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"Oh, Peachey, I
had
to talk to you. I . . . I told Nick Callahan I'd marry him." She thrust her left hand under Peachey's nose. The diamond flashed with fiery brilliance.

Peachey's eyes widened and she whistled. "Holy Christmas! Are you tryin' to knock my eyes out? That rock must be three carats, at least!" She took Claire's hand and turned it from side to side as she appraised the ring. "I can't even imagine how much this thing cost. It looks like a perfect yellow diamond and those babies are rare." She sighed. "I'd sell my soul to own one of these." Then her eyes narrowed and she put her hands on her hips. "I thought you told me you weren't going to marry him."

Claire couldn't meet Peachey's eyes. She fiddled with her coffee cup and said softly, "I had a change of heart.''

"So I see . . ." Peachey tapped her long, red fingernails against the laminated surface of Claire's round dining table. "And what brought on this change of heart?"

Claire sighed. "Oh, Peachey. I don't know. I thought I had everything all figured out. But yesterday, suddenly, I was just so tired. I kept thinking about my mother, about how happy we used to be. And the more I thought about her, the more I wondered if I was being selfish. After all, lots of people marry for reasons other than love. There's no disgrace in it."

Peachey didn't say anything, just looked at her over the rim of her coffee cup. Her eyes reminded Claire of shiny black onyx as they silently studied her.

Claire squirmed. "Say something."

Peachey smiled and put down her cup. "So you're telling me that you accepted Nick Callahan's offer strictly because of your mother."

"Yes . . ."

"And not because you're the least little bit attracted to the man."

Claire thought about the way she'd felt when Nick kissed her. How she'd wanted him to kiss her. She could feel her face heating. "I—"

"Sugar, if you want to lie to yourself, go right ahead. But this is Peachey, your number-one best friend. I know you too well to believe that you'd marry this guy just to secure your mother's future." She grinned, her eyes sparkling in the morning sunlight. "If you're really going through with this marriage, it's because you're half in love with him already."

* * *

Claire sighed as she gave herself a final inspection that evening. She smoothed down the skirt of her dark green dress. All day she'd thought about what Peachey had said. Was Peachey right?
Was
she half in love with Nick? She shivered as she remembered the expression in his eyes yesterday as they'd stood by his office door.

She hoped she was doing the right thing. She wished she could talk to her mother. If only Kitty could tell her how she felt. But her mother had been a hopeless romantic. Would Kitty tell her not to marry Nick?

Why was it so hard for Claire to let go of that last slender thread of a dream of a marriage like her parents had shared? Her parents had been so happy together. Claire closed her eyes, images from earlier days crowding together in her mind. Her father, bringing home a bunch of daisies and Kitty running to meet him, her eyes sparkling with joy and love. The way he'd sneak up behind her mother when Kitty was in the kitchen, snake his arms around her waist, and lower his head to kiss and nibble on her neck. Kitty would blush and giggle and say, "John, stop it," but Claire knew her mother liked it. And Claire liked it, too. She liked the warm, happy feeling she got in her stomach when she watched her parents together. They made her feel safe and special and loved.

If she married Nick, what would their life together be like? Would she ever know times of intense happiness, the kind of happiness her parents had known, without having the kind of love they'd had? Could she share a physical relationship without sharing an emotional one? Could she make love with Nick if they weren't in love?

Tonight would be their first night together as an engaged couple. She squeezed her eyes shut. Right or wrong, she'd made up her mind. She wouldn't change it.

Her doorbell rang promptly at seven. Her heart began to race. Taking a deep breath, she put a bright smile on her face and opened the door. She was startled to see Nick's driver standing there.

"Gordon!"

"Mr. Callahan asked me to pick you up," Gordon said.

"Oh." This was different, Claire thought as she put on her lined raincoat and picked up her purse. She knew that Nick had a fascination with expensive and beautiful cars and normally preferred to drive himself around in the evenings. He'd told her he owned a silver Lotus, a black Jaguar, a red Maserati, and a dark blue Porsche.

"Where are we going, Gordon?" she asked.

"My instructions are to take you to Mr. Callahan's home, Ms. Kendrick."

Mr. Callahan's home. Her stomach fluttered as she thought about spending the evening in the intimacy of Nick's home. Thirty minutes later, as they pulled into the circular driveway, and Claire got her first look at the River Oaks mansion, she smiled a wry smile. Intimate? This great sand-colored brick edifice looked more like a medieval castle than an intimate home—complete with circular tower at one end. All it needed was a moat, she thought, as Gordon helped her from the car and up the shallow front steps to the double mahogany doors.

As they reached the top step, the doors opened wide, and a smiling maid greeted them. Within moments, Claire was ushered into an immense formal living room and Nick was walking forward to greet her. He took her hands, smiling down at her, and her breath caught. He was wearing a soft suede jacket in a beautiful shade of cinnamon with a creamy open-necked shirt underneath.

He bent to brush her cheek in greeting, and his cologne, something that smelled of mountains and forests, drifted over her. "Welcome to my home," he said.

Although her stomach felt hollow, she spoke lightly. "You took it literally, didn't you?"

He frowned, a quizzical smile on his face. "Took what literally?"

"A man's home is his castle."

He laughed out loud. "It
is
ridiculous, isn't it?"

"Actually, I'm impressed. As a little girl, I loved fairy tales, and this place really reminds me of the castle Rapunzel lived in. I can just see her up in that tower with her hair hanging down."

He continued to chuckle. "Well, good. I'm glad this place appeals to you. After all, it's going to be your home soon."

Her home. Their home. Claire evaded his eyes. She could feel herself blushing.

Nick motioned to one of the leather sofas on either side of the fireplace. "Would you like a glass of wine?"

For Claire, the rest of the evening passed in a blur of sensory images: the crackle and hiss of the fire burning brightly in the great stone fireplace; the sensuous feel of the butter-soft leather covering the deep-cushioned sofas; the rich patina of the polished oak tables; the combined scents of furniture polish, fresh cut flowers, and burning cedar; the jewel tones of the beautiful Oriental carpets covering the stone-tiled floor; the sparkle of the crystal decanter as Nick poured her a glass of wine; the poetry of Mozart's "Eine Kleine Nachtmusik" playing softly in the background; the glow of candlelight over Nick's rugged, tanned face; and then later, the delicious dinner of lamb and new potatoes and tiny creamed peas; the tang of dark burgundy wine; the tinkle of silver against china; the whispery footsteps of the dark-haired maid who served them; and always, always, the vibrant blue of Nick's eyes as they watched her with an intoxicating intensity.

All Claire's doubts, all her problems receded, and she allowed herself to fall under the spell of the magical house.

And after dinner, when Nick took her on a tour, Claire felt more and more as if she'd entered a time warp. The rooms were all high-ceilinged and filled with priceless antiques and rich, beautiful fabrics and upholstery. Breathtaking Impressionist paintings glowed from the walls. Everywhere Claire looked she saw elegance and grace and beauty. And this was Nick's home. The home they would soon share.

And then he took her into the tower. The bottom level of the tower was a beautiful room that was obviously Nick's study.

"I've saved the best for last," he said, guiding her to the stairway in the middle of the room.

With him behind her, Claire climbed a twisting circular stairway to the room at the top. She took one look and fell hopelessly in love with the exquisite room circled by wide windows on all sides. It was furnished as a sitting room, and there was an intricately carved writing desk positioned under one of the windows, a Tiffany lamp throwing a circle of golden light on its shining top. Like a woman in a trance, Claire walked slowly over to the desk and rubbed her fingertips across the burnished surface.

A bittersweet yearning filled her. She could see herself sitting at the desk, writing letters and gazing out the window, daydreaming about . . . Nick. She could see herself curled up on one of the chintz-covered window seats, reading and listening to music while she waited for him to finish the work he'd brought home and climb the stairs to join her. She could see them sitting together on the plush loveseat while they discussed their respective days. She could see his dark head dipping as he nuzzled her neck ... his strong, tanned hand moving up her ribcage to touch her. . . .

"It's wonderful," she said, hardly able to speak, her heart lodged somewhere in her throat, her breasts tingling from the imagined caress. She couldn't meet his eyes. She was afraid he'd know exactly what she'd been thinking.

"It's even better this way," he said softly. He reached to shut off the lamp. Suddenly, the room was a part of the navy night. Moonlight pooled at their feet, and everywhere Claire looked she could see stars. When he gently turned her to face him, his eyes glittering in the dark, she offered no resistance. How could she? This was what she'd been thinking about.

She closed her eyes and lifted her face, and when his cool, firm lips met hers, she sighed, her breath mingling with his.

He kissed her gently at first, his lips just grazing hers, his hands on either side of her face. But then the kiss grew more insistent, and he drew her closer, fitting her body tightly along the length of his. His mouth was heat and warmth and dark delight, and as the kiss deepened, desire spiraled through her as she arched against him. She shuddered as his hands stroked her, igniting nerve endings wherever they touched.

The kiss went on and on, and she felt as if she were one with the stars surrounding them—a shooting star rocketing through the universe. All thought disappeared. There was only the taste and smell and feel of Nick: holding her, kissing her, claiming her, and the starry night around them, closing them in its velvet embrace.

"Claire," he finally whispered, breaking the kiss, his breathing ragged. "Beautiful Claire." His lips dropped to her neck.

Claire's head spun. "Nick, I—"

He straightened. Very gently, he placed one finger against her lips. "Shhh. Not tonight. Tomorrow is soon enough to talk, don't you think?" And then he took her hand and led her down the steps and out of the tower to the entry hall. "Wait here." He disappeared and Claire tried to get her chaotic emotions under some semblance of control.

Her senses were still reeling from his devastating kiss, but she knew she had to pull herself together. She couldn't let him see how much his kiss had affected her. Minutes later, he returned, carrying her coat. As he held it up, then helped her put it on, his hands lingered on her shoulders just a moment longer than necessary, and Claire's traitorous heart skittered around in her chest.

But he didn't try to kiss her again. And all the way home, as she sat only inches away from him in the dark intimacy of the Lotus, he didn't once try to touch her. Instead, he inserted a cassette into the tape player and as the delicate strains of Debussy's "Claire de Lune" surrounded them, he said softly, "Put your head back and relax. It's been a long day."

When they reached her apartment, he helped her out of the car and followed her up the steep steps to her apartment. Claire's breathing quickened as she turned to say good-bye. As their eyes met, all she could think about was how it had felt to be held in his arms, to have him kiss her.

"Good-night, Claire," he murmured. "Sweet dreams."

"Good-night, Nick." Her heart thundered in her chest as his head dipped. She closed her eyes. But his lips just brushed her cheek.

"I'll call you tomorrow," he said. And then he was gone.

"You're what?"

Nick gave Tim a level look. "You heard me."

"But I can't believe I heard you correctly!" "What can't you believe about it?" Nick twirled his pen between his fingers. He thought about the weekend and smiled.

"You can't be serious. You're joking, right?" "I'm not joking. On Friday night Claire Kendrick accepted my proposal of marriage. Yesterday, we finalized the details. We're planning to be married in June."

"Nick!" Tim shoved his hair back from his forehead, his action a giveaway to his agitation. "Are you nuts? You've known the woman less than a month." He grimaced. "I thought that angel-faced innocence of hers was too good to be true, and it looks as if I'm right. She certainly is a fast worker. I can't believe she managed to fool you, and so quickly."

"She didn't fool me. This is completely my doing," Nick said mildly. He wasn't angry. He'd expected this reaction from Tim, who had some idea he was Nick's protector. "I've thought it over very carefully. She suits me perfectly." He went on to explain the terms he and Claire had agreed upon the previous afternoon. He smiled remembering Claire's reaction to his plans. It pleased him that she seemed to expect so little. In his experience most people were out for all they could get, but Claire seemed to be that rarity—a person without greed.

"Wait a minute. Let me get this straight. You're telling me this is strictly a business relationship? Christ, Nick, you could have any woman you wanted. You don't have to bargain for a wife."

"All the women I know want to control me . . . and my money."

"And you think this Kendrick woman is any different?"