“Not at all.” Coco fluffed her hair. “Just some youthful high spirits. Children, say hello to Mr. St. James.”

“’Lo,” Alex said as he struggled to get his sister into a headlock.

Trent's answering grin struck Coco with inspiration. “Trenton, might I ask you a favor?”

“Of course.”

“All the girls are working today, as you know, and I have just one or two quick, little errands to run. Would you mind terribly keeping an eye on the children for a short time?”

“An eye on them?”

“Oh, they're no trouble at all.” She beamed at him, then down at her grandniece and grandnephew. “Jenny, don't bite your brother. Calhouns fight fair.” Unless they fight dirty, she thought “I'll be back before you know I'm gone,” she promised, easing past him.

“Coco, I'm not sure that I—”

“Oh, and don't forget about the séance tonight.” She hurried down the steps and left him to fend for himself.

Jenny and Alex stopped wrestling to stare owlishly at him. They would right tooth and nail but would unite without hesitation against an outside force.

“We don't like baby-sitters,” Alex told him dangerously.

Trent rocked back on his heels. “I'm already sure I don't like being one.” Alex's arm was around his sister's shoulders now, rather than her neck.

Hers slipped round his waist “We don't like it more.”

Trent nodded. If he could handle a staff of fifty, he could certainly handle two sulky children. “Okay.”

“When we went back to Boston last summer for a visit, we had a sitter.” Jenny eyed him with suspicion. “We made everybody's life a living helL”

Trent turned the chuckle into a cough. “Is that so?”

“Our father said we did,” Alex corroborated. “And he was glad to see the back of us.”

The infant profanity was no longer amusing. Trent struggled to keep the burn of anger out of his eyes and merely nodded. Baxter Dumont was obviously a prince among men. “I once locked my nanny in the closet and climbed out the window.”

Alex and Jenny exchanged interested glances. “That's pretty good,” Alex decided.

“She screamed for two hours,” Trent improvised.

“We put a snake in our baby-sitter's bed and she ran out of the house in her nightgown.” Jenny smiled smugly and waited to see if he could top it.

“Nicely done.” What now? he wondered. “Have you any dolls?” “Dolls are gross,” Jenny said, loyal to her brother.

“Off with their heads!” Alex shouted, sending her into giggles. He sprang up, flourishing his imaginary sword. “I'm the evil pirate, and you're my prisoners.”

“Uh-uh, I had to be prisoner last time.” Jenny scrambled to her feet. “It's my turn to be the evil pirate.”

“I said it first”

She gave him a hefty shove. “Cheater, cheater, cheater.” “Baby, baby, baby,” he jeered, and pushed her back.

“Hold it!” Trent shouted before they could dive for each other. The unfamiliar masculine tone had them stopping in their tracks. “I'm the evil pirate,” he told them, “and you're both about to walk the plank.”

He enjoyed it. Their children's imagination might have been a bit bloodyminded, but they played fair when the rules were set. There would have been any number of people he knew socially who would have been stunned to see Trenton St. James JJI crawling around on the floor or firing a water pistol, but he could remember being closed in on rainy days himself.

The play went from pirates to space marauders to Indian rampage. At the

end of a particularly gruesome battle, the three of them were sprawled on the floor. Alex, rubber tomahawk in hand, played dead so long he fell asleep.

“I won,” Jenny said, then with her feather headdress falling over her eyes, cuddled against Trent's side. She, too, in the enviable way of children, was asleep in moments.

C.C. found them like that. The rain was patting gently at the windows. In the bath down the hall, a drip fell musically into a bucket. Otherwise there was only the sound of gentle, even breathing.

Alex was sprawled on his face, his fingers still clutched over his weapon. In addition to bodies, the floor was scattered with miniature cars, defeated action figures and a few plastic dinosaurs. Avoiding the casualties, she stepped inside.

She wasn't exactly sure what her feelings were at finding Trent sleeping on the floor with her niece and nephew. What she was certain of was that if she hadn't seen it for herself, she wouldn't have believed it.

His tie and shoes were gone, his hair mussed, and there was a streak of damp down his linen shirt.

The tug on her heart was slow and tender and very real. Why, he looked...sweet, she thought, then immediately jammed her hands into her pockets. That was absurd. A man like Trent was never sweet.

Maybe the kids had knocked him unconscious, she mused, and leaned over him. He opened his eyes, stared up at her for a moment, then made some kind of sleepy noise deep in his throat.

“What are you doing?” she whispered.

“I'm not completely sure.” He lifted his head and looked around. Jenny was tucked into the curve of his arm, and Alex was down for the count on the other side. “But I think I'm the only survivor.”

“Where's Aunt Coco?”

“Running a few errands. I'm keeping my eye on the kids.” She lifted a brow. “Oh, I can see that.”

“I'm afraid there was a major battle, and many lives were lost.”

C.C.'s lips twitched as she went to Alex's bed for a blanket. “Who won?”

“Jenny claimed victory.” Gently he slipped his arm out from under her head. “Though Alex will disagree.”

“Undoubtedly.”

“What should we do with them?”

“Oh, we'll keep them, I suppose.”

He grinned back at her. “No, I meant should they be put in bed or something?”

“No.” Expertly she flipped open the blanket and spread it over both of them where they lay. “They'll be fine.” She had a ridiculous urge to slip an arm around his waist and lay her head on his shoulder. She squashed it ruthlessly. “It was nice of you to offer to look after them.”

“I didn't offer precisely. I was dragooned.” “It was still nice of you.”

He caught up with her at the door. “I could use a cup of coffee.”

C.C. hesitated only a moment. “All right. I'll fix it. It looks like you've earned it.” She flicked a glance over her shoulder as she started down the stairs. “How'd your shirt get wet?”

“Oh.” He brushed a hand over it, faintly embarrassed. “A direct hit with a death ray disguised as a water pistol. So, how was your day?”

“Not nearly as adventurous as yours.” She turned into the kitchen and went directly to the stove. “I only rebuilt an engine.”

When the coffee was started, she moved over to light a fire in the kitchen hearth. She had rain in her hair, Trent noticed. He wasn't a lyrical man, but he found himself thinking that the droplets of water looked like a shower of diamonds against the glossy cap.

He'd always preferred women with long hair, he reminded himself. Feminine, soft, wavy. And yet... the style suited C.C, showing off her slender neck, perfectly framing that glorious white skin.

“What are you staring at?”

He blinked, shook his head. “Nothing. Sorry, I was just thinking. It's ah., there's something comforting about a fire in the kitchen.”

“Ktam.” He looked weird, she thought. Maybe it was the lack of a tie. “Do you want milk in your coffee?”

“No, black.”

Her arm brushed his as she walked to the stove. This time it was he who stepped back. “Did Aunt Coco say where she was going?”

Maybe there was static electricity in the air, he thought That would explain the jolt he'd felt when he'd touched her. “Not exactly. It doesn't matter, the kids were entertaining.”

She studied his face as she handed him a mug. “I think you mean it.”

“I do. Maybe I haven't been around children enough to become jaded. Those two are quite a pair.”

“Suzanna's a terrific mother.” Comfortable, she leaned back against the counter as she sipped. “She used to practice on me. So, how's the car running?”

“Better than it has in months.” He toasted her with the mug. “I'm afraid I didn't notice anything was off until after you'd worked on it. I don't really know anything about engines.”

“That's all right. I don't know how to plot a corporate takeover.”

“I was sorry you weren't there when I came around to pick it up. Hank said you'd gone to dinner. I guess you had a good time—you didn't get in until late.”

“I always have a good time with Finney.” She turned around to raid the cookie jar, then offered him one as he tried to ignore the little nip of jealousy.

“An old friend?”

“I guess you could say so.” C.C. took a deep breath and prepared to launch into the speech she had practiced all day. “I'd like to straighten out the business you brought up yesterday.”

“It isn't necessary. I got the picture.”

“I could have explained things without being so hard on you.” He tilted his head, studying her thoughtfully. “You could have?”

“I like to think so.” Determined to wipe the slate clean, she set the coffee aside. “I was embarrassed, and being embarrassed makes me angry. This whole situation is difficult.”

He could still hear, very clearly, the unhappiness in her voice as she had spoken with Suzanna the night before. “I think I'm beginning to understand that.”

Her eyes came back to his, and she sighed. “Well, in any case, I can't help but resent the fact that you want to buy The Towers, or that we might have to let you—but that's a separate thing from Aunt Coco's maneuvers. I think I realized, after I stopped being mad, that you were just as embarrassed as I was. You were just so damned polite.”

“It's a bad habit of mine.”

“You're telling me.” She waved half a cookie at him. “If you hadn't brought up the kiss—”

“I understand that was an error in judgment, but since I'd already

apologized for it, I thought we could deal with it reasonably.” “I didn't want an apology,” C.C. muttered. “Then or now.”

“I see.”

“No, you don't. You certainly don't. What I meant was that an apology was unnecessary. I may be inexperienced by your standards, and I may not be sophisticated like the women you're used to dealing with, but I'm not foolish enough to start weaving daydreams out of one stupid kiss.” She was getting angry again and was determined not to. After one deep, cleansing breath, she tried again. “I'd simply like to put that, and our conversation yesterday behind us, completely and totally. If it turns out that we will have business dealings, it would be wiser all around if we can be civilized.”

“I like you this way.” “What way?”

“When you're not taking potshots at me.”

She finished off her cookie and grinned. “Don't get used to it. All Calhouns have hideous tempers.”

“So I've been warned. Truce?”

“I suppose. Want another cookie?”

He was staring again, she noted, and her own eyes widened when he reached out to brush his fingertips down her hair. “What are you doing?”

“Your hair's wet.” He stroked it again, fascinated. “It smells like wet flowers.”

“Trent—”

He smiled. “Yes?”

“I don't think this is the best way to handle things.”

“Probably not.” But his fingers trailed down through her hair to the nape of her neck. He felt her quick shudder. “I can't quite get you out of my mind. And I keep having these uncontrollable urges to get my hands on you. I wonder why.”

“Because—” she wet her lips “—I irritate you.”

“Oh, you do that, without question.” He pressed those fingers at the back of her neck and had her moving forward an inch. “But not simply in the way you mean. It's not simple at all. Though it should be.” His other hand skimmed over the collar of her denim work shirt, then cupped her chin. “Otherwise, why would I feel this irresistible need to touch you every time I get near you?”

“I don't know.” His fingers, light as a feather, trailed down to where her pulse thudded at the base of her throat. “I wish you wouldn't.”

“Wouldn't what?” “Touch me.”

He slid his hand down her sleeve to her bandaged hand, then lifted it to his lips. “Why?”

“Because you make me nervous.”

Something lit in his eyes, turning them almost black. “You don't even mean to be provocative, do you?”

“I wouldn't know how.” Her eyes fluttered closed on a strangled moan when he brushed his lips over her jawline.