Suddenly, his brows rose, “I knew I’d seen these gardens before! I’ve been here once at a party with Heather. The gardens are truly incredible.”

“Only the gardens?” she teased as she touched another button to turn on the lights in the house. “Turn right and go down the ramp.” She opened the gates and he parked in a spacious garage beside a silver Mercedes SLR McLaren Roadster 722s with an automatic retractable top and a Black Amethyst XJ Jaguar LWB Ultimate.

“I’ve never been inside the house before,” he answered. He grinned as she touched another button on her iPhone. “Is it voice activated as well?”

“Actually, it is, but I prefer to use it manually. I love these little facilities modern life provides. The house is intelligent. I’ve already turned on the lights and the heating,” she chuckled. “Thank, God, you’ve never been inside the house. It was terribly tacky. I remodeled everything. Trust a fortune hunter to ruin centuries of beauty with a supposedly contemporary touch,” she made a face. “After she redecorated it, she decided it was too big. She overbilled her husband, sweet Mr. Brenton, and embezzled his money. He found out, of course. I really don’t know what he saw in her besides her youth and superb body.”

“You met the former owners?”

“Yes, Mr. Brenton is a gentleman and the divorce upset him. Juliette really is a gold-digging whore,” she sneered.

He looked startled, “I’ve never heard you curse like that before. Juliette and Heather were friends.”

“Oh, I’m sorry,” she whirled to look at him, mortified, “I didn’t mean- I thought Mr. Brenton was your connection.”

A vicious expression had replaced his shock. “Heather was a gold-digging whore, too.”

“I’m so sorry.” Damn!

“Let’s not ruin our night talking about her.” He opened the door and left the car, walking around to open her door.

She got out of the car, putting her hand on his arm. She parted her lips, but before she could utter a word, his hand grabbed her waist and drew her body to his, cupping her nape and desperately kissing her open lips.

“Sophia…” he breathed on her mouth, not knowing if his control would hold. She kissed him back, her hands entwining in his hair. Somehow, he stopped kissing her to regain his senses and held her close to his body, pure torture. She breathed hard. He buried his head in her hair, panting. He already had a major hard-on.

“Sophia, it’s really okay.” He kissed her again, this time softly. “I’m not angry with you. It’s just that my memories of Heather are still raw. Come, show me your home. I want to see it.”

He knocked on the windshield of the Jaguar as he passed it and paused, frowning, “Bulletproof?”

“Yeah, both of them. Even the glass partition and the sunroof are bulletproof. I’m kind of paranoid about safety,” she explained. Staring into his green eyes, she asked softly, “Wouldn’t you be, too?”

“I guess,” he concurred. “Wonderful cars you have here.”

“I told you I liked to drive,” she smiled. “Gabriela is becoming the same. She chose the Jaguar with me. But she doesn’t like the McLaren.”

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t have a backseat,” she shrugged. “It’s not for children.”

“I see,” he murmured, distractedly, still admiring the McLaren.

Men will always be men. She shook her head and smiled, “Come,” she put her hand in his, pulling him. “This is the lower ground. There’s the garage,” Sophia felt glad her voice sounded almost normal, as she opened and closed doors, “a cellar, aaand here,” she pushed at tall double doors, motioning him inside. She touched a button and the lights came on, “A heated pool, a steamer, a complete gym, and spa room.” She pointed to the end of the room.

He looked at her dumbfound, “You really know how to live, don’t you?”

“This is Gabriela’s playground.”

His deep laughter echoed in the empty room. “Indeed. I’m sure Gabriela runs on the treadmill, lifts weights, and uses the steamer. And, naturally, she needs a semi-Olympic pool to play in.”

The pool lounge had reclining chairs with white padded mattresses and two square tables for eight. Everything readied for guests, towels in woven baskets skillfully distributed around the room and a wet bar.

“Okay, guilty. It’s my playground, too.” She turned off the lights.

“Stairs or lift?”

“Lift? What for?”

“Try carrying a sleeping Gabriela two flights of staaaaaa-” she screamed when he picked her up in his arms and started for the stairs.

He smiled wickedly at her, “I don’t think it’s a problem, do you, Sophia?”

“You’re crazy, did you know that?” she laughed, clinging to his neck.

“I’m crazy about you.” They reached the top of the stairs, “Where next?”

“Put me down,” she wiggled her legs.

“I like you where you are,” he retorted, his green eyes sparkling. “Right or left?”

“Right if you want to see the reception rooms first, left for the gardens and the office.” He turned right. She seized the moment to nibble at his earlobe, running her nails lightly on his nape.

Fuck. He felt a thrill run down his spine. “Stop that or I’ll drop you.”

“I doubt it,” she laughed, doing it again, this time rimming his ear with her tongue.

He put her down and backed her against the corridor wall, towering over her, “Don’t tease.” He pulled her up against his erection. “You’re playing a dangerous game.”

“Sorry.” She kissed him lightly, smiling inward. If you only knew…

His hand grabbed hers, and turning it palm up, he placed a kiss on the inside of her wrist, nibbling it, his gaze burrowing into hers, “Don’t test my self-control, Sophia. I can’t be patient forever. Show me the rest of your home.”

She led him down the corridor, opening the door to the hallway. “The hall is more remarkable when seen from the front door; it makes a great first impression. I love its height. It’s almost thirty feet.” She made a face. “It was carpeted. Can you imagine how awful that looked?”

The black-and-white limestone flooring had been arranged in a repeating geometric pattern. In the middle of the hall, a huge Baccarat vase with fresh flowers commanded attention from its place on a round Chippendale table. An impressive Napoleon III gilt bronze and Baccarat chandelier hung from the ceiling.

“It’s stunning,” he said.

She looked around as if seeing it through his eyes, “Yes, it is.” She went to her right, opening walnut double doors. “This is the reception room.”

He entered a breathtaking room of three thousand-square feet with floor-to-ceiling windows on one side, which would allow natural light to stream into every corner. A black grand piano stood at the far end. The walls were lined with dark green damask silk accented with exquisite contemporary paintings. The sofas and armchairs were done in white-and-green silk damask. Pillows of varied colors, shades, and forms were scattered over them, bringing Sophia’s peculiar and warm touch into the room. Against one of the walls stood one of the remarkable Cucci cabinets, originally made for Louis XIV.

He gazed around. “Magnificent,” he breathed, in awe. He paused in front of a Picasso. “Truly. I wasn’t expecting this. Your apartment was much simpler. You did this all by yourself?”

“No, everyone helped.” She rearranged the pillows, pursing her lips and eyeing them before being content with her arrangement. “I chose the fabrics in Venice. Victoria and I picked some of the furniture in Paris. Valentina helped me choose the colors and had some brilliant ideas for the lighting and the kitchen. Felipe and Carolina did the architectural part. My siblings and I, we’re a team. I also had an English architect help organize the work and buy the basic materials. I brought some of the paintings I had in my apartment in Rio and bought some others. This room was worse than the hall. Felipe made an album for me,” she smiled, “Atwood House, before and after Sophia.”

They left the reception room and she closed the door, crossing the hall to the other set of double doors. “Here’s the dining room.”

“You dine here?” he asked, dumbstruck.

She laughed. “No, of course not. I use the kitchen. It’s cozier.”

The beautiful dining room, with its fifteen-foot ceiling, enclosed a table for sixteen. Three fantastic English silver salves rested on the table. Two exceptional Turner paintings topped Portuguese mahogany chests, which flanked each end of the room. A floor-to-ceiling glass panel let the light and faced the side garden, opposite the hall doors.

“You have eclectic taste for paintings,” he pointed.

“I have eclectic taste. Period,” she said as she walked toward the kitchen, closing all the doors behind her. “We decided to put this door here to give Gabriela some privacy when I entertain.” She touched another button on her iPhone, “What kind of music do you feel like?”

“Anything. I like anything you have on your mobile.”

“Hmm,” she pressed another button and soft romantic music started to play through the house.

Sophia had fully equipped the kitchen with every modern feature, all in stainless steel that contrasted with the black-and-white floor. “Here is where we eat.” She pointed to a spacious table for six, already set for two. “I tore the whole kitchen down to fully modernize it. Juliette was not interested in this part of the house.”

“It really is cozier than the dining room.” He looked at the table and teased, “I think you have an ego problem.”

She made a face at him. “Want something to drink before dinner or do you want to go straight to wine?” She opened one of the refrigerators and he saw that it was perfectly organized. She grabbed a small bottle of Evian for herself and wiggled her brows at him.