He burst into the room-and stopped dead in his tracks. The smile froze on his face and then cracked

and broke. He just stood there. Staring. It took him a full minute to find his voice, and even then it took a nudge from Craig's elbow to jostle him into action.

"What the hell is going on?" he breathed.

Sabrina Hampstead, looking lean and lanky in a black sheath of silk and shimmering satin, stood and

held up what appeared to be a remote control. The blasting music instantly cut out, leaving behind a

gaping void of silence.

"What was that, Sloan?" Bree's voice was laced with a disturbing combination of sexy innocence and sarcasm. "I couldn't hear you over the party."

Sloan's eyes fell to the remainder of the "crowd". Franki and Troy sat at the same table as Bree, staring

at him, their eyes silent and searching.

He sensed Craig move just a little closer. He'd never been so grateful for his friend's presence. "What the hell is going on?" he repeated. "Where-where's the party? The-the people?"

"We're it," said Bree with a cock of her head. "You didn't actually think anyone else would show up, did you?"

His stomach coiled into a knot. "Where's Mrs. Middleton?" "Why, I'm Mrs. Middleton, Mr. Carver. Did I forget to tell you? I got married several years ago. Ithrew out the husband a couple of years later, but the name occasionally comes in handy."

Something inside Sloan iced over. He stared at her, and she stared back. "Fuck you, Mrs. Middleton." He whirled around. "Come on, Craig. I think this party is over."

He had barely taken three steps when he felt a strong hand latch around his arm. "That's no way to talk to an old friend, Sloan. At the very least you owe her a little respect."

Sloan stopped. "Take your hands off me, Troy. I don't owe her anything. Or you, for that matter. She's quite humiliated me. No doubt the whole town knows about this little setup and are laughing into their hats as we speak." He ripped his arm out of Troy's grip. "Let's put the fancy-pants California upstart back in his place," he sneered. "Okay, so it's done. You've had your fun, but I have no intention of staying for the finale. I'm going home now."

"That's what you do, isn't it?" asked Bree from her place at the table. "Run away. I knew you wouldn't have the balls to stay and face us."

"And who am I facing, exactly?" he asked, barely restraining himself from yelling. "Is this your idea of a welcoming committee? Because it looks more like a firing squad to me."

"We just wanted to see you. To talk to you. And I knew that a simple invitation wouldn't work."

"Oh? And how do you know that?"

"Because I sent you one." For a moment her mask of anger and contempt wilted, and he almost thought she might cry. "You couldn't manage to come to my wedding, Sloan. You didn't even send a reply. Obviously you barely read the invitation, or you would have recognized the name Middleton." Her face hardened again like a rose that had been dipped into liquid nitrogen. "I knew I'd have to go to extreme measures to get you to come home."

Sloan stared at her. Her wedding? Shit! There had a six-month period about four years ago when he had been so engrossed in his work that he had ignored any and all invitations that had come his way. He'd had no time and no patience for the usual Hollywood tedium. In fact he'd barely opened his mail. The little bit that did get opened had been thanks to Craig. His telephone had even gotten turned off because he'd neglected to pay the bill. That must have been when her invitation arrived.

He hadn't meant to hurt her. Really. But he'd been so wrapped up in his work-and his pain. And there was no way he could have braved the borders of Bay's Haven, anyway. She was strong. Surely she could withstand that little disappointment.

Troy tugged on his arm. "Come on, Sloan. At least come in and talk to us. Despite everything, we've missed you."

Sloan turned to look at Craig.

He shrugged. "It's up to you. This is your show."

Sloan blew out a long breath that he didn't even realize he'd been holding. He turned back to Troy, and thought his old friend looked good. Really good. Sharply dressed in pressed navy khakis, a crisp white shirt and sport jacket.

From what he could see, Franki had chosen a simple black cocktail dress. Bree, however, was dressed to the nines in her second-skin gown and glittering earrings, her mahogany-colored hair swept up off her face with a few delicate tendrils caressing her cheeks. Her hair was fuller than he remembered. Her eyes more green. No doubt she had wanted to blow him away with how good she looked. It was working.

"All right," he said slowly. "We'll see how this goes."

Troy immediately extended a hand to Craig. "Troy Elliott."

"Sorry," muttered Sloan. "This is my...uh...partner, Craig Sternberg."

Craig and Troy shook cordially, and then the threesome crossed the room to the table. They all sat

down, somewhat stiffly, and Sloan glared at the tablecloth.

Franki cleared her throat. "Uh...would you like a drink? We've got a bartender and everything."

"Yeah, sure. Gimme a rye and Coke." He would have preferred his whiskey neat. But in his current

frame of mind he didn't think that would be wise.

"You got any Zinfandel?" asked Craig.

Sloan shot him a look. But Craig winked and he felt the first tweak of a smile. Craig's booze of choice

was usually beer or tequila shots. He only drank wine with dinner, and even then he preferred a dry red.

Obviously he was taking his role quite seriously. Franki sipped from her martini. "You're looking good, Sloan. You almost look like you should be on the screen instead of behind it."

"Thanks," he shifted in his chair, already a notch more uncomfortable than he'd been a moment before. "But I can't act to save my life."

"You're too modest," muttered Craig.

Sloan ignored him. "You look good, too, Franki. You all do. Hometown living seems to agree with you."

Troy set the drinks down in front of them, and Sloan reached for his gratefully. "So things are still good

down at Marquis, Troy? You haven't hit me up for a raise for a long time."

"You pay me well enough." There was a chilly edge to Troy's voice, and Sloan couldn't blame him for it. Sloan paid him well, there was no doubt about that. Maybe too well. He had to admit to himself that some of it was guilt money for not communicating with Troy and the others, and he suspected Troy knew it too.

Troy settled down in the chair next to Craig's. When he spoke again his tone had lost its edge, and

Sloan was thankful.

"Yup, I'm still setting up security systems, and dealing with pilfering employees. It's not exactly a thrill a minute, but it's a living. It keeps steaks on the barbecue and Carolyn in Victoria's Secret lingerie."

Sloan smiled. He remembered Carolyn. They'd been married three years before he left. He was glad to

hear they were still together.

"What about diapers?" he asked, grateful to have left the subject of the business behind. "Any little feet pattering around your place?" Then he slapped himself on the forehead. "Stupid me! I forgot. Carolyn

was pregnant! I hope everything turned out-"

"Yeah, yeah," grinned Troy. "We have a little boy. David turned eight a couple of months ago."

"Wow!" Sloan was genuinely thrilled to hear that some of their crew had actually managed to procreate, and seemed to be enjoying it. Carolyn, staunch Catholic that she was, had insisted on foregoing birth control and trying for a family immediately. Troy had confided this to Sloan at the wedding, and while the idea scared Sloan spitless, just talking about it had made Troy's face glow.

"So, you're a father." He shook his head in wonder. "Your boys finally got the job done. For a while there I was starting to wonder."

To Sloan's surprise, Troy's smile slipped a notch. "Yeah. I guess they did."

Sloan sensed the note of tension in Troy's voice, but decided now was not the time to pursue it.

True to form, Franki jumped in. "It sounds like you have your hands full with life in Hollywood, too." She gazed at him over the rim of her glass. "I bet you lead a very exciting life. You must do things out there that we can barely dream of. There was a little article on you in that Playbill magazine...you know after your last movie came out. It said you had taken up skydiving and Formula One racing."

"They exaggerated. I've done it a couple of times." He shrugged. "I admit it was a rush, but not something I'd do on a regular basis."

"You're a regular Evel Knievel," said Bree. "Small wonder things got too dull for you around here."

Sloan decided it best to ignore Bree. Hostility and anger were emanating from her like the shock waves from an H-bomb.

"Actually..." Sloan was startled to realize it was Craig who was speaking. "I think he takes too many risks. Last year he even asked about helping with some stunts in a movie we'd written." He rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. "Luckily the director laughed in his face. It's like he's always trying to find a bigger thrill. Or prove something. I'm not sure which. But I don't think it's healthy."

Sloan shot Craig a look. "Craig's like an old mother hen. He thinks everybody should put foam padding in their bathtubs to guard against shower accidents."

"Now Sloan's exaggerating," said Craig with a sniff. "I'm merely an advocate for tub faucet airbags."

The group chuckled softly.

"Besides, my motives for his safety are completely selfish," added Craig softly, an odd smile haunting his lips. But then his eyes flitted to Sloan, his expression stricken, as if he'd said something he shouldn't. He cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably. He swung his eyes to Troy. "Sloan Carver is my gravy train, you know. I'd hate to see it derailed."

Sloan marveled at Craig's hidden acting talents.

Troy's eyes searched Sloan's for a moment before he reached for a bowl of chips at the center of the table. He spoke slowly. "It sounds like you two have been friends for quite some time."

Sloan made a show of shifting again in his seat and tossing a nervous glance in Craig's direction. "Yeah. We met about a year after I got to California and we hooked up shortly after that."

"We spend far too much time together," added Craig. "It's probably not healthy for two men to know each other that well." He and Sloan shared a glance, and Sloan couldn't deny the irony of that comment.

Troy nudged Craig and his eyes glittered. "Oh, I don't know. Sloan and I saw each other every day for more than twenty years-ever since we were babies. And I'm none the worse for wear."

"Oh, I don't know about that." Bree's voice was tight and she had twisted a paper napkin so tightly it resembled a tattered rope. "Look what twenty-six years of friendship got us. A hasty goodbye and not one phone call since." She glared at Sloan. "I'd say I'm some the worse for wear. You put us through the ringer, Sloan. You treated us like shit, and I'd like to know why."

Sloan felt sweat gather on his palms.

"Bree," soothed Franki. "I thought we were going to keep this light. I thought-"

"Well, you thought wrong," she shot back. "How can you two sit there and chat it up like nothing's happened? Something did happen." She shifted her gaze to Troy. "He abandoned a relationship that was deeper and more intense than you two even have with your siblings. He discarded us like so much trash, and I can't overlook that." She rounded on Sloan and he saw moisture glittering in her eyes. "I can't overlook it and I can't put it behind me. At least not until I know why."

Sloan stared at her and his stomach clenched. His misery was genuine, he wouldn't have to pretend about that. "I'm sorry. I never meant to hurt you. None of you. I just-"

"Sorry?" she ranted. "Sorry? That's not good enough." She erupted from her chair and paced to the center of the dance floor.

Sloan just sat there, feeling impotent and helpless to ease the suffering he had etched into her face.

She spread her hands and twirled around, her dress flaring at the knees to reveal smooth ankles and calves-to reveal silky skin he still tasted in his dreams.

She stopped, her arms still outflung. "Just look at the show we put on for your benefit, Sloan."

"You deceived and humiliated me."

"True. But we did it because we missed you. We did it because we loved you, Sloan. Didn't you care about us? Didn't we matter?"

"Of course you did," he leaned forward and found himself shouting. "Do you think it was easy to leave you all behind?" He swept his gaze to Franki and Troy. "Leaving all of you was one of the most difficult things I've ever done in my life. Don't you think I had my reasons?"