Night Whispers (Second Opportunities 3)

Courtney, however, was running out of patience. "I think I should rescue her," she announced. "Carter has dragged her through the entire crowd."

"Stay put," Noah ordered her. "He'll bring her here in a few minutes."

"Here she comes, and without Carter, thank heavens!" Courtney happily announced a few minutes later; then she scowled as several of Noah's friends figured out Sloan's destination and began heading toward them. "And here come the wolves right after her, including our rather. It's disgusting." She solved that problem by turning her back on the pack of men, including Noah; then she stepped forward and put herself between Sloan and everyone else.

"Hi, Sloan," she said with a grin. "Noah said you wanted me to come, so here I am. I even got dressed up for the occasion, did you notice?" she asked, holding her skirts out to the side to give Sloan the full effect.

Sloan took in her ensemble, which consisted of an old-fashioned prom dress trimmed in lace, long satin gloves with no fingers, and a pair of army combat boots. She looked so outrageous, and so adorable, that Sloan burst out laughing and enfolded her in an impulsive hug. "I'm so glad you're here!"

"Yes, but how do you like my outfit?"

"It's—it's you," Sloan replied.

"Mrs. Reynolds said I look like an overdressed refugee."

"She's very old and I don't think she sees well," Sloan said, choking back a horrified laugh.

"Aren't you going to say hello to Noah?"

Sloan had been thinking of little else since the party began, but now that the time was here, she felt self-conscious. Raising her eyes to his, she said softly, "Hello."

"Hello," he replied, his gray eyes glinting with admiration.

"You really ought to give Noah a hug, too," Courtney prodded. "You won't believe what he did to pull off this whole party just for you."

"What do you mean?" Sloan knew he'd urged Carter to have the party and she knew his secretary had worked very hard to make the arrangements, but she had no idea he'd done more than that until Courtney provided her with more of the details:

"Noah shut down the main restaurant in one of his hotels, because we needed the tables and chairs over here, and you can just bet there isn't a flower left in that hotel either. See that huge flower arrangement over there on the banquet table where all the food is?"

With an effort, Sloan tore her gaze from Noah's amused gray eyes and looked in the direction Courtney was pointing. "Yes, I see it."

"Well, this morning, that giant bouquet was on a big table in the lobby—"

"Stop it, Courtney."

She ignored him. "It's the truth. And I'll bet there's not a napkin or a waiter or a fork left in the whole pi—"

Chuckling, Noah reached behind her and gently put his hand over his sister's mouth, muffling the rest of her enthusiastic recitation. "The last time I asked you to dance," he said to Sloan, "you turned me down. What do you think my chances are tonight?"

Sloan was profoundly touched by all the trouble he'd gone to for her, and she was already sinking into the spell of his deep voice and silver eyes. "I'd say they're awfully good," she said softly.

As Sloan stepped into his arms on the dance floor, she had her first clear, full-length view of him in the torchlight, and her breath stopped. His elegant, midnight blue suit fit his tall, splendid frame to perfection, hugging his broad shoulders and narrow hips, and outlining his long legs. Against the bronzed tan of his throat, his shirt was as dazzlingly white as the smile that drifted across his face when he slid his hand around her back and moved her close against his full length. "Are you pleased with your party?" he asked as the orchestra began to play "Someone to Watch Over Me."

"Very pleased," Sloan said softly, trying not to notice how his legs felt against hers, or how solid his arm was beneath her hand, or how much his deep voice was affecting her. "I don't know how to thank you for it."

His heavy-lidded gaze fixed meaningfully on her lips. "We'll have to think of a way."

Sloan sought desperate refuge in humor. "I suppose I could give you self-defense lessons."

His silver eyes returned to hers, and his lips quirked in a half-smile. "Am I going to need them?"

"It's possible. I'm a lot tougher than I look."

"So am I."

Sloan's mouth went dry.

She was so confused by what was happening to her that she scarcely noticed how easily she danced with him or how effortlessly their bodies moved in rhythm to the sweet, familiar melody. She told herself her attraction to him was dangerous and had to stop, but when Noah's hand slid down her back and his fingers splayed on her spine, shifting her closer to him, she forgot the danger. She told herself it was only a dance, and that he probably didn't realize what he was doing.

Noah knew exactly what he was doing, and he was already thinking of doing much more. He watched the torchlight turn her hair to molten gold; she smelled like flowers, and dancing with her was like dancing with a cloud. As the music ended, she moved a little away from him and looked up, and Noah gazed at a face that was beginning to mesmerize him with its delicately carved cheeks, dainty nose, and dark-lashed, violet eyes. "After the party is over, I'll take Courtney and my father home, then I'll come back. Meet me on the beach."

"Why?" Sloan asked shakily.

"We'll invent a reason when we're there," he told her with a mocking smile.

His "reason" was as clear to Sloan as her realization that he wanted her to understand it in advance.

Paul and Paris had been dancing together, and when the couples met near the edge of the dance floor, Paul suggested they change partners.

"Noah—" Sloan said as he started away.

Startled by the sound of her soft voice saying his name, Noah stopped and turned. "Yes?"

"It would be nice if you'd ask Courtney to dance soon."

"Courtney?" he repeated, the thought of asking her to dance having never, ever occurred to him. With amused dread, Noah contemplated Courtney's combat boots, but he nodded. "I will."

When the dance was over, he located Courtney nearby. Fully expecting her to scoff at his invitation—and half hoping she would—Noah said, "Miss Maitland, would you like to dance?"

She gaped. "With you?"

"No, with the waiter," he said dryly; then he realized she was already bending down and unlacing one of her boots. Before she unlaced the second boot, she hesitated and looked up at him. "You're serious, right?"