Her concern was genuine, and Annabelle couldn’t stay upset. “You really don’t have to worry.”

“It’s hard not to. I feel guilty.”

“About what?”

Phoebe’s steps slowed just enough so they fell behind the others. She patted Annabelle the same way she patted her children when she was worried. “I’m trying to figure out a tactful way to say this, but I can’t. You know, don’t you, that he’s manipulating you to get to me?”

“You can’t blame him for trying,” Annabelle said quietly. “He’s a good agent. Everybody says so. Maybe it’s time to let bygones be bygones.” She regretted her words the moment she spoke them. She knew nothing about the inner workings of the NFL, and she shouldn’t presume to tell Phoebe how to run her empire.

But Phoebe merely sighed and dropped her hand from Annabelle’s waist. “There are no good agents. But at least some of them don’t go out of their way to stab you in the back.”

Heath had scented danger, and he came striding toward her. “Ron had his eye on the last brownie, Annabelle, but I snagged it first. I’ve seen how cranky you get if you go too long without chocolate.”

She was more of a caramel person, but she wouldn’t contradict him in front of his archenemy, and she took the brownie he extended. “Phoebe, do you want to split this?”

“I’ll save my calories for another glass of wine.” Without even glancing at Heath, she walked away to join the others.

“So how’s your plan working so far?” Annabelle said, studying Phoebe’s back.

“She’ll come around.”

“Not anytime soon.”

“Attitude, Annabelle. It’s all about attitude.”

“So you’ve mentioned.” She handed him the brownie. “You can work this off easier than me.”

He took a bite. From the beach, she heard Janine say she needed to finish the book before tomorrow. As everybody told her good night, Webster slipped another CD in the boom box, and a Marc Anthony song came on. Ron and Sharon began to salsa in the sand. Kevin grabbed Molly, and they joined in, executing the steps more gracefully than the McDermitts. Phoebe and Dan looked into each other’s eyes, laughed, and began to dance, too.

Heath’s fingers tightened around Annabelle’s elbow. “Let’s take a walk.”

“No. They’re suspicious enough as it is. And Phoebe knows exactly what you’re up to.”

“Does she now?” He tossed the rest of the brownie in the trash. “If you don’t want to walk, let’s dance.”

“Okay, but dance with the other women, too, so nobody gets suspicious.”

“Of what?”

“Molly thinks…Oh, never mind. Just spread your dubious charm around, okay?”

“Will you relax?” He grabbed her hand and led her back to the others.

It didn’t take long for her to kick off her sandals and get into the spirit of the evening. After all the classes Kate had forced her to take, Annabelle was a good dancer. Either Heath had taken a few classes himself or he was a natural because he stayed right with her. When it came to mastering the social graces, he didn’t seem to have missed a trick. The song came to an end, and Annabelle waited for the next one. With the water lapping the shore, a crackling fire, a star-spangled sky, and a frighteningly tempting man at her side, this was a romantic cliché of a night. She couldn’t handle a ballad—that would be too cruel. To her relief, the music stayed upbeat.