He flushed and mumbled something before slinking away with his tail between his legs.

She bit down on the inside of her lip, making a little raw place. He had been harmless, and she could have let him down easily. When had she become so unforgivably cruel?

"Quite a performance." A crisp, male voice spoke from behind her.

She never forgot a handsome face, and it didn't take her long to place Mitchell Blaine. The day of her father's funeral had been a blur, but she could still remember him standing at Susannah's side. He was blunt-featured, good-looking. And proper. God, was he proper. She bet he had a drawer full of perfect attendance Sunday school pins stuck away at home.

"Glad you liked it," she replied.

"I didn't like it at all. He's a nice kid."

Screw him. Screw everybody. Not a bad idea, as a matter of fact. She drained her glass. "You want to get out of here and go to bed with me?"

"Not particularly. I like women in my bed. Not children." His eyes were light blue, cold and unsmiling.

Anger rushed through her. "You bastard. Nobody talks to me like that. Do you know who I am?" Her words echoed in her ears-petulant and obnoxious. She wanted to erase them so she could say different words, words that would turn her into someone else, someone sweet and warm.

"I imagine you're Paige Faulconer. I was told that you'd been invited."

She maintained her lofty bitchy pose. "And doesn't that mean anything to you?"

"Just that the gossip I've heard is true."

"What gossip?"

"That you're a spoiled, rude little girl who should have been turned over somebody's knee a long time ago."

"Kinky. Want to give it a try?" She gave him a phony, moist-lipped smile.

"I think I'll pass. I already have two children, and I don't need another."

She didn't let him see by so much as a flicker of an eyelash how humiliated she felt. Instead, she let her words drip with condescension. "You're married. How unfortunate."

"Why? I can't imagine what possible difference that could make to you."

She swept her eyes down over his body, then lingered for one long moment on his proper, gray-flannel-clad crotch. "I don't do married men."

To her astonishment, he laughed, a short bark of sound. "But I'll bet you do everybody else, don't you?"

His amusement infuriated her. Nobody laughed at her. Nobody. But before she could come up with a sufficiently cutting reply, he touched her chin with his index finger and said softly, "Ease up, honey. Life's good."

"Mitch?"

The expression that softened his blunt features as he turned his head toward the woman who had come up behind him was so warm and affectionate that Paige felt sick. She turned, too, and all the old emotions surged through her, making her bitterly regret giving into the loneliness that had led her here tonight.

She and Susannah had only seen each other a few times since their father's death, not enough for her to grow accustomed to the changes in her sister. Susannah's hair was shorter-barely reaching her jaw line-and her carriage was more relaxed. She looked free and funky, not at all like old uptight Miss Goody-Two-Shoes. Tonight she was wearing chunky gold hoops with a persimmon-colored blouse and beige slacks cinched at the waist with a fish-scale belt. But the expression on her face as she caught sight of Paige was the same as ever-tense, wary, overly conciliatory.

"Paige! No one told me you'd arrived. I'm so glad you came. Have you met my partner, Mitchell Blaine?"

"We've met," Mitch said.

Paige's lips curled in a sleek cat's smile. "I offered to go to bed with him, Susannah, but he turned me down. Is he gay?"

Susannah got that old tight look on her face, the one she use to wear every time Paige and Joel were trapped together in the same room. "Paige-"

"I'm not gay," Mitch replied. "I'm just discriminating." He brushed his lips against Susannah's cheek, squeezed her shoulder, and walked away.

"I wish you hadn't done that," Susannah said softly. "Mitch is a good friend-probably the best friend I have."

"If you don't want me to insult your friends, you shouldn't send me nasty little invitations."

"It got you here, didn't it?"

Paige lifted a glass of wine from the hand of one of the male guests who was passing and gave him a sexy smile as a reward. She tilted her head back toward her sister. "I don't think I've ever seen so many nerds gathered together in one place in my life."

"Talented nerds. Some of the most brilliant people in the Valley are in this room tonight."

"And you seem to fit right in. But then, you were always pretty much of a nerd yourself, weren't you, Susannah?"

Susannah smiled-patient, saintly Susannah. "You haven't changed, have you, Paige? You're still as tough as nails."

"You bet I am, sis."

"I wanted you to meet Sam, but he seems to have left."

Paige had avoided meeting Sam Gamble for six years, and she had no interest in doing so now. Besides, she had spotted him when she had first come into the lobby. He had been on his way out, and he had been surrounded by fawning people, just as Cal had been surrounded at the FBT reception. Although Gamble had acted as if he weren't aware of all the attention he was receiving, she hadn't believed it for one minute. Men like her sister's husband always knew exactly what they were doing. That's why they bored her.

"I recognized him when I first came in."

"He's very special," Susannah said. "Difficult, but special."

There was a burst of laughter, and someone began playing the Brady Bunch theme song over the loudspeaker. Quickly, Paige drained her wineglass. She couldn't handle this any longer.

"Sorry I can't stay, Susannah, but I've got to get back to Falcon Hill and count all the money Daddy left me."

Susannah flinched, but she didn't give up. "Let me show you around first."

"Don't take this the wrong way," Paige sneered, "but a company tour isn't exactly my idea of a good time."

Her sister stubbornly stayed by her side as Paige headed for the door. "Then let's get out of here," Susannah said, following her outside. "Come on. We'll go for a drive."

"Forget it."

"Afraid I'll eat you up?"

Paige came to a halt in the middle of the sidewalk. "I'm not afraid of you."

"Prove it." Susannah caught her arm and began steering her toward a late model BMW parked close to the building. "We'll take a drive, and I'll show you my house."

Paige jerked her arm away. "I don't want to see your house. I don't want to have anything to do with you."

Susannah stopped at the side of the car. The lights in the parking lot reflected off the hoops swinging at her ears and sent golden lights shimmering through her deep auburn hair. Susannah's new prettiness felt like another wound to Paige.

"You are afraid of me. aren't you, Paige?"

Paige gave a hollow laugh. "What is this? A grown-up version of I-dare-you? That was always my game, not yours."

Susannah opened the door on the driver's side and nodded toward the interior. "It's a good game. If you're not chicken, get in."

Paige knew that she didn't have to give in to Susannah's childish taunts, but she hated the smug look on her sister's face. The night stretched ahead like a hundred years, and she told herself that anything was better than going home alone to Falcon Hill. Shrugging indifferently, she got in. "Why not? I guess I don't have anything better to do at the moment."

Susannah carefully concealed her satisfaction as she pulled out of the parking lot. The more trouble she had with Sam, the more important it became to her to establish some sort of connection with her sister. Paige was her only blood relative, and surely they were both old enough by now to find new ground for a relationship. As she pulled out of the industrial complex onto the highway, she kept the conversation light. Paige answered in monosyllables or not at all. Some of Susannah's satisfaction began to fade. Paige's hostility seemed to be growing stronger instead of easing.

They left the highway and drove up into the hills. After several miles, Susannah turned into the drive that led to her house. A thick wall of shrubbery offered privacy from the road. Ahead of her the roof line rose in forbidding angles against the sky, and once again she realized how much she detested the harsh chill of this house. It was a cold temple dedicated to the worship of high technology, designed by a man who had always been obsessed with having the best.

"Cozy," Paige said sarcastically.

"Sam designed it."

"Didn't your big bad husband let you have any opinions?"

Susannah tried not to jump at the bait. "Houses aren't important to me."

Paige's evening gown rustled as she got out of the car. Instead of walking toward the pair of bronze doors that marked the entryway, she took the lighted path that led to the back of the house. Susannah followed, feeling increasingly uneasy. The beads on Paige's gown glittered like ice chips. Everything about her radiated hostility, from the stiff line of her neck to the harsh rhythm of her stride.

They cleared the side of the house and were met with the breathtaking view of the Valley. Paige stalked up the granite steps onto the bottom level of the deck and stared out at the lights. "I'll bet you're really proud of yourself, aren't you, Susannah?"

There was an ugly sneer in Paige's voice that made Susannah want to turn away. This had been a terrible idea. Why had she ever thought she could change the path of their relationship? "I've worked hard," she replied, trying to keep her tone neutral.

"I'll just bet you have," Paige spat out. "How much of that work did you do on your back?"

Susannah was stunned into silence by her sister's maliciousness.

"Now you can spend your days and nights counting your new money and laughing at Daddy in his grave."

All of Susannah's determination to renew their relationship disappeared, replaced by her own rage. "Don't say that. You know it's not true."

"It's true, all right," Paige retorted. "You showed him, didn't you? Too bad he's not still alive so you can throw your success in his face."

"I didn't do this because of him. I did it for myself."

"You're so goddamned sanctimonious. So smug and self-righteous." Paige spoke with deadly quiet, but her words struck Susannah like small bursts of venom.

She gripped the keys she still held in her hand. "Stop right there, Paige. You're acting like a child, and I've heard enough from you."

But Paige didn't want to stop. The poison stored inside her bubbled to the surface and burst forth in short, caustic spurts. "You've always been perfect. Always right. So much better than everyone else."

"That's enough! I've tried for years to establish some sort of adult relationship with you, but I'm not going to try any longer. You're spoiled and selfish, and you don't care about anyone but yourself."

"How would you know?" Paige shouted. "You don't know anything about me. You were too busy stealing my father to ever try to understand me."

"Get out of here!" Susannah threw the keys at Paige. "Take my car and get out of my sight." Turning her back on her sister, she walked rapidly toward the door on the far side of the deck.

But Paige wasn't finished. Propelled by years of self-loathing, she came after her, running almost, ready to pummel Susannah with more hatred. Susannah couldn't bear anymore. She shoved the door open.

"Do you have any idea how much I've always hated you?" Paige shouted, rushing into the house behind her. "I'm his real daughter! Not you. But I couldn't compete with your perfection act. Do you understand that a day doesn't go by when I don't wish that you'd never been born."

Susannah stalked through the back hallway and down the steps. Paige was still at her side when she dashed into the living room.

"Why did you have to come live with us?" Paige cried. "Why did you have to be so much better than me?"

Susannah gasped and then the gasp turned into a soft, kittenlike mew.

On a white suede couch in the center of the room, Mindy Bradshaw was jerking her skirt down over her naked thighs, while Sam fumbled awkwardly with his trousers.

Susannah mewed again. She could feel her hands opening and closing at her sides. The world reduced itself to the scene before her and the awful mew of pain that kept rising from her throat. And then her lips began to move, to form words. They came out tinny, like the computerized voice of i robot.

"Excuse me," she said.

The apology was idiotic, obscene. Susannah staggered blindly out of the room. She knew her legs were working because the walls were moving past her. She walked up one ramp and down another, past the massive mantelpiece of stainless steel. After every four or five steps, that awful sound kept sliding out. She tried to stop it, tried to clamp tier lips together, but it wouldn't be contained.