"I have a penthouse suite at the hotel and I stay there most of the time." Gideon waved to a khaki- clad man in one of the fields bordering the road. The dark-skinned man waved back, a brilliant white smile lighting his face. "That's Henry Delgado, my foreman. He runs the plantation for fifty percent of the profits, leaving me to be the gentleman farmer. It suits us both." He leaned back on the blue velour seat and stretched out his legs. "I was going to sell off the land and just keep the house and a few surrounding acres, but that could have disrupted the lives of the farmers who live on the property. So Henry and I came to our agreement."

"How long have you had the plantation?"

"Two years."

Her gaze flew back to his face.

He nodded slowly. "I decided I'd better try to have a home ready for you," he said softly. "The hotel is plush and modern, but it isn't a home. The detective's report said you preferred your lakeside cottage to an apartment in New York so I thought this would do as well." His eyes twinkled. "I even made sure it had a lake on the property fed by a real waterfall. It's completely private and I've ruled it out of bounds for anyone on the plantation. I'll show it to you this afternoon, if you like."

"That would be very nice," she murmured.

He frowned. "Now you've got to stop freezing up on me when I mention things like that. I bought this house for us, and I'm not going to pretend anything else."

"I don't know what to say. I can't imagine any man doing all this on the gamble that a woman he'd scarcely met might be the woman."

"You are the woman," he said simply. "It was no gamble."

She shook her head. "You're utterly impossible, do you know that?"

He grinned. "It's been mentioned a few times."

"I can imagine."

"You'll get accustomed to me." His voice lowered to a velvet softness. "I'll give you every opportunity to further your knowledge in every way possible."

Serena felt the heat ignite in her veins like tiny licking flames and she quickly looked away from him. The sensual emphasis was clear, but not presented aggressively. There was no reason for her sudden breathlessness. Gideon managed to keep her constantly off guard. There had been no hint of sexuality in his manner either this morning at breakfast or on the short flight from

Castellano to Santa Isbella. He had been charming, humorous, considerate, and almost avuncular. Yet now he was smiling at her with a sensuality that was as frank and bold as a red flag waving in the breeze. "I wish you wouldn't do that."

He didn't pretend to misunderstand. "I try to keep it down, but it slips out sometimes." He grimaced. "I know my wanting you makes you uneasy. I had no idea the brother-protector image I built to make you feel safe that night long ago would be reinforced every time you thought of me for the next ten years." His gaze slowly traveled over her from yellow silk blouse to white linen skirt, returning to linger on the thrust of her breasts against the silk of her blouse. He spoke very deliberately, in a tone too low for the driver to hear. "I'm still your protector, but not your brother. If I were your brother, my thoughts couldn't be more incestuous. At the moment, I'd like nothing better than to unbutton your blouse and take your breasts in my hands. I want to taste every part of your body. I want my fingers on you, around you. and in you. Every time I look at you my stomach knots and I get so aroused I'm hurting. If I weren't afraid you'd panic, I'd tell Ricardo to pull over and find a place in the bushes and do everything I've wanted to do to you for an eternity or so." He drew a harsh breath. "Do we understand each other now?"

She was staring at him, stunned by both the barrage of eroticism and its explosive effect on her. Heat was tingling in every vein, and her breasts, beneath his gaze, were swelling as if they were being stroked. She hurriedly glanced out the window. "Oh, yes, I understand."

She felt the warm solid weight of his hand on her knee and she inhaled sharply. She was trembling. She couldn't think, but was having no trouble feeling. Every nerve in her body seemed aflame and her muscles were turning as insubstantial as water. She kept her eyes fixed blindly on the passing scene outside the window as his hand gently rubbed her knee and then slowly pushed her skirt higher to skillfully massage her inner thigh with gentle fingertips. "No stockings," he murmured. "I thoroughly approve."

"It was hot." The words were barely audible and her gaze clung desperately to the passing coffee fields. She should stop him, but she didn't want to stop him. She wanted to sit here and let him touch her and be bathed in this sensual sorcery that was already bewitching her.

"Heat can be a terrible thing." He was widening her legs gently, and she suddenly felt terribly vulnerable. "It can rob you of breath." His fingers trailed further up her thigh. "It can make your muscles knot." His hand suddenly moved up to the apex of her thighs and settled there. She shuddered. She could feel the warm heaviness as if the scrap of material didn't exist. "It can cause you to hurt." He rubbed gently. "Can't it, Serena?"

He didn't wait for an answer. His hand was suddenly gone and he was pulling down her skirt. "Remember, every time I look at you I'm feeling that same heat." He added softly, "Just like you. You want me. Thank God for that."

"I'm a woman and I have the usual responses," Serena said. "You're a very attractive man."

"You're quibbling." His voice was impatient. "Look at me, dammit." His fingers were beneath her chin, forcing her to face him. "Now, tell me. You want me, right? Not just any attractive man. Me."

His gaze was holding her own with irresistible force. "Why should I-" She broke off and answered him honestly. "Yes."

He expelled his breath in a long sigh of relief. "Whew, you had me scared for a minute."

"You certainly didn't show it," she said tartly. "I feel as if I've been run over by a steamroller."

He chuckled and released her chin. "I guess I can be a little aggressive on occasion. Just shrug it off and tell me to go to hell. That's what Ross does."

"Not very often, I bet."

"Now that I think about it, he hasn't done it for a long time."

"I imagine he gets tired of being flattened."

For an instant Gideon appeared uncertain, then thoughtful. "I suppose I'll have to see what I can do about that."

Serena threw back her head and laughed. "Here we go again."

His expression was indignant. "Why are you laughing?"

"I can just see you plumping and pumping to unflatten Ross. I think he'd prefer you to let him stay flattened."

"The easy way isn't always the best way and if

Ross needs-" His lips quirked. "You think I'm too pushy?"

"It has occurred to me."

"I'll try to tone it down." He added half beneath his breath, "On the unimportant things."

Serena chuckled and shook her head. "Hopeless."

The limousine had pulled up to the front porch of the two-story stone house and Gideon opened the door and got out. He helped her from the car and whispered in her ear, "Never. There's no one more hopeful than I am."

A hot shiver chased down her spine and she looked away from him to the wide stone porch that fronted the house. "This house looks very old. When was it built?"

"The turn of the century." His glance flew to her face. "You don't mind old houses? I had this one thoroughly restored, and installed all the modern conveniences. I just think old houses have a special ambience."

"I think so too. My friend, Elizabeth, owns an old mill that has a wonderfully warm atmosphere."

"Do you want it?" Gideon asked. "Shall I buy it for you?"

She looked at him in surprise. "She'd never sell it. It's her home."

"I'll find a way."

He probably would find one, if she didn't get him off the track. "Back off, steamroller, perhaps you didn't hear me. She's my friend, and you don't bulldoze friends into the ground." She sighed with exasperation. "Why are we even discussing this? We're talking as if we're going to be together for the next fifty years."

Gideon smiled with satisfaction. "We are, aren't we?" He took her elbow and they climbed the stone steps. "I like that."

"Well, I don't. One week, remember?"

"I remember," he murmured. "Do you like the leaded-glass casement windows? They didn't come with the original house but I thought they fit."

"I think they're beautiful."

A brilliant smile lit his face. "Good. You can change anything that doesn't appeal to you, but I think you'll like most of it." He looked over his shoulder at the driver. "Put the baggage upstairs, Ricardo. Then you can go back to the hotel." He turned to Serena. "I have a maid who comes in every day to clean and cook, but I told her to stay away while you were here. I didn't want her getting in our way, and I figured we could take care of ourselves for a week." He smiled. "There are always omelets. I even had the phone disconnected." He opened the front door. "Welcome home, love."

For Serena, "home" had always been a place to come back to after the frenetic pace of the fashion world, or one of Dane's wild adventures. She had thought she preferred that concept to one of roots and permanency. During the short tour of the house, it became clear that wasn't Gideon's idea of home at all. This was a house in which to grow and change, a house in which to have children, a house to absorb the joys and sorrows of the people who lived within its walls.

Though the furniture was light and airy as befitted the tropical climate, it breathed comfort and color and homeyness. The floors throughout the house were polished to a warm, earthy luster, and even the huge family kitchen combined microwave efficiency with old-world charm. The bedrooms on the second floor were equally charming: canopy beds, delicately tinted Aubusson rugs scattered over gleaming hardwood floors, copper-based lamps, and vases holding fresh flowers. Everything about the house spoke of loving care and comfort.