tools and material. “You found another house yet?”

“No.” She ignored the sudden ache in her stomach and concentrated on her work. “We're all going out tomorrow to look.”

“Won't be the same, not having Calhouns in The Towers. Sure is something about that necklace, though. Papers are full of stories about it.”

“They'll die down.” She hoped.

“Guess if you find it, you'd be millionaires. You could retire and move to Florida.”

Despite her mood, she had to chuckle. “Well, we haven't found it yet.” Just the receipt, she mused, which Lilah had unearthed during her one and only shift in the storeroom. “Florida'll have to wait. The brakes won't.”

“Guess I'll be going. Want me to lock up the office?” “Go ahead. Have a good time.”

He went out whistling, and C.C. stopped a moment to rest her arms and neck. She wished she'd been able to keep Hank around a while longer, for company, for the distraction. Even if he rambled on about the house and the necklace, he helped keep her mind occupied.

No matter how loudly she played the radio, once she was alone, there was too much silence.

They would hear from the lawyer any day. Perhaps Aunt Coco had gotten a call from Stridley that afternoon, telling her that the contracts had been signed and a settlement date set.

Would Trent come to the settlement? she wondered. No, no, of course not. He would send a representative, and that was for the best.

Besides, she had too much to do to worry about it. House hunting, the search through old papers for a clue to the emeralds' whereabouts, the classic Mustang she intended to baby along to gleaming perfection. She barely had a moment to catch her breath much less brood about seeing Trent over the settlement table.

If only it would stop hurting, even for a few moments.

It would get better, she told herself as she returned to the brake job. It had to. After they'd found a new house and settled in. After the talk of the necklace had died away. Everything would get back to normal—or what she would have to accept as normal. If the ache never completely went away, then she would learn to live with it.

She had her family. Together, they could handle anything.

Her shoulders were stiff by the time she'd finished. Rolling them a little, she started to step out from under the car when she realized the radio had stopped playing. She glanced over. And saw Trent standing by the workbench. The wrench she was holding clattered to the floor.

“What are you doing here?”

“Waiting for you to finish.” She looked fabulous, was all he could think. Absolutely fabulous. “How are you?”

“Busy.” Rocked from the pain, she turned to hit a button on the wall. The lift groaned as it brought the car down. “You're here about the house, I guess.”

“Yes, you could say that's a large part of it.” “We've been expecting to hear from the lawyer.” “I know.”

When the car was settled, she took a rag and wiped her hands, keeping her eyes on them. “Amanda's handling the details. She's at the BayWatch if you need to discuss anything.”

“What I need to discuss concerns you. Us.”

She looked up, then took a quick step back when she realized he'd moved over to stand next to her. “I really don't have anything else to say to you.”

“Okay, then I'll do the talking. In just a minute.”

He moved fast. Still, she was certain if she'd been expecting it, she could have evaded him. She wasn't certain she would have tried.

It felt so good, so right, to have his mouth covering hers, his hands framing her face. Her pride faltered long enough to have her reaching up to grasp his wrists, holding on as she let her needs flow into the kiss.

“I've thought about doing that for three and a half weeks,” he murmured. She squeezed her eyes tight. “Go away, Trent.”

“Catherine—”

“Damn you, I said go away.” She yanked free, then turned to brace her palms on the bench. “I hate you for coming here, for making a fool out of me again.”

“You're not the fool. You never were.”

When his hand brushed lightly over her shoulder, she snatched up a hammer and whirled. “If you touch me again, so help me, I'll break your nose.”

He looked at her. The fire was in her eyes again. “Thank God. You're back.” Delighted but cautious, he held up a hand. “Just listen, please. Business first.”

“My business with you is settled.”

“There's been a change in the plans.” He plucked some change out of the can on the bench. “Can I buy you a drink?”

“No. Say what you have to say, then get out.”

With a shrug, he strolled over to the soft drink machine and plugged in the change. It was then that C.C. noticed he was wearing scuffed high-tops.

“What are those?” she asked, staring at them.

“These?” Trent grinned as he popped the top on the can. “New shoes. What do you think?” When she simply gaped, he took a long drink. “I know, not quite the usual image, but things change. A number of things have changed. Would you mind putting down that hammer?”

“What? Oh. All right.” She set it aside. “You said plans had changed. Does that mean you've decided not to buy The Towers?”

“Yes and no. Would you rather go into the office to discuss this?” “Damn it, Trent, just tell me what's going on.”