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again. Blond hair to his shoulders, stubble, a face like a model, he still made her ache inside.
    And yet. It passed. She felt the attraction suddenly ebbing and thanked whatever higher power had decided to set her free.
    As if he could read her mind, Taylor spoke again. “You still make me hot, Charlotte. Come home with us. Stacy throws a mean party, if you know what I mean. I know you like it. We used to ball all night, remember?”
    “I remember. But no thanks, Taylor. It’s not worth re-lighting that fire, if you’ll pardon the phrase.”
    His smile faded as she walked away. But hers just grew bigger and bigger.

Chapter

FOUR

    Her father had waited up for her, of course. She dropped her house keys on the hall table and paused, listening.
    “The lovely girl, the lovely day …”
    She smiled. Her father had a great voice, a secret she kept for him, and singing together was one of their private pleasures. This was a song he’d made up for her as a little girl.
    “A perfect time to run and play …”
    Charlotte’s voice was not a secret. Singing “Happy Birthday” at the age of five, she had silenced a room. People really listened when she sang, and at first it made her shy and frightened. But when Millie, her beloved nanny, had told her father she really had talent, her father had encouraged her, sent her to the best teachers, and, most of all, loved to listen to her. Her voice was deep, smooth, with the barest hint of a rasp.
    “
Daddy’s here, won’t go away …”
    Charlotte followed the sound of his voice, finding him, as expected, standing by the fire in his study.
    “
And in his arms you’ll always stay.”
    They finished the line together, laughing, and Jacob Williams held out his arms. She stepped into his embrace, resting her head on his shoulder, the cashmere of his jacket feeling just as wonderful as it always did. No cigar smoke anymore—she’d made him quit.
    He kissed the top of her smooth head and stepped to the sideboard. “Drink?” He topped up his scotch glass, the ice cubes tumbling together.
    Charlotte nodded. “A little.”
    “Scotch?”
    “Brandy.”
    He nodded, reaching for the bottle.
    She curled up on the sofa, the glass warming in her hands, and smiled broadly at him. At home, she could just be herself.
    “So, Daddy, what’s new on the Street?”
    He laughed. “Like you have any interest at all.”
    She pretended to be offended, kicking her shoes off onto the floor. “Of course I’m interested. Just because I don’t understand it doesn’t mean it’s not interesting. I don’t really get Greek philosophy, but I like to listen to people talk about it.”
    “You do?” His look was quizzical. “Bullshit.”
    She laughed.
    “But since you asked, there was a nice pop in the market today, and quite a few people got very rich.”
    “What made that happen?”
    He looked into his glass. “I was in a good mood, I sold, I bought, and lo and behold, the market rose.”
    “Goodness, what power you wield. Can you do something about world peace? Or, better still, the price of couture?”
    He shook his head. “Those things are beyond me. But you don’t need to worry about the price of couture. You got wealthier today by about three million dollars.”
    Charlotte paused, about to sip her brandy. “Really? I didn’t even feel as if I was working.”
    “You weren’t. I didn’t even have anything to do with it. Your mother set up a fund for you before she died that I can’t even touch. But today it did well, all on its ownsome.”
    “Huh, who knew?”
    “Colloquialisms, Charlotte? I didn’t send you to Paris to forget to speak English. I sent you there to learn French.”
    She ignored him. “What else? Are you seeing anyone?”
    He frowned, hard and quick. “No, of course not.”
    She frowned back at him, mockingly. “Why not? You’re not too old.”
    “I should damn well think not.”
    “And you’re still very good-looking.”
    “You’re