Blind Date From Hell

By Anne Stuart

HARLEQUIN®

TORONTO • NEW YORK • LONDON AMSTERDAM • PARIS • SYDNEY • HAMBURG STOCKHOLM • ATHENS • TOKYO • MILAN • MADRID PRAGUE • WARSAW • BUDAPEST • AUCKLAND

CHAPTER ONE

Gideon ran his fingers over the piano keys, his mind only half on his task. As far as hell went, he'd been in worse ones. The three hundred and forty-seventh level wasn't bad at all, and his assignments weren't particularly onerous. He spent his time at the piano, letting his long fingers dance over the pure ivory keys, and if there were screams of torment from his fellow damned, he couldn't hear them.

It wasn't the first place he'd landed after his unfortunate demise at the hands of someone's angry boyfriend. For some reason there'd always been a piano for him, and the heat had varied from suffocating to mildly tropical. Here on the three hundred and forty-seventh level it was practically balmy.

Ralph wasn't a bad host, all things considered. Right now he was looking more like a Wall Street shark than a ruler of a level of hell, but in the end Gideon wasn't certain if there was that great a difference between the two.

Then again, he wasn't certain of anything, including his years on earth. He knew why he was in hell, though. He'd had an insatiable craving for women. He'd adored them, all of them, the tall, the short, the plump, the scrawny, old and young, sweet and sour. He just liked women. Which would probably have been fine, but he'd loved sex as well, and made it his goal to be the most inventive, astonishing lover. Maybe that wouldn't have damned him either, except it had been his own pride and pleasure that had driven him, not altruistic feelings toward the women he'd bedded. He'd wanted them so blissed-out that any man who followed him would never measure up. And that had added up to a lot of men with inadequacy complexes, since he had never stayed with a woman for long.

No, he'd signed his own contract with hell early on, whether he'd known it or not. Married, single, involved or even a holy nun, it had made no difference to him who the woman was. It was little wonder that sooner or later some jealous lover had caught up with him.

He could remember the pain of the knife carving into him, but he couldn't remember the place, the time or the man who'd done it. It could have been seventeenth century Venice—there was every possibility he could have been Casanova himself. Or it could have been the courts of Salzburg. The only thing that remained in his memory and in his hands was the piano, and when he tried to guess what kind of life he'd lived, he liked the idea of being a womanizing piano prodigy, like Liszt. Except when he played Liszt from memory he played it badly. Almost as badly as he played Chopin.

For all he knew he could have been a child of the twentieth century. Or the twenty-first—time had no place on the three hundred and forty-seventh level of hell. At least playing piano was better than shoveling coal into the vast boilers that ran the pits of eternal damnation.

There were times when he wondered if there even was a heaven. The bureaucracy of hell was so varied, obtuse and complex that even after eons, maybe centuries, Gideon had no notion of how it was organized. Every time he thought he was coming a little closer to understanding, he'd be whisked off to another level, his mind wiped clean of everything, only his fingers still remembering what they could do with the keys of a piano.

As far as imps of Satan went, Ralph wasn't bad. He had a snarky sense of humor but a real affection for Gideon's music, and he tended to leave him mostly alone. Except for the unexpected summons that had materialized on top of the piano. A summons Gideon knew better than to ignore.

He made his way through the dingy corridors, humming beneath his breath. He was reasonably content where he was, despite or maybe because of the total lack of women. There was no one to tempt him into his old ways, and celibacy had its own charms. And if the three hundred and forty-seventh level had an unfortunate resemblance to a decrepit military school dormitory he was hardly in a position to expect white palaces and cloudless vistas. He was in hell, after all, and deservedly so.

Ralph had a vain streak and a weakness for theatricality. The first time Gideon had met him he'd been sitting on a white throne, surrounded by androgynous creatures draped all over him, and it had reminded him of some bad biblical epic. Today he was in an office on a lower floor of the dormitory, a battered steel desk in front of him, the curtains closed, lights off so that the room was flooded with darkness. Gideon could barely make out his form from behind the desk.

''Nice hair,'' he said dryly. Despite the darkness, he couldn't miss Ralph's unexpected spiky mane of orange and blue hair that fell over one side of his face—he changed his hair almost as often as he changed his face and body. Only his eyes remained constant, watchful.

''I like variety,'' he said with a faint Russian accent. He changed his accents just as often, delighting in how long it took Gideon to identify his latest choice. But he didn't seem in a playful mood today.

''Have a seat,'' he added, not moving out of the darkness.

''Mind if I turn on a light?'' ''Yes.''

Gideon hooked his foot around the steel leg of the office chair and pulled it under him, stretching back to survey his... He never could quite figure out what Ralph was. His boss? His friend? His mentor? His god?

''Fiend from hell pretty much covers it,'' Ralph said out loud.

''I hate it when you read my mind,'' Gideon said. ''I'm devastated.'' Ralph's Russian-tinged voice was unmoved. ''I have a job for you.'' ''And I would accept this because...?'' Long silence. ''Well, because I can pretty much make you,'' he said. ''But this will work much better if you're willing. There's a time element involved.'' Gideon just waited.

''And why is that, you ask?'' Ralph continued, ignoring his silence. ''I have a bit of a medical emergency, and you're the one best suited to take care of it.''

''I know nothing about medicine.'' ''Antibiotics don't work in hell, Gideon. Ask Dr. Crippen. And if I don't get this little problem taken care of, and soon, I'm going to end up blind. And a blind devil is a pissed-off devil, and no one likes a pissed-off devil.''

Gideon resisted the impulse to inform him that no one liked any kind of devil. ''Going blind, eh? I told you you should have women here. The hairy palms should have tipped you off.''

He half expected Ralph to fling a lightning bolt at him or at least the jar of pencils on the desk, but he simply laughed. ''You see, that's why you're exactly the man I need. Your thoughts immediately go to sex. And that's what I need—a sexual professional.''

''I'm not having sex with you, Ralph,'' Gideon said flatly.

''You should be so lucky!'' Ralph scoffed. ''I need you to have sex with a woman. A beautiful woman. Think you can manage it?''

''Last time I looked this was a boys-only hell, boss. Where am I going to find a woman?'' Ralph rose, moving around the desk into the

murky light. He leaned down, shoving the brightly colored hair away from his face, to expose an eye swollen shut, pink and crusted.

''That's thoroughly disgusting,'' Gideon drawled. ''So you've got pink eye. Or a sty. Whatever. I don't see what I can do to help. Get Crippen back in.''

''I told you, Crippen can't help. This is beyond his expertise. But not yours.''

Ralph didn't usually beat around the bush for so long. Gideon decided to shut up and wait until Ralph came out with what he wanted. He had little enough leverage when it came to Ralph, but he would use any that he had.

Ralph sat back on the edge of the desk, letting the fluorescent hair drop back over his face. '''A woman's chastity is a sty in the devil's eye,' he said glumly. ''Haven't you ever heard that saying? Didn't you ever watch any Ingmar Bergman movies?''

Gideon laughed, unable to help himself. ''Can't say that I did. And you underestimate me. I'm good, but not good enough to nail all the virgins in the world before you go blind.''

''Not all the virgins. Just one particular one. Seduce her, and my eye clears up, and you get to move up another level. You've been stuck on the three hundred and forty-seventh level for too long. Aren't you ready to move on?''

''And miss your charming company?'' ''Oh, trust me, my boy. I'll always be with you,'' Ralph said with an annoying chuckle.

''So how did you manage to narrow it down to one particular virgin? Think of all the nuns, lesbians, spinsters...''

''They're all in a state of annoying purity because they should be. Sam is an affront to nature.''

''You want me to make love to a man? I suppose I could, just to get out of here, but I'm not sure...'' ''Sam's a woman. In fact, she's known as Sa-mantha. No last name, like Madonna or Cher.''

''The Virgin Mother doesn't need a last name, and who the hell is Cher?''

''Not the holy mother, you innocent. Madonna's something else entirely. As is Samantha, though on a completely different level. She's a model. You know what that is?''

He closed his eyes and the knowledge came. ''Of course I do. Which means she's tall and blond and pretty and brainless.''

''Not quite. But you'll have to come to your own conclusions. She lives in L.A., shares the house with another girl, and has somehow managed to keep her beautiful body pristine and untouched no matter who has tried. She's resisted the best-looking men in Hollywood, the most powerful politicians, the dreamiest of artists, the richest of businessmen. She's totally impervious to the male sex. And that's where you come in. No one can resist you. Gideon, Gideon, he's our man—if he can't do it, no one can.''

''Why don't you just send someone to rape her? If you're so convinced her chastity is making you blind, why waste time with niceties? Five minutes in a dark alley should take care of the problem.''

Ralph frowned at him. ''Are you offering your services? Personally I have nothing against rape or even murder—I am an imp of Satan, after all. But I thought you were a bit too squeamish for that sort of thing. I thought seduction was more in your line of expertise.''

Gideon sighed. ''It is. I'm just not in the mood. Send someone else.''

''After all these years? Get in the mood! I've made all the arrangements, and no one's even going to question it. The infection's already spreading to the other eye, and I don't have a whole lot of time to screw around. Neither do you. Get to it.''

''I haven't said I agreed to do it yet...'' Gideon began, but the words were caught in a gust of wind, torn into the bright blue California sky.

He was driving too fast—funny, he hadn't even known he could drive. That probably ruled out the notion that he might have been Mozart. He was driving an elegant, low-slung car in heavy traffic, and it felt like he was looking up the ass of every SUV and truck that surrounded him. The exhaust was thick in the air, but the traffic was moving fast enough to blow it past him, and anything was better than the faintly sulphuric tang of hell.

''You'll love her, buddy.''

He wasn't alone. He glanced over at the man sprawled in the passenger seat. He was tall, well built, well dressed, with thick blond hair, a chiseled jaw, teeth so straight and white they looked unnatural and hands the size of hams. He'd have a two octave reach with those hands, Gideon thought absently. Though with those thick fingers, he'd probably play like he was wearing boxing gloves.

''I'm sure I will,'' he murmured, glancing at his reflection in the rearview mirror. He looked the same as he always had, even though it must have been eons since he'd looked in the mirror. Narrow, thoughtful face, dark eyes, strong nose and a mouth that gave away no secrets, only pleasure. It was the same body, dressed in Armani this time. He was about five foot ten, lean and wiry, stronger than he looked. He wore clothes well—he remembered that much. It should endear him to a brainless, virginal model.

''You're a pal to do this, Gideon. I can't get over running into you after all these years,'' the man continued. Aaron, Gideon realized suddenly. Aaron McAndrews, advertising executive, smart only when it came to his own desires, ruthless and shallow and California handsome. Gideon had never seen him before in his life, but Ralph had worked his magic.

''I wouldn't set up Sam with just anyone,'' he continued. ''You know what they say—blind dates are an invention of the devil. It was all Jasmine could do to talk her into it. But I know I can trust you. After all the time we've known each other, you've never let me down.''

He'd known him ninety seconds and counting, Gideon thought, flashing him a cool smile. ''Explain to me again, why are we doing this?''

''I don't know really. Because you're new in town and you need a date? It's not usually like me to be so altruistic, I know,'' he said with a smile, then shrugged. ''But once you're seen with Sam your reputation is made. You can have all the chicks you want without lifting a finger. You'd do the same for me, old man.''

Gideon smiled faintly. ''I live to serve. Where are we going tonight?''

''There's a new restaurant in Hollywood that everyone's raving about. I had to use Sam's name to get a reservation—usually there's a monthlong wait, and Jasmine isn't enough to do the trick. Everybody who's anybody will be there.''

''Everybody who's anybody,'' Gideon repeated, half to himself.

''Just don't think you're going to get anything in the way of the old horizontal rumba. Sam's gotta be a lesbian.''

''What makes you say that?'' ''She resists everything I've ever thrown at her.'' There was no missing the disgruntled tone in Aaron's voice. ''But don't worry—just being seen with her will land you knee-deep in willing starlets. One date with her will be worth it in the long run, even if she won't put out.''

''That sounds like a challenge,'' Gideon said. He automatically reached into his coat pocket, but there were no cigarettes there. Come to think of it, he didn't want to smoke. He'd had enough smoke for the last innumerable years.

''Don't even think about trying to seduce her, man,'' Aaron said. ''She won't let you touch her.'' Gideon simply smiled.

''You're really expecting me to go out on a blind date?'' Sam demanded, standing in front of the mirror in her favorite little red dress, silver-flecked hose on her legs, one platform heel on, one in her hand. Her tawny hair was a wild mane, her makeup had been applied with practiced skill, her honey-colored eyes were enhanced with colored contact lenses, her wide mouth painted a cherry-blossom pink.

''You've gotten this far,'' Jasmine said. ''You aren't going to change your mind, are you?''

''You know what blind dates are, don't you?'' Sam said in a dire voice as she pulled the other shoe on, pushing her normally five feet eleven inches to six foot two. ''They're an instrument of the devil. They're for masochists and sadists and people who have nothing else in their lives.''

''They're for people who are willing to do a favor for a good friend, no matter how unpleasant,'' Jasmine said softly. ''You know how I feel about Aaron. He's losing interest and I have to do something before it's too late and he finds someone else. The only way he'd go out with me is if I fixed you up with his friend.''

''And I still don't understand what you see in someone like...''

''Let's not go over that again,'' Jasmine said in a soft voice. ''Love isn't practical, it just is.''

Sam smoothed the red silk down over her narrow hips. ''I think you can be as practical about love as you are about anything else. Pheromones shouldn't make your brain fly out the window.''

''You're a lot more levelheaded than I am, as well as a lot more discreet. I've known you for four years, shared a house with you for two, and I haven't met one of your lovers.''

''I keep my life compartmentalized,'' Sam said. She glanced at herself again in one of the many mirrors that covered the walls of the small, rambling Spanish-style villa. Jasmine had put up those mirrors. Samantha didn't need them—she knew perfectly well what she looked like. A certain combination of bone and muscle and skin, and a symmetry of body and face, that for some reason the American public found particularly pleasing. It was nothing more than a trick, a disguise, but even Jasmine didn't seem to realize it.

''So tell me about my date,'' she said, turning away from the mirror with a resigned sigh. ''Is he going to be all over me like the last one?'' ''Most of them are, sweetheart,'' Jasmine said. Sam looked down at her skimpy designer dress. ''Maybe I should wear something with a little more coverage.''

''It wouldn't matter. You could wear burlap and they'd be trying to jump your bones. Don't worry— I've warned Aaron you're doing this as a favor to me and that his friend needs to be on his best behavior.''

''Any friend of Aaron probably doesn't know much about good behavior,'' Sam said. ''How do they know each other? Did they go to Cal together?''

''Aaron didn't say. I'm not sure he even remembers. Just that he's known Gideon all his life and that he's a great guy.''

''Gideon,'' Sam said in a doleful voice. ''He sounds like a wannabe rock star. He's probably an accountant named George who changed his name and wears a comb-over.'' She tilted her head thoughtfully. ''Actually I might almost prefer that.'' ''I'll tell Aaron you prefer comb-overs next time we double-date.''

''We're not doing this again, Jasmine. I love you, but there are limits, and blind dates are above and beyond the call of duty.'' The doorbell rang, and Samantha froze. It was too late to run, too late to feign sick, though she would have liked nothing more than to have thrown up all over her unwanted escort for the evening.

''Cheer up, Sam,'' Jasmine said, heading for the door. ''Everyone knows blind dates are from hell.''

''Yeah,'' Sam said gloomily. ''I'd rather be at the dentist.''

It was too late. Jasmine had opened the door, beaming up into the chiseled face of her beloved. His shadow dwarfed the man beside him, and Sam groaned inwardly. She was going out with a midget. Probably one who tried to compensate for his lack of height by being too aggressive. She couldn't do it, wouldn't do it!

''And this is the famous Samantha,'' Aaron was saying, introducing her with an infuriating tone of ownership, as if she were a favored toy he was sharing with a friend. ''Sam, this is Gideon Hyde.''

She lifted her head, drew herself to her full height and looked at him. Not tiny, and if she hadn't deliberately chosen the highest heels she owned, they might be close in height. As it was she could enjoy the sensation of looking down at him, a faintly haughty expression on her face. She didn't hold out her hand.

''Delighted to meet you,'' she said in a bored voice dripping insincerity.

She didn't get the reaction she was hoping for. He wasn't standing there, openmouthed, awestruck. He simply nodded politely, then returned his attention to the chattering Jasmine, listening courteously.

Sam stood motionless in astonishment. She wasn't used to being ignored, in particular by a blind date. Not that she'd ever had to go on a blind date before—she was able to say no to anyone— except Jasmine, especially when she cried.

But Gideon Hyde seemed to be totally uninterested in her, and Sam felt an irrational spurt of annoyance deep inside.

''Hey, our reservation is in an hour, and it's going to take at least that long to drive into the city from out here in the boonies,'' Aaron said in his chummy voice. ''Why don't we head out? We've got Gideon's car—a sweet little Mercedes. If you want, you can sit in the back with me, Sam.''

And there was another problem. Aaron seemed to have a thing for her, and he expressed it any time he thought Jasmine wasn't paying attention. She could just imagine what an hour-long ride in the cramped back seat of a Mercedes would be like. ''I'll sit up front with my...date,'' she said sweetly. There was no reprimand in her voice, but Gideon turned and looked at her anyway, as if he'd only just remembered why he was here.

''Good idea,'' he murmured. He had a rich, musical voice, though she couldn't tell what part of the country he came from. She liked his voice, even if she didn't like his presence in her house.

And she was tired of waiting around. The sooner this date from hell began, the sooner it would be over. ''Let's go,'' she said briskly. ''I'm starved.'' And she walked out the open front door, knowing they wouldn't be far behind.

CHAPTER TWO

Samantha's long legs quickly carried her to the car parked in the small yard of her little house, and she climbed into the front seat before her so-called date could open the door for her. She didn't really want to find out whether he would have done it or not. If he held the door for her, it probably meant he was old-fashioned, condescending and searching for a way to look up her skirt. If he didn't, it meant he was self-absorbed and rude. She'd already figured he was rude, but with hours left to this torment, she didn't need to confirm it. Why make this date any harder than she had to?

He drove fast and well down the winding road from her house perched on the hillside. A little too fast, she decided, casting a surreptitious glance over at him, ready to catalogue his flaws. She looked at his hands on the wheel. No rings at all, thank God. He had beautiful hands, with long fingers and narrow palms. She had a weakness for beautiful hands.

He dressed well. He was wearing either Armani or something custom-made, and she knew clothes well enough to recognize the quality of the dark silk. He wore sunglasses, shielding his eyes, but his cheekbones were high, his face narrow, his mouth revealing nothing.

His hair was the only anomaly for a young Cal-ifornian on the make. It was long, much longer than was currently fashionable, shiny black and perfectly straight, and he had it tied back with a strip of silk. That hairstyle went out with Steven Seagal, and she wanted to tell him that, except for some reason it looked good on him. Exotic.

She'd slipped her own sunglasses onto her face and slid down in the seat, keeping her legs stretched out in front of her. She was used to men ogling her famous legs, but he seemed far more interested in the car and the road than the famous beauty beside him.

Sam had no illusions about her beauty. It was a fact of life, a gift given her by mischievous gods, and she knew how to use it effectively when she had to, on the days when she was in the limelight. Today should have provided some downtime for her, when she could just hang around the house and play with the dogs, watch TV and read, not have to do a thing with clothes or makeup.

But giving up one day for a friend was not so great a sacrifice. Especially since her blind date seemed totally impervious to her surface charms.

''Nice car,'' she said idly, when the silence had grown uncomfortable.

He glanced at her, startled, almost as if he'd forgotten she was there. ''Very nice,'' he agreed in that cool, mysterious voice. ''I've never driven one before.''

''Is this a rental?''

For a moment it seemed as if he didn't know the answer. ''Yes,'' he said finally.

''You don't live in California?''

''No. I come from a place farther south and a lot hotter.'' His answer seemed to amuse him.

''San Diego?''

He shook his head. ''No place you've ever been.''

''Actually I've never been to San Diego, though I'm not sure why. I was supposed to do a photo shoot at the Hotel Del but it got canceled at the last minute.'' Now why in hell was she talking to him? It wasn't as if she actually wanted to do anything more than get through the next few hours. When forced into a social occasion like this one, she usually made her way through it with a distant, slightly vacant boredom. And yet here she was, prattling away to a mysterious stranger like she actually wanted to.

He didn't say anything, making it abundantly clear that he had no interest in her conversation. She sank back into silence, plotting revenge on the totally preoccupied Jasmine, who was about to break all sorts of decency laws in the back seat, with Aaron's enthusiastic assistance. She closed her eyes, thinking dark thoughts. She'd become and expert at enduring trying situations. She'd once stood for seven hours in the pouring rain on the Spanish Steps in Rome while on a photo shoot, and when the rain let up they sprayed her with hoses. She'd tromped through mud, posed in bathing suits amidst the snow, sat for hour after endless hour, unable to move and mar her perfectly arranged hair and makeup. At least tonight she could move, she could speak, she was neither wet nor freezing. She could just retreat into that quiet place she went to when the rest of the world got too noisy, and her obtuse blind date wouldn't even see.

She should have known they'd end up at Murph's Steak 'n' Grill, the latest, trendiest of restaurants. It was designed to look like a midwestern steakhouse chain, except that most of the steaks came from creatures far more exotic than steer, the waiting list for reservations stretched into next year and prices on the menu would support a third-world country for at least two years.

Her date, and she'd already forgotten his name, pulled up to valet parking. By the time he'd climbed out and Aaron and Jasmine had disentangled themselves, she was tapping her foot on the sidewalk, waiting impatiently.

Hyde, that was his name, she remembered. Gideon Hyde. He came over to her, seemingly unboth-ered by her deliberate attempt to dwarf him, and she straightened her back to increase the distance. He was probably five foot ten or eleven—her own height, in fact, but he couldn't wear platform heels. He had no choice but to be overshadowed.

It didn't seem to bother him. Aaron had pushed between them, talking a mile a minute, and a slightly mussed Jasmine followed behind, looking slightly sheepish. Sam suppressed an inward sigh. The things she did for her friends.

''Shall we?'' Gideon said. If he put his hand on the small of her back, she'd kick him with her lethal shoes, but he wisely did no such thing. Odd, how he managed to sort of usher her into the ultratrendy restaurant without even touching her. She felt oddly protected. Not that she needed protection from anyone. Still, it was a strange, not uncomfortable, sensation.

The noise assaulted her once she stepped inside. She'd long ago learned to ignore the eyes that focused on her when she was in a public place, and tonight was no different. She followed the circuitous route the maitre d' led them, in order to show off their celebrity acquisition to as many guests as possible, before seating them at a far too public table. She considered asking for one out of the limelight, but Aaron had already plopped himself down, leaving Jasmine to fend for herself. He rubbed his hands together in visceral delight.

''This is great, isn't it? Just great!'' Gideon moved around her, and she stiffened, waiting for his touch. Instead he pulled the chair out for Jasmine, and the sweetness of the smile he directed at her was a revelation.

Sam didn't wait for him to pull out her chair. If he didn't she'd have to hit him; if he did she'd have to thank him. Right now she was far too interested in considering other possibilities, such as whether Gideon was really interested in Jasmine and had used this hellish blind date as a simple ruse to get close to her. If so, she could certainly applaud his good taste—Jasmine was worthy of devotion from far better than a lout like Aaron.

Lout. She liked that word—it fit Aaron entirely too well. A boring, shallow lout. Whereas Gideon

Hyde was an enigma, and more interesting than she cared to admit.

He ordered single malt scotch, of course. ''I don't drink,'' she said in a cool, serene tone.

Jasmine didn't blink—if she'd learned one thing it was not to contradict Sam in public. She didn't say a word when Sam closed the huge menu and ordered a salad of mixed baby greens and nothing else. She'd had enough sense to pig out before they left, hoping a quick meal would make the end of the evening come that much faster.

''You don't eat meat?'' Gideon said. He still wore his sunglasses, as did half the people in the darkened room, but it annoyed her. ''Are you a vegetarian?''

''A vegan. I don't partake of flesh of any sort, but since the menu is unfortunately devoid of tofu I'll have to make do with salad.''

''Tofu,'' Aaron said with a shudder.

''A steak house was probably not the best choice of restaurant then,'' Gideon said.

There was something behind those dark glasses, something behind that odd, liquid voice that she couldn't quite define. She wondered what he'd do if she pulled the glasses from his narrow, strong nose and threw them across the room.

She was going to do no such thing, of course.

That would require touching him, and she certainly wasn't about to do that. ''She'll be fine,'' Aaron said carelessly. ''Models don't eat anything, anyway. Too easy to get fat.'' He was sitting to one side of her, and he reached out and pinched her thigh with one meaty hand.

She jumped, not expecting it, and glared at him. If Jasmine hadn't been sitting there looking so lovelorn she would have thrown her water glass at him. As it was, the night was still wretchedly young, and she would just as likely have a chance to do it later.

''You don't drink, you don't eat,'' Gideon said. ''Do you have any weaknesses at all?''

''None that concerns you.'' She cast a suspicious eye at Aaron. ''You chose this place, didn't you?'' ''Hey, I've been trying to get in here for months. It was only when I used your name that a table magically opened up. Come on, Sam, you'll love it. They serve everything from emu to baby seal, and the chef's an animal lover. He keeps his pet bichon frise with him in the kitchen.''

''In case he runs out of meat?'' she drawled. ''Ewww,'' Jasmine said. ''They eat dog in Vietnam,'' Gideon said. ''Thank God you didn't choose a Vietnamese restaurant,'' Sam said. ''I can't stand dogs, but I'd just as soon not eat one.'' She picked up her glass of

Pellegrino, tossed her thick mane over her shoulder, and gave Gideon a cool, assessing look. Daring him to say something.

They'd brought him his scotch, and he held it up, a silent, almost mocking toast, before taking a drink. For some reason she watched his mouth, the line of his throat as he swallowed the liquor. For some reason she felt uncomfortably hot. She wondered if the taste lingered in his mouth.

''Would you prefer to go somewhere else, Sa-mantha?'' he asked.

She'd always hated the name her mother had saddled her with, and she deliberately used it only for her professional life, to keep her personal and professional worlds separate. ''We're here now. We might as well stay,'' she said. She was treading a fine line between elegant boredom and outright rudeness, and she wasn't quite sure why. She knew how to behave, but Gideon Hyde with his dark glasses and his liquid, silvery voice managed to get under her skin.

He reached over and patted her hand like a pediatrician comforting a fretful child anticipating a shot. ''Don't worry—it will all be over soon.''

She snatched her hand away as if burned, and put it in her lap under the table. And she gave him her coldest, chilliest smile, one that could freeze the fires of hell itself.

He simply smiled back, unmoved.

Yes, Samantha was beautiful. Cold as ice, which should have appealed to Gideon after his endless incarceration in such a hot climate. He genuinely liked women, thought he understood them, but Sam wasn't quite so easy to read. When she looked at him, which was as infrequently as possible, she seemed to view him as a cross between a serial killer and a pervert. As far as he could remember he was neither, but maybe she was psychic.

He didn't think so. He wouldn't put it past Ralph to send a twisted murderer back to earth, just for his own entertainment, but despite the few concrete facts he possessed about himself, Gideon didn't think he was a truly bad man, even if he had ended up in hell.

No, the problem rested with the astonishingly beautiful woman sitting beside him. Her luminous tawny eyes were cool and emotionless, her perfectly tinted lips held only the most dismissing of smiles, except when it came to her friend. Jasmine was vulnerable, sweet and not too bright, and she seemed to incite the only emotions Samantha was capable of feeling, or at least showing. Maybe Ralph was wrong; maybe her sexual orientation was toward other women. That wouldn't stop him from seducing her, but Ralph had assured him she was neither gay nor frigid. She just hadn't found the right man.

She had now, whether she was willing to accept it or not. She was a challenge, no doubt about that, and he didn't know how much time he actually had for the project. He supposed it was possible he could manage to get her in bed tonight, but that would require superhuman effort.

Come to think of it, he wasn't human, was he? He wasn't quite sure what he was. And after all this time, he wasn't even sure he wanted to make love to one of the most beautiful women he'd ever seen.

She picked at her salad, like someone nibbling on sauteed worms. She sipped at her water, her magnificent eyes downcast. She was a little too thin for his tastes, he thought, then corrected himself. No one had ever been too thin or too plump for him. He was looking for excuses.

Maybe he just didn't like following orders. For the first time in what might be centuries he had something under his control. And despite the cost, he might very well simply refuse to cooperate. It would certainly be with Samantha's cold-blooded blessing.

Was this night never going to end? He ate the rarest, bloodiest beef steak he could get, partly to annoy her, partly because it might be the last great steak he'd ever get. And it was so wonderful he almost forgot why he was there.

Bored, he thought. He needed something to liven things up, or he wasn't going to get within an inch of Samantha's long, luscious legs. Just a small distraction to shake things up...

It wasn't a large explosion, though the kitchen door slammed open with a gust of smoke and flames. The sprinkler system came on, and he wasn't sure whether all the overdressed guests were screaming because of the danger from the fire or because their clothes were being ruined by the water pouring from the ceiling. They were racing toward the exits with all the calm of a cattle stampede as thick, dense smoke filled the room. Aaron had bolted at the first sign of danger, Jasmine was standing frozen in shock, Samantha was already in motion.

He had to get them out of there. He'd already figured out that Samantha didn't like to be touched, but Jasmine was another matter. He put his arm around her waist and started toward the door, knowing Samantha was more than capable of finding her way on her own. And she would have if her ridiculous kiss-my-ass shoes hadn't collapsed under her, sending her sprawling.

Personal space be damned. He reached down and hauled her up, dragging her from the chaos that had been one of the L.A. area's most exclusive restaurant just a few short minutes ago. And he'd been complaining about being bored.

The three of them stumbled out into the night air, followed by waves of billowy smoke. The drenched diners were coughing and crying, including Jasmine, but Samantha simply pulled her arm free, fastening her fierce gaze on a sheepish looking Aaron.

''You cowardly son of a—'' she started, when an anguished howl broke through her incipient tirade.

''My Choux-fleur!'' someone cried. Samantha whirled around, tottering slightly on her ridiculous shoes, and honed in on the chef.

''You can get more cauliflower,'' she snapped.

''No! Choux-fleur is my bichon frise. He was asleep on his little bed when the explosion happened. I must go back...''

He was immediately restrained by a group of firefighters. ''You left your dog in there?'' she demanded.

''Mon petit Choux-fleur!'' he was moaning.

Gideon felt a hand on his arm, and he turned to see Samantha holding on to him as she slipped off first one shoe, then the other, bringing her down to his height. It was odd to be looking directly into her eyes, but she wasn't paying attention. She thrust the shoes and her ridiculous swan-shaped purse into his hands. ''Take care of these for me,'' she said. And a moment later she was sprinting across the littered sidewalk, back into the smoky restaurant before anyone could stop her.

He immediately started after her. Mortality wasn't much of an issue for him, and he'd been in hotter places, but by this time the firefighters had managed to push everyone back.

''My date went back inside,'' he said helplessly, still clutching her stupid shoes and purse.

''Don't worry, buddy,'' a cop standing nearby said. ''The guys have gone in after her. If she's still in one piece they'll get her out okay. Does your girlfriend have a death wish or something? She do crazy shit like this a lot?''

''I don't know. She was a blind date.'' The cop's laugh was unsentimental. ''If it was a blind date you're probably better off if she doesn't come out.''

Gideon stared at him, then blinked as Ralph's face looked back at him from beneath the cop's hat. His bad eye was in the shadow, and his grin was far too cheerful. ''Better get to it, old man,'' he said,

clapping Gideon on the shoulder. ''You don't want to disappoint me, now do you? Especially when I went to all that trouble to alleviate your boredom?'' ''You set the fire?''

Ralph shrugged. ''Nothing so pedestrian. I arranged it. And she'll be coming out in a minute or two, you just wait. I'm not about to let anything happen to her. My eyesight is precious to me.'' ''You're a conscienceless bastard.'' ''Of course I am, Gideon,'' he said. ''What would you expect from hell? Now, stop wasting time.''

A second later Gideon was staring into a different face, an older policeman. ''You okay, buddy?'' he said, looking worried. ''You blanked out on me for a second. Did you hit your head?''

Gideon shook himself, mentally cursing Ralph. ''My girlfriend just ran back into the restaurant,'' he said. ''You have to let me go in...'' ''That her?''

Gideon looked up. Samantha had reemerged, her tawny mane wet and bedraggled, her face and arms and endless legs streaked with soot, a squirming white bundle of fur in her arms, trying to lick some of the dirt away.

And then the chef rushed over, tears of gratitude pouring down his face as he tried to take the dog out of Samantha's arms. The dog snapped at him, and a moment later the three of them had disappeared into the crowded night, leaving Gideon standing alone still clutching the most ridiculous pair of shoes he'd ever seen and a crystal-studded purse shaped like a swan.

''Hey, man, can you give us a ride home?'' Aaron loomed up beside him, a shaken Jasmine in tow. Aaron didn't even have a spot of soot or water on him—clearly he'd saved his sorry ass before the sprinkler system had even been activated. ''I need to find Samantha.'' ''Don't worry about her,'' Jasmine said. ''She's gone to the animal emergency room with the chef. She'll find her own way home.''

There was nothing he could say. He simply nodded, tucking the shoes under his arm and slipping the tiny jeweled purse into his pocket. By the time he arrived at Aaron's house he'd come to a decision, one he'd been flirting with all night. Ralph wasn't going to have his way, no matter what the cost.

''Sorry about the date, old man,'' Aaron said, climbing out of the car and waiting for Jasmine to follow. ''I did my best, but Samantha's a cold bitch. If you want me to set you up with someone a little friendlier just let me know. How long are you going to be in town?''

''Not long,'' he said, expecting Ralph to haul his

ass back to hell the moment he refused to play along.

''Jasmine and I are spending the weekend at my place in the mountains, but I'll give you a call when I get back, okay? You'll still be at the same place?''

''I expect so,'' he said calmly. Still in hell, where he presumably belonged.

He just wished he could remember why.

CHAPTER THREE

''Forget it.''

Gideon blinked. A second ago he'd been about to climb back into the gorgeous Mercedes on a warm California night. Now he was back in the stifling confines of the three hundred and forty-seventh level of hell, with Ralph sprawled on a wooden bench, peering at him from beneath luxurious black curls that could only be a wig. The last time he'd seen him he'd been an able-bodied policeman. He'd morphed into Captain Hook, with an elegant frock coat, a gold hook in place of a hand, a carved ivory peg leg, and an embroidered eye patch.

''Not Captain Hook,'' Ralph said with a trace of irritation, reading his mind again. ''He had both eyes and both legs, if I remember my classics correctly. But we're not talking about literature, we're talking about my eye. I'm not taking no for an answer.''

Gideon glanced down at his own clothes. He was in jeans and a T-shirt—the silk suit long gone, but

for some reason he reached for his nonexistent pocket, for the swan purse he'd tucked there. Gone as well, and the thought was oddly troubling. ''You can't make me.''

''You sound like a teenager. I can make you do anything I want,'' Ralph said. ''All I have to do is threaten you with another millennium in this place as opposed to a chance of moving on, and you'll do exactly as I say. Besides, what have you got to lose? She's gorgeous, and you love women. Are you afraid you can't get her? Afraid to fail?'' Afraid to win, he thought absently. ''Sentimental crap,'' Ralph said, reading him. ''You'll screw her senseless, my eye will be healed, you'll move on to someplace with a little more air conditioning, and she'll move on to someone like Aaron who'll marry her, give her babies, cheat on her and leave her for a younger woman the moment her looks start to fade.'' ''You're so sure of that?'' ''Hell, no. The future isn't preordained—I thought you knew that. There are all sorts of possibilities. The only thing that isn't negotiable is whether or not you'll seduce her. And she's got to like it.''

''I wouldn't think that would make any difference in whether your eye will heal or not.''

''It doesn't. I just want your work cut out for you. Giving a virgin an orgasm is a tough job, but you're the man to do it.'' ''And if I say no?'' ''I told you, not an option.'' Gideon kept his mind deliberately blank, looking around the tiny, heat-filled space. ''So why am I back here?''

''What do you think this is, summer camp? You're not on furlough, you're on a mission. When you're not working you come back here, not to that hotel suite.''

Gideon only raised an eyebrow. ''You want my cooperation, Ralph? Then maybe you'll have to give a little more than vague promises. I get to stay up there until the job is done, or no deal.''

Ralph scratched his head with the golden hook, and the long black wig shifted slightly. ''You're annoying, you know that? I could always make a trade, get someone a little more cooperative in your place.''

''Why don't you?''

''You've already made some progress. She likes you, even if she's not sure why. Besides, I prefer to work with what I have. You've got forty-eight hours, Gideon. Get her, and get her good, or you'll find you didn't even know what hell could be like. I'll be watching.''

''Voyeur,'' Gideon said. ''Don't try my patience, boy.'' ''I'll do...'' Gideon's words trailed off. He was standing on a balcony, looking out over the sprawling city of Los Angeles. Looking toward the hills, where Samantha's house was nestled. Ralph had sent him back, but that didn't mean he wasn't listening to every thought, watching every movement.

He summoned up the most insulting mental picture he could imagine, just for Ralph's benefit, and then laughed. It was a cool night, the silk was soft against his skin, and the swan-shaped purse was in his pocket. The shoes were on a low table behind him, and he picked one up, running his fingers along the high arch, the ridiculously high heel. He couldn't figure out how a woman could walk in those things, much less run. Or why a woman who hated dogs would run back into a burning restaurant to rescue one.

He'd find out soon enough. In the meantime he was going to strip off his silk suit, slide naked beneath the silk sheets that he was sure would be on the huge bed in his hotel room and sleep without dreams.

And he wouldn't even break a sweat.

It was a hot, lazy afternoon. It had taken Sam forever to scrub the soot and smoke from her hair and skin, and she'd slept late, only dragging herself out of bed at Rags's insistence. Dogs were a pain in the butt, she thought fondly, leading the partially blind, totally deaf springer spaniel out to the backyard, where he immediately began leaping around like a puppy instead of the twelve-year-old elder states man that he was. Whether they were tiny little yap-sters like Choux-fleur or huge goofy dumbbells, she loved them all. Right now she only had Rags in residence, but she was expecting two rescued King Charles spaniels in the next week or so, and she was looking forward to it.

She hadn't slept well. For some reason she kept dreaming of her annoying blind date. Not that there was any other kind of blind date, but what's-his-name was more insidious than most. Or less forgettable, which made him dangerous. And she knew perfectly well what his name was. Gideon Hyde. She just wished she didn't.

She liked him. She wasn't sure why—maybe it was his kindness to Jasmine. Maybe it was the way he didn't let her borderline rudeness bother him. Maybe because he didn't fall at her feet or try to paw her. Maybe she was just obsessed by his mouth. It didn't matter—she wouldn't be seeing him again.

No doubt, he'd have learned his lesson the hard way last night—that just because a woman possessed certain physical attributes didn't mean she'd be an agreeable companion. Not to mention that she'd ditched him at the last minute. Plus a pair of designer shoes and her Judith Leiber purse. She'd always liked that purse, too. The swan appealed to her sense of humor. And it was going to be a pain to replace a couple of its contents.

She worked out for her allotted hour, hating every moment of it, then rewarded herself with a huge roast beef sandwich and a bottle of Sapporo beer. She had a real weakness for beer, one she couldn't indulge too often, and she was working her way around the world. She'd gone through German, Danish and Mexican beers, and she was two weeks into Japanese beers. So far she liked them the best, but there were dozens of countries left to go.

She was wearing cutoffs, a well-worn white ASPCA T-shirt without a bra underneath and her hair was yanked back in a loose ponytail as she settled on the grass beneath the jacaranda tree. She didn't bother with her contacts—her sunglasses had prescription lenses and it was a bright day. Rags came over and plopped down beside her, putting his head on her lap. He could smell the roast beef, but he'd always been too much of a gentleman to beg, and she wasn't about to tempt him.

It was a beautiful day, and she had nothing to do, and even if she did, her car was in the shop. She didn't need to worry about anything, not even Jasmine. And she'd managed to dump her unwanted date the night before, so why wasn't she feeling more peaceful?

She took another drink of the icy beer, savoring it. She only allowed herself one a week—beer was fattening and for as long as her fifteen minutes of fame lasted she intended to respect the tool that had given it to her—her body.

She heard the car pull into her long driveway, and she breathed a sigh of relief. Jasmine was back early. She'd probably be crying—Aaron was a pig and a beast and Jasmine was a fool to love him, but all the reasoning in the world wouldn't make any difference. Thank God she wasn't plagued by any romantic weaknesses.

''I'm out back!'' she called, taking another bite out of her sandwich. ''Come and tell me how your night went. Was Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding pissed off that I dumped him?'' And then she stopped, horrified, as Mr. Tall, Dark and Brooding himself came around the corner of the house.

''Not particularly,'' he said. He still had his dark glasses on, but today he was wearing black pants and a black silk shirt. No gold chains, and only a couple of buttons undone. She found she wanted to see more of his chest and had no idea why.

Fortunately Sam was incapable of blushing. She tilted her head sideways, observing him. ''You'd make a good model,'' she said. ''You wear clothes well.''

''I'm not bad without them,'' he replied in his calm, liquid voice. ''You left your shoes and purse behind. I figured you weren't being Cinderella, but by the time I dropped Jasmine off she was too involved with Aaron to pay much attention, or I would have given them to her.''

''Rather than use them as an excuse to see me again?''

''I didn't get the impression you were swept away by my charms, but you can always disabuse me of the notion.'' He set the shoes down on the chair by the pool, placing the swan purse on top of them. ''You hate dogs, do you? And I suppose Sapporo suddenly started making nonalcoholic beer, and that's roast beef-colored tofu on your sandwich?''

She should have been annoyed. ''You're just lucky Rags is blind and deaf. He hates men. He was abused as a puppy and he gets very aggressive when men come near.''

''Does he? Sounds like his owner.'' Without waiting to be asked he sat down in one of the French wrought-iron chairs by the pool. As luck would have it Rags suddenly realized someone was there, and he lifted his head, sniffing, and a quiet growl started in his throat as he lumbered to his feet.

She grabbed for him, but he slipped past her, heading toward Gideon with unnatural accuracy, given his cloudy eyesight. Sam closed her eyes, waiting for the inevitable snapping and growling. Rags wouldn't actually bite him, but he could make enough noise to scare the devil. Well, she'd warned him.

To her astonishment the incipient growl ended. She opened her eyes to see Rags slobbering happily beneath Gideon's beautiful hands.

''He seems to like me well enough. Another lie?''

Sam shook her head. ''He's never let another man near him. That's very odd.''

''Maybe he has better instincts than his mistress.''

She took another drink of beer. ''Okay, I'm sorry. I just don't happen to like blind dates.''

''Or men?''

''I like men just fine. In their place,'' she added with a trace of wickedness.

''And where is that? As far away as possible?''

''Depends on the man,'' she said. ''Do you want a beer?''

''I want...''

The ring of the cell phone stopped him midsen-tence. She picked it up, crossing her bare legs and leaning forward.

It was Jasmine, sobbing. ''Sam!'' she wailed on the other end.

''What's wrong?''

''Aaron and I had a fight. He left me up here, all alone!''

''Where are you?''

''Up in the mountains. The house in Santa Ina— you remember. You came here for the Fourth of July. I'm all alone here and I don't think he's coming back!''

''Jerk!'' Sam muttered.

''What?'' Jasmine exclaimed.

''Aaron, not you,'' Sam clarified. ''I'll come and get you. Just calm down, and I'll be there as soon as I can.''

''You don't have a car. It's in the shop, remember?'' Jasmine started sobbing even harder.

Sam glanced over at Gideon. He was concentrating on scratching Rags's head as it lolled blissfully against his leg. ''I'll borrow one,'' she said. ''Give me three hours and I'll come get you. Okay?''

''Okay,'' Jasmine's voice was watery. ''But come soon.''

Sam disconnected, rising to her feet with one fluid movement. ''I need your car,'' she said flatly.

''Forget it. You're not getting it. Not without me.''

''If you think I'm going to sleep with you just to borrow your car...''

He laughed. ''Who said anything about sleeping with me? Since it's a rental, I don't want anyone else driving it. If you need to go someplace, I'll drive you.''

She couldn't blush, but she could mentally kick herself. Why in hell had she said something like that? She had no idea whether Gideon Hyde wanted to get her in bed or not. Most men did, but she'd already discovered that Gideon wasn't most men. He was far more interesting. Dangerously so.

''I need to drive up to a cabin in the mountains near Santa Ina and pick up Jasmine. Apparently she had a fight with Aaron and he left her there.''

''All right,'' he said. ''Let's go.'' He rose, and he was her height. She needed her shoes on again. She needed her hair and her makeup and her uncomfortable clothes.

''Give me a minute to change.'' ''I thought we were in a hurry.''

She looked at him. It was an odd sensation—he was picture-perfect, she was the slob. ''Let me see your eyes,'' she said abruptly.

''You want to see if I'm on drugs?'' ''No. I want to see whether I can trust you.'' He reached up and took the dark glasses off, looking directly into her eyes, and for a moment her heart stopped. His eyes were so dark they were almost black, and they were slightly tilted, exotic-looking, deep and unfathomable. And all she could do was look into them wordlessly, falling into some deep, velvet tunnel.

''Now you,'' he said, keeping her trapped in the watchfulness of his gaze. ''This isn't strip poker.'' ''Take them off.'' His deep, liquid voice was almost hypnotic, and she took off her sunglasses.

''I'm not wearing my contacts,'' she said. ''You'll be a blur.'' But she could see him quite clearly. See his eyes, feel them. It was almost physical and totally unnerving. Her skin felt hot, prickly, and she wanted...

She didn't know what she wanted. She put her glasses back on hurriedly and stepped away. ''Satisfied?''

''Not yet. What about the dog? Will he be all right alone?''

No man had ever expressed concern about any of her dogs. ''He'll be fine. My housekeeper is coming over later to feed him—if I'm not here she'll just take him home with her. He's used to her.''

''Then let's go.''

''I need shoes.''

He smiled. Another danger—with his dark, unreadable eyes and that half smile he was disturbingly attractive. And she didn't want to be attracted to him. ''You could wear the ones I brought back. Unless they've already served their purpose.''

''What do you mean?''

''They put me in my place. I think you can comfortably get away with flats now. I know you're above me.''

She almost put the damned shoes on just to spite him. She had a pair of well-worn sandals by the pool—she shoved her feet in them instead.

''Purse?'' she said. He tossed the tiny jeweled swan to her, and she caught it. It held nothing but a hundred dollars cash, her driver's license and her ATM card, but it would do. ''I'm ready,'' she said, not sure if she was.

The black Mercedes was parked in her driveway, the same car he'd driven the night before, of course. ''I don't suppose you'd change your mind about letting me drive?''

''Not in this lifetime. Do I open the door for you or will you hit me?''

He'd managed to surprise her again. Had he read her mind last night? Impossible. ''I can open my own doors.''

''Then what's stopping you? Get in.'' She hesitated for a moment longer. For some reason she kept thinking it was the point of no return. Once she stepped into that car her life would be changed forever.

And then she shook away the odd superstitious thought and climbed in. Jasmine needed her. This was no time for her to give in to her overindulgent imagination.

This wasn't the river Styx, and he wasn't Charon, taking her down into hell. She wasn't Persephone, she wasn't Cinderella, she wasn't anyone but Sam going to rescue a friend, forced into the company of a fascinating stranger.

She'd survive. She always did.

CHAPTER FOUR

So maybe refusing to do Ralph's bidding was the dumbest idea he'd ever had in his entire life, both before and after death. She'd been beautiful and desirable with her go-to-hell shoes and her perfect hair. In cutoffs and a T-shirt, and with her hair yanked back in a ponytail, and no makeup, she was close to irresistible. She wasn't wearing a bra, and he sent a silent thank-you in Ralph's direction for that benefit. No, he probably wasn't going to be able to resist her. He'd just have to hope her will was stronger than his.

She had the prettiest eyes. Pretty wasn't a word most people would have used when they thought of Samantha—striking, gorgeous, beautiful were even too mild. But when she took off her dark glasses and looked at him, without the artificial shield of contact lenses, she'd looked vulnerable and al-most...sweet. So sweet that he knew if he touched her he'd hurt her. So sweet that he knew he was going to have to try.

He glanced over at her in the passenger seat. She was clutching that ridiculous little purse in her beautiful hands, and he tried to wrench his mind away from what those hands could do, what those long, smooth legs would feel like wrapped around him. ''Why the swan?'' ''I collect purses.''

''But the swan wasn't just a random choice, was it?''

She looked at him. ''No.'' ''So were you too tall and gangly as a child and always felt like an ugly duckling and now you identify with the swan?''

''You're not nearly as smart as you think you are,'' she shot back. ''I'm a swan who'd rather be a duckling. But you take what you're handed and deal with it.''

''Ah, poor baby. It's a curse being beautiful,'' he said lightly. She stared at him. ''Go to hell.'' He laughed, resisting the impulse to say, Been there, done that. ''Sorry. I'm not being suitably reverential.''

She pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead to look at him, and once more he got the full force of her eyes. ''I don't have the right nature to be beautiful,'' she said. ''But I also don't like to waste things. I was given a certain gift, and I'll nurture it and sell it for as long as I can. When it's over I'll take my money and move as far away from L.A. as I can.''

''And what will you do then?'' ''Anything I damned please. So what do you do? I expect you're in advertising like Aaron.''

''You really don't like me much, do you?'' he said.

''You really haven't given me any reason to like you, have you?'' she countered.

He racked his brain, but his mouth was already coming up with an answer. ''I play piano.'' ''For a living?'' She sounded dubious. He shrugged. ''I write music. Soundtracks, some stuff for television. It keeps me relatively solvent.'' It sounded oddly right even as he made it up on the spot.

''And you do all this someplace farther south and a lot hotter?''

He'd forgotten he'd said that. She must have been paying closer attention than he realized. ''No, that's just where I came from. Right now I live on a small island in Puget Sound. Fortunately I get to work long-distance.'' He changed the subject. ''So you don't like being a model?'' For a moment he thought she was going to blow

him off. But instead she put the sunglasses back on, and he could see a little of the tension leave her body. ''It has its good points,'' she said. ''I make a great deal of money and I get to play dress-up. I was always into fantasy when I was a kid, probably because I was an only child. So now I get to dress up like a thousand different women and pretend I'm them, and then I get to go home and be me.'' ''And who do you prefer?'' ''Me,'' she said with absolute certainty. ''So do I.'' ''What?''

''Prefer you to the thousand different women. When you're not trying to scare the hell out of me.'' ''I don't think anyone could,'' she said, sounding slightly aggrieved. ''So why did you agree to bring me up here? Surely you must have better things to do if you're just in L.A. on a visit.''

''Nothing better to do. Besides, I like you.'' He'd really managed to astonish her. ''You like me?'' she echoed. ''Men don't like me. They want to sleep with me, use me, fall in love with me, but they don't like me.''

''Oh, I want to sleep with you. But then, I only sleep with women I like.''

She looked uncomfortable, but she was the one

who'd brought up the subject. ''Isn't it better to sleep with women you love?'' she asked.

''Maybe. But it's a little soon for me to be in love with you. If you want I can make the effort...'' She laughed then. ''You're being ridiculous. Besides, I know why you really agreed to drive all this way with me.'' ''Do you?''

''I'm more observant than you think. You have a thing for Jasmine. I watched you with her last night—you were paying far more attention to her than you were to me.''

''You made it clear you could take care of yourself. Did it bother you?''

''Not at all. I love Jasmine, and you'd definitely be an improvement over Aaron. The two of you might...''

He'd been driving fast on the secondary road, and he hit the brakes a little too hard, so that the tires spun as they slid to a stop on the shoulder. ''I don't have a thing for Jasmine,'' he said firmly. ''I have a thing for you.'' And because he couldn't wait any longer he caught her face in one hand and kissed her, unbuckling his seat belt with the other hand.

Her mouth was cool, shocked beneath his, and she slid back against the leather seat as he leaned over her, letting him kiss her but not contributing in any way. He felt a moment's grievance—her total passivity was enough to cool any man's desire. No wonder she'd managed to stay a virgin for so long.

But he had no intention of starting the car again, of doing anything, until he could get her to kiss him back. It wasn't a matter of obeying Ralph's orders, it wasn't a matter of pride. He just had a sudden, desperate need for her to kiss him.

He put his tongue against her lips, tasting them, then pulled back, looking into the opaque darkness of her sunglasses. ''You don't like kissing?''

''Not much,'' she said coolly.

''Then you haven't had the right man kiss you.'' He put his lips against hers, softly. He made no demands, he was in no hurry, just small, lazy kisses against her soft mouth, clinging for a moment, then releasing, touching her with his tongue, then brushing the side of her mouth.

She wasn't as cool as she had been. He put his mouth against the side of her neck and he could feel her pulse moving fast beneath his tongue. He moved his mouth up again, to her lips, and he pushed her mouth open with his, just a little bit, nudging her, teasing her, as he could tell her breathing was growing more labored. Maybe he was just taking her breath, but he didn't think so. He would have given ten years off his life to touch those small, perfect breasts beneath the thin T-shirt, but then he didn't have any years left. And her mouth was enough for now.

Particularly when he felt her lips move beneath his, just slightly.

He pressed a tiny bit harder. She opened her mouth for him, and he couldn't stand it anymore— he had to use his tongue.

She jumped, and he could almost feel her try to reach for that Zen-like passivity, but he was having none of it. He knew how to kiss, and it had been too damned long since he'd kissed a woman. And he didn't know if he'd ever wanted to kiss a woman as much as he wanted to kiss Sam.

The tiny noise she made was almost enough to make him explode. It was the unmistakable, delectable sound of desire, coming from deep inside her, half a moan, half a growl, and he wondered whether he could manage to get her out of those raggedy cutoffs and into the back seat.

Her hand came up and touched his face, just as he was about to reach for her seat belt. Her skin was cool, her fingers trembled, and the touch was the merest hint of a caress.

It was enough. He drew back, breathing hard, to stare into her opaque sunglasses. ''Not Jasmine,'' he said. And he started the car, pulling out onto the empty road without looking.

Sam tried to slide down further in her seat, but her legs were too long—there was no more room in front of her. She crossed her arms over her chest as she realized in sudden horror that not only was she not wearing a bra, but her nipples were hard and sticking out against the thin cotton.

She wanted to wipe her mouth. No, she wanted to touch her mouth, to see if it felt any different. She kept her arms tightly crossed over her chest, hugging herself, shaken and unsure.

She glanced over at him as he drove down the highway. He didn't look as if he'd spent the past five minutes kissing her into a puddle of mindless need. Unless you looked at his mouth, and she certainly didn't want to be doing that, because she couldn't look at his mouth without wanting to feel it against hers again.

The silence between them was making it even worse. She summoned her coolest voice. ''You kiss very well,'' she said. ''You must have had a lot of practice.''

He glanced over at her, a faint smile drawing her eyes to his mouth again. ''And you haven't had much at all.''

She wasn't quite sure how to react to that. ''Are you saying you don't like kissing me?''

''Oh, no. I like kissing you very much indeed. You make it very interesting.''

He wasn't improving things all that much. ''I didn't think kissing was supposed to be merely interesting.''

''If you want me to pull over again I can demonstrate just how intense interesting can be.''

''No!'' She sounded panicked, and she didn't care.

''All right,'' he said calmly. ''We can play later.'' ''We cannot!'' ''Not if you don't want to.'' ''I don't! Ever!'' ''Never?'' he murmured. He couldn't know. No one could really know— most people thought she had a secret lesbian lover stashed somewhere, or else they thought she was so kinky her sex life was clouded in mystery. No one knew that not only did she not have a lover, but that the only thing deviant about her sex life was that she was still a virgin.

No one would believe her if she told them. And why should she? She had no intention of having sex with anyone right now, and when she decided to she planned to have plenty of time to get to know the guy first and give him advance warning that she hadn't done it before. The last thing she was going to do was hop into bed with a stranger she'd known less than twenty-four hours.

Even if, inexplicably, she wanted to.

None of this made any sense. She liked big, capable men, not slender, elegant ones. She needed a long time to get comfortable with a man, and this man put her in a strange, restless state that was unnerving. That made her wonder what his skin would feel like against hers.

She had nothing against sex, premarital or otherwise. She'd come close a couple of times, years ago, but in the end had backed out, much to the disgust of the boys involved. By the third time she decided not to let it get to that point, not unless she was absolutely certain, and she hadn't even been tempted in God knew how long.

She wasn't tempted now—that would be insane. It was just that he knew how to kiss. But it was just a talent like any other, like playing the piano or painting or playing tennis. One that improved with practice. He must have kissed a lot of women to be that good, and she didn't need to start having feelings for a man who used women like that.

But if he kissed that well, what would sex be like with him? Anyone who could put that much sensuality into the touching of mouths would likely be quite extraordinary when it came to actual intercourse.

But then again, she didn't know what ordinary intercourse was like, so why bother fantasizing about anything else?

She pushed her sunglasses up on her forehead and squinted into the bright afternoon. She was moderately nearsighted—she could do without her glasses but it made life more complicated. The leaves overhead dissolved into a gentle blur of green against the blue sky, and the highway stretched out as a gray expanse in front of them. She glanced at her companion, but he was close enough that she could see him clearly. Far too clearly.

She'd been in various stages of dress and undress with some of the most beautiful men in the world, both gay and straight, and she'd never been so fascinated by someone's face and body. His skin was a faintly golden color, not really tanned, more a natural pigment, and his long black hair was silky straight against his neck. He had high cheekbones, a narrow nose and the most beautiful mouth she'd ever kissed. But beauty had never been that valuable a commodity as far as she was concerned. She knew just how ephemeral it could be, and how utterly random, a simple combination of genes and luck. It was ridiculous to be swept away by an accident of nature. She thought of all the men who'd wanted her over the years, simply because she looked the way she did. She'd never understood it. But she couldn't keep from looking at Gideon. Wondering what it would be like to...

''It's going to rain,'' he said. He must have felt her eyes on him. A faint smile played around his mouth.

''It never rains in California,'' she said firmly. ''Besides, there isn't a cloud in the sky.''

He said nothing as the first bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by earthshaking thunder. He'd turned the windshield wipers on before the first torrent slapped the window, and he slowed his dangerous pace just slightly.

The weather wasn't improving things. The darkness and heavy rain made the interior of the car feel smaller, closer, more intimate, and intimacy was the last thing she needed from the stranger beside her. Who didn't feel like a stranger at all.

''Did you do that?'' she asked suspiciously, knowing how ridiculous it sounded.

''Do what? Control the weather? I get enough rain up in Washington that I wouldn't be looking for more.'' It was coming down in sheets of water, washing across the road.

''It's dangerous when it rains down here. All the oil on the road gets very slick.''

''I have no intention of getting into an accident. We're on a rescue mission, remember? What good would we do Jasmine if we ended up in a ditch?'' She bit her lip to keep silent. Never in her life had she been jealous of another woman, but even bringing up Jasmine's name might encourage him to...to try to prove his lack of interest. And she didn't want that to be the reason he kissed her.

She didn't want him to have any reason at all to kiss her, she reminded herself. None at all.

''You never did tell me where you disappeared to last night,'' he said after a while.

''I went to the Animal Emergency Center with the chef. He was almost as traumatized as poor Choux-fleur, and he needed moral support.''

''And since you hate dogs you decided to go with him.''

''I don't hate dogs,'' she admitted. ''I usually have five or six roaming around the place. I'm part of a rescue network.'' ''In your spare time?''

''Hey, standing around and looking beautiful isn't that onerous a job,'' she said in a flippant voice. ''And we already agreed that I drink alcohol, eat red meat, like dogs and have a thousand other sins.''

''Do you? Name one.''

''I get easily irritated by strange men asking me rude questions.''

''I'm not that strange.'' Another bolt of lightning snaked down from the sky, uncomfortably close. ''You want to tell me exactly where we're going?'' ''It's a glorified cabin up in the mountains. Aaron uses it for sex.''

''Really? When did you have sex with Aaron?'' ''I didn't!'' She shivered at the very thought of his meaty, thick-fingered hands touching her. ''I came up with Jasmine for a Fourth of July picnic last year.''

''And you still remember the way?'' ''I've got a good sense of direction. I'm not about to get lost with you in the back end of beyond.''

He said nothing. It was dark in the interior of the car, and he'd taken off his sunglasses, but his eyes were trained on the road ahead. Which was just as well—his eyes were almost as unnerving as his mouth.

The rain was beating down in a steady rhythm and the hum of the tires on the wet road vibrated beneath her. She could feel her eyelids begin to droop, and she tried to force herself into alertness. But she'd had a long, long night, and Rags had woken her early this morning, and right now all she wanted to do was sink down further in the soft cocoon of darkness and sleep.

''Go ahead,'' he murmured. ''This stuff is going to slow us down—we won't get there for another couple of hours. You may as well sleep.''

She wanted to ask him how he knew how long it would take them to get to the cabin. How he knew how long it would rain. But she was too tired to summon the effort, too tired to keep her arms clasped so tightly around her body. ''All right,'' she said sleepily, leaning her head against the door. ''I hope I don't snore.''

''Don't you know? One of your lovers would have told you if you did.''

One of her lovers. She wasn't so sleepy that she was going to let the truth slip. He wouldn't believe her anyway. ''My lovers have all been much too polite to say anything.'' She yawned, snuggling down lower in the seat.

''Glad to hear it. There's nothing more desirable in a lover than proper manners.''

She should have responded, but she was on the verge of sleep. Knowing she'd dream of dangerous kisses.

CHAPTER FIVE

''It doesn't look like anyone's home. That, or I took a wrong turn somewhere.''

Sam woke with a start. Gideon had pulled the Mercedes to a stop, and the headlights speared through the darkness and the driving rain to illuminate the outlines of a sprawling log cabin.

''This is the right place,'' she said, opening the car door. She sprinted through the heavy rain, thoroughly drenched by the time she made it the short distance to the house. The door was unlocked, and the headlights provided enough illumination for her to find the light switch. She pushed it, but the cavernous house remained dark.

''The power's off,'' she called over her shoulder, but Gideon was already directly behind her, the car still running.

''Well, find Jasmine and let's get the hell out of here,'' he said. ''The road was beginning to wash out, and this place looks like it's at a dead end.'' ''It is.'' The headlights provided enough light for

her to see the notepad propped on the wooden counter.

''Hell and damnation,'' she said, scanning Jasmine's scrawl. ''We're too late. She's gone. Apparently she patched it up with Aaron and the two of them are off to Cancun to get married!'' She dropped the note back down on the counter. ''How could she be so gullible?''

''At the moment that's the least of our worries. Let's get out of here as well. We'll get dinner on the way back, and this time you can eat all the steak and drink all the beer you want.''

''That's what you think,'' she said. ''This perfect body requires upkeep. I can only afford one beer a week and I've met my quota. And steak is fattening.''

''Perfect body, eh? That's a matter of opinion. You could use some fattening up, if you ask me.'' ''You sure know the way to a girl's heart,'' she drawled. ''And I don't remember asking you. This body is a tool, nothing more, and I keep it in good working order.''

''Nothing more than a tool? Where does pleasure factor in?''

''I limit it. Pleasure's too fattening. There'll be time enough when my fifteen minutes of fame is over.''

''I wasn't talking about food. Sex isn't fattening.''

It was too shadowy for him to appreciate the full force of her glare, so she made do with ignoring his comment. ''We can argue about dinner once we're on the road again,'' she said, suppressing a shiver. The room was cold.

''We weren't talking about food,'' he said, following her out into the rain.

He turned on the heat full-blast in the car before putting it in reverse and heading back down the narrow road, deftly avoiding potholes. Waves of blessed warmth enveloped her, almost enough to stop her shivering, when the car slammed to a halt.

''What's wrong?'' she demanded, though she immediately saw for herself. The road ahead of them was covered with wide expanse of rushing water.

''We're not going anywhere.''

She stared at what had once been the road. ''Why can't you be like everyone else in Los Angeles and drive a huge SUV?'' she asked bitterly.

''I wouldn't drive through that in anything less than a tank,'' he said, putting the car in reverse. ''And neither should you. Don't you know you shouldn't drive though water like that? You never know what's underneath. I'm not about to get you killed.''

''Aren't you worried about your own skin?'' He smiled his enigmatic smile. ''Not particularly.''

''You think you have some kind of guardian angel keeping you safe?''

He laughed then. ''You could say so. His name's Ralph.''

''Who would name their guardian angel Ralph?'' He pulled back in front of the house, not answering. ''You stay in the car while I try to find some candles.''

She wasn't in the best of moods. The thought of spending the night in Aaron's rustic love pad with Gideon Hyde was filling her with an odd foreboding that seemed centered in the pit of her stomach. ''I don't think so,'' she said, leaping out ahead of him.

By the time he'd followed her into the house she'd managed to go through most of the drawers beneath the hardwood counter, and she'd come up with nothing. He followed her into the kitchen area, silhouetted by the headlights still shining in the windows. The whole thing felt odd, otherworldly. Especially when the lights from the car went off, plunging them into darkness.

''Damn,'' his disembodied voice floated in her direction in the darkness. ''I thought the delay on the lights would last a little bit longer. Have you found any candles?''

His voice was coming closer, and she panicked, trying to move past him, away from him, only to collide against his hard body.

His hands caught her arms, and in the darkness she froze, close enough to feel the heat coming from his skin, close enough to feel his breath on her face.

She could feel her heart beating in the darkness, feel the blood pulsing in her veins, throbbing. It had to be fear rushing through her body, and yet she knew she had nothing to be afraid of. He wasn't going to hurt her.

She broke away, stumbling back, and he let her go without a word. ''I can't believe Aaron wouldn't have candles all over the place,'' she said nervously, feeling her way out of the kitchen area, away from her. ''This is his little love nest—last time I was here the place was equipped for seduction.'' The moment the words were out of her mouth she could have kicked herself. All she could think about was sex.

''Then maybe we're looking in the wrong place,'' he said calmly. She heard the snick of a lighter, and a small flame appeared in his hand. ''Why don't we look over by the living area?'' ''Do you smoke?''

''Not anymore,'' he said, that note of amusement in his voice, the one she found both annoying and appealing. At that point she wasn't sure whether she liked him or should put him in the jerk category with most of the men she'd dated. No, he was beyond that point. Whatever she felt for him was a great deal more complicated. And she wasn't in the mood for complications.

He found the candles before she did, a veritable treasure trove on every available surface in the living area. By the time he'd lit every one the center of the room was filled with warm light, though the corners were still shrouded in darkness.

''There,'' he said, turning back to look at her. ''All equipped for seduction.''

''I don't think so,'' she said sharply. ''You're cold. Much as I hate to suggest it, you should probably find something dry to put on while I start a fire. There's a lot to be said for the wet T-shirt look, but you're shivering.''

She looked down at her body in horror. Even in the dim light she could see her small breasts outlined quite clearly against the thin wet cotton. She might as well be wearing nothing at all.

She followed her first instinct, crossing her arms over her chest. Her second, totally insane, impulse had been to drag the shirt over her head and toss it to him. It wouldn't have given him much more of a view than he'd already gotten though the thin wet cotton, and the thought of his shocked reaction was definitely appealing. She hadn't a trace of real modesty, not after the years of modeling, but stripping in front of an interested male was a different matter altogether.

And he was interested, there was no doubt about that. Not after the bone-shaking kiss in the car. He hadn't lied—it wasn't Jasmine he wanted.

She grabbed one of the scented pillar candles. ''I'll see if there's anything upstairs. Knowing Aaron, he probably keeps a Victoria's Secret line for his guests.''

''Promises, promises,'' he murmured.

Most of the glass-and-cedar cabin was the large downstairs room, but there was a loft bedroom upstairs. It was pitch-black and icy cold, but still a fairly simple matter to find one of Aaron's oversize T-shirts and a pair of drawstring gym shorts. She left her wet clothes on the floor for Aaron—he could fantasize about them next time he came back.

And he would be back, without Jasmine. That relationship had been doomed from the beginning, but nothing Sam had said had been able to make Jasmine see the truth.

By the time she came back downstairs Gideon had managed to get a blazing fire going in the huge fieldstone fireplace, and the added light cast a soft glow around the room.

''Did you try the telephone?'' she asked, moving into the warmth.

''Not working. And there's no signal for my cell phone. Face it, Sam, we're trapped for the night.'' She didn't like him calling her Sam. It made him a friend, and she needed him to be a stranger. ''And tomorrow?''

''If the road's still washed out and no one comes, we'll hike out in the daylight. The rain can't keep on forever.''

''Let's hope not,'' she muttered. ''It's late—we may as well try to get some sleep. There's a bedroom upstairs if you want to use it.'' ''Is that an offer?'' ''In your dreams.''

He'd unfastened his black shirt, pulling it free from his pants, and she stared at his chest for a moment. He had smooth, beautiful skin, lit golden by the firelight, with dark, flat nipples, a narrow waist, framed by the black silk.

She yanked her eyes upward. ''There are extra T-shirts upstairs if you're cold.''

''Do I look cold? I come from a very hot cli-mate—I'll take all the coolness I can find.''

''Seattle has a hot climate?'' ''Before Seattle. As a matter of fact this fire is too hot for me.''

''Then for heaven's sake why did you start it?'' ''Because, for heaven's sake, you were freezing,'' he replied, mimicking her. ''Where are you sleeping?''

''Not with you.''

''I don't recall asking,'' he said calmly. He moved from the fire, and his beautiful chest was no longer illuminated. He had a brandy snifter in one hand, and he held it out to her. ''There's no food in this place, but his liquor cabinet is well stocked. This is for you.''

She made no effort to take it. ''I told you, I already had my weekly limit...''

He simply reached down and picked up her wrist, placing the snifter in her hand. He was right, his skin was warm, almost hot, against her cool flesh. ''You missed dinner. You'll manage.'' Too close again, and she could feel her blood stir once more. Treacherous, inexplicable.

But he stepped back without touching her again, and she forced her breathing back to normal. She even took a sip of the brandy, feeling a pleasant burn as it slid down her throat. It made her feel warm. Reckless.

''I'll sleep down here,'' she said. ''The sofa is a futon. Aaron likes to be prepared for all eventualities. You can sleep wherever you want.''

An unfortunate choice of words, as she waited for him to say he wanted to sleep with her. But, of course, he didn't want to. Or at least that's what he'd said. Or had he simply said he hadn't asked her...yet?

He didn't say anything, simply picked up his own glass of brandy and sat back down in front of the fire, his skin reflecting the golden glow.

She pulled the futon flat, tossing a couple of throw pillows at the head. ''I'd offer to help with that but I know what you'd say.'' He sipped at his brandy. ''But if there's anything you want from me you have only to ask.''

On a cold day in hell, she thought, but kept it to herself. She should have brought a blanket down from the bedroom, but she hadn't thought to, and the sooner she closed her eyes and shut everything out, the safer she'd feel. Besides, the fire was kicking out heat—it would fill the room eventually, and at least she wasn't shivering any longer.

She made a noncommittal noise and stretched out on the futon. She wasn't going to think about it. Think about him. Think about the strange knot in her stomach, her tingling skin, his smooth, golden chest. She wasn't going to think about his mouth, on hers. She was just going to sleep, and with any luck she'd snore.

She let out a deep sigh, trying to drain the tension from her body. And as she drifted into sleep, her hand drifted to her mouth, and her fingers touched her lips, touched his kiss, as she slept.

''Well?''

Gideon looked up from his contemplation of the fire. He wasn't sure why he was so fascinated by it—he'd been surrounded by flames and fire for as long as he could remember.

He turned and looked at Ralph. Perched on the end of the futon, right by Sam's sleeping head, he was wearing a flame-red bishop's outfit and thick-framed glasses. The right one was blacked out, and he had spiky blond hair and all sorts of interesting piercings.

''What do you mean?'' Gideon replied, trying to keep his attention on his nemesis. Ralph's appearance never failed to astonish, but in truth he was safer looking at him than at Sam's sleeping figure.

''You're here, she's just lying there. Go for it.''

''So much for romance,'' Gideon murmured. ''No.''

''What do you mean, no?''

''I mean I'm not going to do it.'' ''Don't be ridiculous. Don't tell me she's not your type—all women are your type.''

''I've changed my ways. Time in hell will do that to a man. I've decided to embrace celibacy.'' ''You'll decide to embrace Sam, and fast.'' ''Make me,'' he said simply. The purpled rage in Ralph's face didn't go particularly well with the red outfit. ''What's your problem? Don't pretend you don't want her—I know you do. Do it. Jump her bones.''

''Sorry, you'll have to find someone else. It should be easy enough—just make her fall in love with the next man who comes by and he'll take care of it.''

''If it were that simple I wouldn't have needed you in the first place. I can play games with the weather, set things on fire, that sort of stuff. But I have no power to affect people's emotions. That's what you're for.''

''Sorry.'' He held out his wrists as though for handcuffs. ''Take me back to prison, Warden. I'm not making love to her.''

''Oh, for pete's sake!'' Ralph said, and Gideon had to smile at the mild epithet. ''I know what you've done! You've gone and fallen in love with her, haven't you? Of all the stupid things! When you were alive you seduced every woman you wanted and you never once fell in love, and now you're screwing everything up. Why did you have to go and do such a damned stupid thing right now, when I'm counting on you?''

He considered denying it, then shrugged. ''Maybe you're right,'' he said after a moment. ''Just your bad luck. You can send me down to the four hundred and sixty-eighth level of hell if you want, but you can't get me to hurt her. Send her someone to fall in love with.''

''I did.'' Ralph said morosely. ''I didn't mean to—you were just supposed to get rid of her virginity. It's a nasty trick if you ask me. I don't need you two falling in love, I just need you going at it like rabbits.'' He cast an accusing glance skyward. ''You did this, didn't You? Always messing with my fun.''

''What are you saying?'' ''I'm saying she's in love with you. It happens that fast sometimes. Probably because she's taken so long to do it, she was ripe for the right man.'' He cast a curious glance at Gideon from his one good eye. ''Ripe,'' he said again. ''Just waiting, lying there, those long, gorgeous legs, that mouth...'' ''Forget it. I'm not falling for your blandishments.''

Ralph sighed. ''No, I suppose not. But she's a different matter.'' He reached over to shake her, but his hand passed right through her, and she didn't move. ''Damn,'' he muttered.

Gideon laughed. ''Tough luck. May as well give it up. She's immune to anything you want to try, thank God.''

''Thank God,'' Ralph echoed grumpily. ''You've got another twelve hours.''

''I don't need another twelve hours, Ralph. Take me back now. I've had enough.''

Ralph's grumpy expression vanished. ''We'll see about that.'' And he was gone.

Gideon leaned back in the rocker, staring into the fire, as Sam slept on, oblivious to any devil sitting at her head. He wouldn't have thought he was capable of such restraint. Ralph might not be able to influence emotions, but he was a master at messing with people's minds. Gideon wasn't about to fall for it. Sam was no more in love with him than she was with Aaron. She found him more an annoyance than anything else, and she was having a fine time putting him in his place.

Except for when he'd kissed her. It had probably shocked the hell out of her, but that was nothing compared to how he'd felt. Kissing her had been more profoundly sexual than any encounter he'd ever had.

He'd make it through twelve more hours, no problem. She'd sleep through most of them, and the rest of the time they'd be slogging their way down this mountain to civilization.

Was he in love with her? It didn't seem possible, and yet it seemed so right. One more flame to add to the fires of eternal damnation. Of course he'd fall in love the moment he couldn't do anything about it.

He looked over at her, the face scrubbed free of makeup, the tangled hair spread out over the futon, the long legs. He wasn't going to sleep—he was too hot in every sense of the word. He could spend all night looking at her, but that might be pushing it. He rocked back, staring into the fire, and considered the nature of eternal damnation.

CHAPTER SIX

She dreamed of his hands on her body. She dreamed of his mouth on her, of him inside her. She dreamed the devil sat at the end of the futon and told him to sleep with her. She dreamed he told him no.

She shifted restlessly, hot and cold at the same time, waking with the dreams still moving through her head, her body. She needed him. It made no sense at all, but she needed him, wanted him.

She'd always assumed that the time would come when she'd want to make love with someone. That sooner or later the right man would show up, court her, maybe even marry her before they finally went to bed together.

And now, here she was, ready before she wanted to be, half in love with a stranger, all against her better judgment, her common sense.

But her brain had nothing to do with it. And her body, though demanding, was still marginally involved.

It was her heart that wanted him, a stranger, to lie with her. And for the first time in her life she was going to ignore her brain.

She opened her eyes. The rain was still falling heavily outside, and she wondered briefly how secure this house was. Mudslides were common enough in this kind of weather. Maybe the house would slide away with them in it. Maybe it would get buried beneath a deluge of mud. Maybe she didn't care.

He was still awake, staring into the fire. The room was warm now, and the flames had died down. He'd blown out some of the candles, and she could see the firelight reflected on his smooth skin, his flat stomach. She closed her eyes, trying to shut him out.

''You're a stranger,'' she whispered. ''I don't know anything about you.''

He didn't turn to look at her. ''Go back to sleep, Sam.''

She pushed up from the mattress, shoving her hair away from her face. She'd had men—good men who'd loved her—begged to sleep with her, and she'd sent them away. She'd resisted good men and bad boys, charmers and bullies, big men, small men, strong men, weak men.

But if Gideon moved from his seat in the rocking chair she wouldn't resist him.

He wasn't moving. Maybe she'd fallen half in love with the one man who didn't want her.

She sat up, back on her heels, watching the firelight play across his face, shining in his dark eyes, sending shafts of gold through his straight black hair.

Finally he turned to look at her, and there was an expression of distant sorrow on his narrow, beautiful face. Why sorrow?

''This isn't a good idea,'' he said.

''What isn't?''

But he'd risen from the chair, and he was coming toward her, slowly, the black silk shirt fluttering around his body. She was in the middle of the bed, out of reach, but he simply knelt down on the edge of the bed and cupped her face with his hands. ''Not a good idea at all,'' he whispered, and he kissed her.

The first kiss hadn't been a fluke. The moment his mouth touched hers she felt her body come alive. He moved closer to her on the bed, his body almost touching hers, but he did nothing but kiss her, his hands on her face, as her body burned for him.

And for a moment it was enough. She closed her eyes and kissed him back, drifting into a dark, warm space with his mouth, his tongue.

She hadn't even realized that she'd reached up her hands to his shoulders, his hard shoulders beneath the slippery silk shirt. And she was clutching at it, holding on to it, on to him, as he kissed her. As they kissed.

And then he pulled back, and caught her hand in his, and she could see the tension running through him. Feel the heavy beating of his heart, counterpoint to hers.

''Am I doing this wrong?'' she said. ''I've never done it before.''

He didn't seem surprised. ''Don't do this now, Sam. Wait until you fall in love with someone.''

She didn't know where the words came from. ''I did,'' she said, and kissed him.

He'd turned her hands in his, holding them, but now he placed them back on his shoulders, and a shudder danced through his body. She didn't know what it meant, and then she didn't care, as he reached for the hem of her T-shirt and began to pull it off, then tossed it over the side of the bed.

For the first time in her adult life she felt modest. She took her body for granted, but he'd said it wasn't perfect, and she suddenly felt unsure.

''My breasts are too small,'' she said, but he simply laughed in her mouth, putting his arm around her waist and pulling her up against him. Her virgin skin against the golden heat of his chest.

His skin was more like silk than the shirt, and she found herself pushing the piece of clothing off his shoulders, down his arms, in love with the texture of his flesh, the scent of him, the taste of him. And she wanted to taste more, everything, all of him.

He eased her back onto the futon—she wasn't even sure how—and he pulled the baggy shorts down her legs. Leaving her in nothing but her black lace panties. And then those were gone before she could even get used to the idea, and he'd settled himself on top of her, the cloth of his pants between them.

He kissed the side of her neck, and she trembled. He bit her earlobe, and she moaned. He put his mouth on one small breast and she cried out as his tongue flicked against her nipple, then sucked, and she could feel her body burning.

She threaded her fingers through his thick, silky hair as it fell around her, and she brought it to her face, breathing in the scent of it.

Something was pressing hard against her stomach, and she moved her hand down, thinking it was his belt buckle, but he'd gotten rid of his belt, and the top button of his pants was unbuttoned. She started to pull her hand away in sudden nervousness but he caught her wrist in a hard grip, dragging her hand back to press against him.

Now was the time to panic. Now was the time to change her mind, before it was too late. And he'd let her—she had no doubt of that. He wouldn't even call her the names other men had—he'd simply move away from her, back to his chair by the fire.

And she didn't think she could stand that. She touched him through the soft fabric, letting her fingers press against him, and he seemed to jerk against her hand, growing harder. And she realized she was actually going to do this. Nothing could make her change her mind.

She liked the feel of him. She slid her hand down along his length, and he groaned, falling back against the futon. She leaned over him, letting her other hand move up his flat stomach. His nipples were dark circles against his golden flesh, and she leaned down and put her tongue against one, feeling it pebbled and hard against her mouth.

He made a choking noise, and he took her hand away from him, holding it for a moment before he pushed it inside his pants. So that she felt his erection, hot and heavy against her skin.

She lifted her mouth from his nipple. ''Unzip your pants,'' she said, before putting her mouth against him once more, sucking at his skin, hungry.

He freed himself, and a moment later he'd kicked his pants off entirely. Now that she'd asked him to, she wasn't sure that she was ready for him to be naked, but it was no longer an option. He felt silken smooth and iron hard beneath her hand, and she

moved down, wanting to taste him, wanting to take him in her mouth.

She barely managed to put her mouth on him before he pulled her away. ''No,'' he said in a rough voice. ''It's been too long. It'll be over...'' He grew suddenly still. ''Unless you change your mind. Because you don't have to do anything you don't want to do.''

She looked at him from beneath her curtain of heavy hair. ''Do you want me to...kiss you there?'' A spasm of what almost looked like pain crossed his face. ''Not this time,'' he said. ''Later. After you're used to all this.''

She didn't know why the thought should make her happy, but it did. ''All right,'' she said, moving up to kiss his mouth.

He moved her down on the bed, leaning over her, letting his hand brush against her stomach. She knew where he was going, and instinctively she tensed, as his fingers trailed downward.

''We don't have to do this.'' He leaned over and whispered against her ear. ''As a matter of fact, we shouldn't be doing this. Tell me no.''

She turned her head to kiss his mouth. ''Yes,'' she said.

His hand touched her thigh. ''I don't know what you've heard, but it doesn't work with your legs together. I'm not going to hurt you.''

She relaxed, and he slid his hand between her legs, touching her. She choked, tensing up again, but he was too strong.

''Tell me no,'' he said again, touching her.

''Yes,'' she said, as he slid his long fingers inside her, so that she arched her back in sudden, surprised pleasure.

A pleasure that was turning darker, deeper. He knew just how to touch her, where, when to be gentle, when to be slightly rough, and her breath was coming in shallow pants, her body shivering, but this time not with cold.

She should have known, but it hit her with no warning, a sudden spasm of such intense pleasure that she cried out, followed by another, and then another, and then an endless stream of such intensity that it left her shaken, breathless, so lost that she didn't even notice when he'd pulled away from her, no longer touching her.

And then she realized he was moving away from her, off the bed. ''That's enough,'' he said in a shaken voice.

She moved faster, reaching for him, and they fell back in a tangle of limbs. Then he was on top of her, between her legs, hard and pressing against her, and with a groan he was pushing inside her, the feel of him such a powerful claiming that she wanted more. She wanted to explode all over again, with him inside her. She wanted everything.

But he'd stopped, and she realized he must have reached the absurd barrier of her virginity, still intact after all these years. She could see the spasm of anguish cross his face, as he tried to control himself. ''I'm going to hurt you,'' he said in a raw voice.

''Do it,'' she said. And arched her hips, enough to break through the last trace of control that he had.

He drove in deep, tearing through her, but the pain was nothing compared to the joy of having him inside her. He dropped his head on her shoulder, panting, not moving. ''It'll be better in a minute,'' he said.

She reached up and took his face in her hands. She'd never felt so strong, so powerful, so complete. ''It's better already,'' she said, stroking his face. ''Your turn, Gideon. Tell me no.''

He took a deep, shuddering breath. ''Yes,'' he said, moving, slowly, back and forth, teasing her. Teasing himself. ''Yes,'' he said, kissing her mouth, rocking slowly against her. ''Yes,'' he said, moving faster, and she brought her legs up around his hips, pulling him deeper.

And then there was no thought, only feeling, as they moved together, bodies slick with sweat, glowing in the firelight, faster, harder, and when she thought she couldn't bear any more he put his hand between their bodies, touching her, hard.

''Yes,'' he said against her mouth, as she convulsed around him. From a distance she could feel him go rigid in her arms, and then all connection to reality splintered, disappeared into the flames of the night.

She was asleep the moment he moved away from her, an expression of bliss on her face. In the firelight he could see the salty traces of tears on her face, and he reached out and touched the still-damp trail they'd made. He hadn't even known she'd cried.

He stared down at her for a moment. He always preferred women who fell asleep—it made it easy to escape without that awkward morning-after crap. He could escape now—just walk away into the rainswept night.

Where the hell was Ralph when he needed him? Gideon had done his duty, against his will. No, that was wrong. He'd wanted nothing more than to touch her since...

It hadn't been at first sight. Her elegant, distant beauty wasn't a particular turn-on for him. It was the vulnerability in her pale eyes. It was stubbornness he often saw on her mouth. The way she carried her body, as if it wasn't even a part of her. He liked the way she told him to go to hell. He liked the way she fell apart when he kissed her. He liked that she was still fighting it, fighting what she wanted, even when she was going to take it.

She didn't stir when he climbed off the futon. There was a quilt in one corner of the room—he got it and draped it over her body, taking a moment to look at her. She was entirely relaxed—probably more relaxed than she'd ever been in her entire life, he thought. He was still faintly amazed at how responsive she'd been. He couldn't credit himself with making her come. His sexual experience and technique was impressive, or Ralph wouldn't have sent him on this task, but if it had simply been up to him it might have taken all night.

And he wouldn't have minded.

Would she respond that way to anyone else? There would be others now, there was no question of that. Once she found out what it was like she'd have a healthier attitude. She'd find her body was good for other things besides striking haughty poses.

But not with him. She might think she was in love with him, and he still blamed Ralph for that despite the devil's protests of relative innocence, but once Gideon vanished she'd move on, sadder but wiser. Ready for a real man, not something like him.

He had no idea what he was. A ghost, a spirit, a nasty trick of fate played on a tenderhearted beauty?

It didn't matter. Soon he'd be nothing more than a memory, and after a while, maybe not even that.

He tucked the quilt around her carefully, but she didn't stir, exhausted. He pulled on his clothes, about to go back to his seat by the fire, when the sudden crack of thunder startled him. Maybe his time here was over already.

He stumbled out into the rainy night, barefoot. The rain was pouring down in sheets, soaking him, but he didn't care. He tilted back his head to stare into the midnight sky. And then he cried out, a voice of pain from deep inside him. ''It's done!''

There was no answer. No responding crack of thunder, no supernatural voices. Nothing but the storm all around him. He fell to his knees, and for the first time in his memory, and maybe in his entire misspent life, Gideon Hyde began to cry.

It was light when Sam opened her eyes. She lay still on the futon, awash with a strange sense of well-being tinged with foreboding, as she tried to orient herself. She was at Aaron's cabin. Lying naked beneath a thin covering. Not just naked. Seduced. Deliciously, gloriously seduced by a man she barely knew.

Love at first sight didn't exist. It grew out of friendship, a slow, natural progression, so the confused emotions that were busy assaulting her had nothing to do with love. They couldn't.

But Sam made a point of never to lying to anyone, particularly herself. And no matter how irrational, insane, or unbelievable it was, the fact remained that she had done the impossible. Fallen in love with a mysterious stranger. And after all these years she'd acted upon it.

She could hear the sound of the shower running. She was achy, sticky, a thorough, sated mess. And he would be standing naked in the shower, letting the hot water run over that golden body of his. And maybe she needed to find out if last night had been an act of insanity, a total aberration, or not.

The shower in Aaron's master bath was huge, a tiled mini-room with built-in seats and jets of water coming from golden pipes in all four corners. Gideon stood in the middle, head back, eyes closed, letting the water run over his body like a lover's caress. A lover's tongue. A lover's tears.

She stepped inside the steamy room and closed the glass door behind her, and he opened his eyes, looking at her with an expression that was almost wary.

Yet he wanted her. There was no disguising that fact, not with both of them naked in the steamy shower. And then she stopped thinking about it, moved up to him and put her arms around his neck, so that the water slid over both of them. His mouth was wet and hungry against hers. And she moved closer still, wanting to sink into his body.

He broke the kiss, holding her face in one hand, but his arm was around her waist, holding her up against his body. ''This is a bad idea,'' he said.

She smiled into his eyes. ''You're the gloomiest lover I've ever had.''

''I'm the only lover you've ever had.'' ''True enough,'' she conceded. ''And I want to make up for lost time.'' She ran her hand down his stomach to touch him. ''And don't tell me you aren't willing to further my education.''

''You've gotten pretty saucy all of a sudden.'' ''I've always been a saucy wench,'' she said, leaning forward and nibbling on his lower lip. He had glorious lips. ''I don't think...''

''Good,'' she said. ''I have no intention of thinking either.''

The tile was hard against her back as he pushed her up against it, and then he was inside her, supporting her with his hands and the wall as she wrapped her legs around his narrow hips and took him in, shivering in pleasure as the hot water rained down on them.

This time she made noise. She couldn't help it— her tiny cries and weak moans bounded against the tile walls, echoing through the steamy enclosure.

She was surrounded by heat and steam and pleasure noises. And Gideon, around her, inside her, taking her to places she hadn't even known existed, and when he came inside her his own choked cry joined hers as she shattered.

Through a haze of slowly fading contractions she could feel him shaking, and he pulled free, lowering her down onto the tile seat. She collapsed against the wall as the water poured over them, and he sank to his knees in front of her, his arms around her hips, his head in her lap, holding tight.

She managed to find enough energy to lift her hand, to stroke his wet black hair away from his face. His eyes were closed, and if she'd had more energy she would have leaned over and kissed him. But there was something infinitely trusting about his pose, and she liked him like that, his head in her lap, completely and totally hers. At least for now.

CHAPTER SEVEN

He left her alone in the shower. When she caught his hand, tried to stop him he muttered the word ''coffee'' and she let him go, sinking back against the tile as the hot water continued to stream down over her. She could fall asleep like this, she thought, her face turned up into the steamy mist. She could just sit here forever, or until he came back to her and...

The water turned to ice with no warning, and she let out a screech, practically ripping the door off the shower in her haste to get out of the chilly spray. She half expected Gideon to come check on her after her outburst, so she opened the door to the bathroom, calling out, ''I'm okay.'' He didn't answer, but she figured he was concentrating on the coffee, something she couldn't help but approve of.

She dried herself languidly, glancing at her reflection in the steamed-over mirror. She stared at the naked body that had always served her so well. It didn't look any different, and yet it felt completely changed. She was connected to it now. It was more than just legs and breasts and stomach and hips, blended in a pleasing manner that sold products well and created a fantasy. It was hers in a way that could belong to no others.

Except for Gideon.

Her clothes were neatly folded on the sink, though the black lace panties were missing. She'd gone without underwear in the past—she could do it again. She pulled on the shorts and the T-shirt and went in search of coffee and Gideon.

It wasn't until she reached the deserted, spotless kitchen area that she realized she hadn't smelled coffee. There was no sign of any. The great room had been picked up—the futon was back together, the quilt folded in one corner, the candles put back, the brandy snifters washed and put away.

But no coffee. And no Gideon.

She heard the sound of a car driving up, and relief washed over her. He must have gone to check on the road. Hardly flattering that he was in such a hurry to get out of there, but it was better than vanishing without a word. She went to the door and flung it open, ready to tease him about the coffee, when she saw the taxi. And no sign of the Mercedes.

''You Miss Samantha?'' the taxi driver asked,

climbing out. ''Dispatch sent me to bring you back to Los Angeles. You ready to go?'' ''Where's Gideon?''

The man shook his head, pulling his cap lower on his thinning gray hair and rubbing his eye. ''Dunno who you're talking about. I got orders to take you to L.A., and that's what I'm planning to do. It's already been taken care of—I get paid whether you come with me or not. It's up to you.'' She felt like a candle dying in the wind, the light fading inside her. She closed the door behind her without a backward glance. ''I'm ready,'' she said, heading for the back seat of the yellow cab.

She sat still and quiet in the center of the back seat, the seat belt tight around her, her long legs crowded behind the front seat. Her driver was a chatty soul—he went on about the weather, the condition of the roads, the politics in the state of California, his recent eye infection, his opinion of the world in general, and Sam let the unending words wash over her, replying with a suitable ''hmm'' when prompted.

He was gone. Vanished, as if he'd never existed, disappeared in a puff of smoke like a magician.

This was the best thing that could possibly happen, she told herself. Last night had been an aberration, a moment of total insanity. But it was daylight now, he was gone, and she was Sam again. Practical, levelheaded, loyal Sam.

With one major difference. She really should be grateful to him. As the years had passed and she had lived in celibate comfort she'd begun to wonder if there was something wrong with her. Was she frigid? Missing the ability to fall in love? Her untouched state had become a liability, a dark, dirty secret she didn't want anyone to discover, as embarrassing as kinky tastes. In the end it was a kinky taste not to want love, and she was glad she was finally past it. She was grateful, truly she was. She was calm, serene and grateful.

And she was going to track him down and kill him.

How dare he just abandon her, drive away without a word, a note, just disappear like that? No matter how inexperienced she was, she couldn't have been that bad. If she'd had any idea how wonderful making love could be she would have tried this a lot sooner.

Except that there was no one else she'd wanted to do it with. And no one she wanted in her future. She wanted only Gideon Hyde, with his golden skin and his beautiful mouth.

It was a good thing he'd run out on her. She didn't believe in love at first sight, or any kind of love at all that wasn't built from knowledge and familiarity. She knew nothing about Gideon Hyde— he was a stranger, and smart women didn't fall in love with strangers.

And right now she was feeling dumb as mud, because no matter what she tried to tell herself, she'd fallen in love with a mystery. For all she knew he could hate animals and vote Republican.

But Rags had liked him. Rags, who snapped and growled at any man who'd ever come near her, had slobbered happily over Gideon, totally entranced.

And in the end, she trusted Rags more than she trusted herself. If he was good enough for her dog, he was good enough for her.

She shut her eyes, closing out the endless voice of her driver. So he'd run away. She had long legs— she could run faster. And she wasn't about to give up without a fight.

''Had a good time?''

Gideon blinked. He'd been searching for the coffee, certain that a man with a stocked liquor cabinet would have to have coffee stashed somewhere. Now he was standing in the middle of what looked like a deserted car factory. Ralph had given up his bishop's outfit—he was now dressed in drag, with heavy makeup, long reddish curls and lace everywhere.

''Very pretty,'' Gideon murmured. ''Don't avoid the subject!'' Ralph said. ''I want to know if you had a good time during your...what should we call it? Shore leave? Did you get lucky?'' Cursing at him was a waste of time—Ralph thrived on negativity. ''Don't you know? I assumed you were happily watching the whole thing.''

''I'm surprised that the thought of me watching didn't affect your performance.''

''Believe it or not, Ralph, I wasn't even thinking of you at the time. Why am I here? I thought I had twelve more hours.''

''Six at this point. But you accomplished your mission, didn't you? My eye cleared up and all is well.''

''You didn't give me a chance to say goodbye. She'll think I used her and abandoned her without a word.''

''And why should you care? Oh, I forgot, you fell in love with her. Disgusting, really. I would have thought you were past such sappy emotions.'' ''I should have said goodbye. Or something.'' Ralph chuckled. ''Like telling her that you love her? You really think that's a good idea? Won't a clean break be easier on her in the long run? Not for you, of course, but since there's no future for a woman like that and a dead man I don't suppose it matters. You may as well enjoy yourself while you can. Love 'em and leave 'em, that always was your style.''

''Has anyone ever tried to kill you, Ralph?'' ''waste of time, dear boy. But they've tried. I can be...irritating. We're getting off the subject. You want your final six hours? I can arrange it.''

Gideon closed his eyes for a moment. He could see her, sprawled out on the futon, sound asleep, looking as well-loved as he could have managed. He could smell the scent of her skin, taste her breasts. And he'd give ten years off his life to touch her again.

But his life was already over. And going back would only make it harder on her. ''No,'' he said. ''I'm not going back.'' ''And why is that?''

''Because she's better off without me. As you said, there's no future. And I don't mind. I don't remember why I got sent here in the first place, but after last night I don't care. The best thing I could have done for her was keep my hands off her, and in the end I couldn't, even to spite you. I hurt her, and she didn't deserve that. If you think that falling in love with someone means you hurt them, then yes, I probably am in love with her. And the damnable thing is, it feels like it's the first time.''

''Hey, this is the three hundred and forty-seventh level of hell and I'm in charge. Of course I think falling in love equals hurt and pain. You done me proud, boy. And for what it's worth, no, you were never in love before. You may have slept with hundreds of women, but you were never in love.'' ''Hundreds?'' Gideon echoed, bemused. ''And you don't remember any of them,'' Ralph said in his chummy voice. ''So now we've come to your final choice.''

''My final choice? I didn't know I ever had any choice at all.''

''I told you, I can't control emotions, and I have no power over free will. Terrible idea, free will was. Look how it's backfired.'' ''What choice, Ralph?''

''You're finished on this level. Done your time, my boy. Passed all the tests. I do believe you're ready to graduate.''

''To the three hundred and forty-eighth level? What's it got, a little more air-conditioning?''

''Not exactly. Here's the choice. You can go back for a few days, screw Sam out of your system for good, and then move to the next level. Or you can choose to let her find someone new. He's already waiting in the wings, and thanks to you she's finally ready to notice. The veterinarian at the animal shelter is young, handsome, good and kind...''

''And noble as hell. He sounds revolting,'' Gideon muttered.

''You sound jealous. He'd make her very happy. It's up to you. Reward for a job well done. You can have another week in bed with her, or let her have a happy life.''

''Who says she wouldn't have a happy life even if I did get my extra week?''

''True enough. Free will and all that.'' In the end it wasn't a choice at all. ''Send her her damned Prince Charming,'' he growled. ''Just don't make me watch.'' Ralph beamed at him. ''You really do love her.'' ''one more torment of the damned. I'm going to forget all this, right? Everything else I've ever been through is a blur—I don't have to remember her, do I?''

''And miss her? But isn't hell about everlasting torment? Want to change your mind?''

He shook his head. ''I'll do the right thing for once in my life. I just hope it annoys the hell out of you.''

Ralph snapped his fingers, and the old garage disappeared. They were standing on the edge of a cliff, and Ralph was dressed like a biker, with dark hair slicked back. ''Take a look,'' he said, nodding toward the cliff. ''See where you're headed.''

Gideon moved toward the edge, expecting God knew what. There were wisps of fleecy clouds, and beneath, quite clearly, he could see Sam's house. He stepped back from the edge. ''No!'' ''The thing is, Gideon, there isn't any three hundred and forty-eighth level of hell. The three hundred and forty-seventh is the highest level, and you just graduated. You get to go back and start all over again. Just try not to screw up this time.'' ''What are you talking about?'' ''Time to live again.''

Gideon stared at him, uncomprehending. ''Shouldn't we be looking up, not down?''

''Heaven and hell all kind of blend together. Kiss the bride for me.''

''I'm not going back. Not to Sam. I don't deserve—''

''Oh, cut the martyred crap and get out of here,'' Ralph said, putting his hands on Gideon's shoulders. With one swift shove he was gone, tumbling down through the clouds, the feel of Ralph's hands still burning into his skin.

Ralph stepped back from the precipice, a satisfied smile on his face. He gave himself a little shake, and the biker's leathers transformed into soft white. He stretched, and behind him a pair of huge white wings unfurled, cramped from being tucked away for so long.

''I always love it when one of my boys graduates,'' Ralph said softly. And then he was gone as well.

He had no idea how he'd gotten there, and he wasn't even sure where he'd just been. Bits of memory danced in and out of his brain before they drifted away like fleecy clouds. He was in Sam's garden, standing by her swimming pool.

He heard a faint, warning growl, and he turned. Sam's ancient dog was there, looking at him through rheumy eyes.

He didn't know what day it was, or what time. He'd guess it was late afternoon, but he didn't know how long it had been since he'd last seen her. A vague memory danced through his brain—was she going to marry a vet?—and then vanished again. How long had he been gone? And where had he been?

Rags stopped growling abruptly and bounded over to him, full of affectionate doggy greetings. Gideon knelt down and rubbed his head. ''How you doing, old boy? You still my friend? What about your mistress? Is she ready to cut my throat?''

''Maybe.'' Her voice came from directly behind him. He turned to face her, slowly, warily, not sure what he was afraid of.

She was dressed in her armor—designer clothes, shoes that would make her a good three inches taller than he was, flawless makeup, artfully arranged hair and a cool expression of disdain on her distant, beautiful face.

''Where did you go?''

He didn't know the answer to that one. ''You got back from the cabin all right?''

''The taxi you arranged picked me up right after I realized I'd been abandoned. Where did you go?'' He racked his brain for an answer, but his mouth was already taking care of things. ''I had an appointment. The reason I came down to L.A. in the first place, as a matter of fact.''

''And you couldn't take a moment to tell me you were leaving?'' Her voice matched her cool, flawless exterior. She was standing there, every man's perfect dream, and all he wanted to do was strip the clothes off her and mess up her hair. But he didn't move.

''It was a deal to do the soundtrack for a big budget movie. I figured I need to be gainfully employed for the next year—there aren't many modeling jobs on Maclean Island.'' The words were coming and making sense. He could even see his house up there, and the doubts were dissolving and blowing away. He could see her at the house, even though she'd never been there. She'd like it, he knew she would. It was a big, rambling place, only half-finished, with plenty of room for dogs. And children.

She was still looking at him warily. ''And why should the presence or absence of modeling jobs matter?''

''You shouldn't have to give it up if you don't want to.''

''I'm ready to,'' she said flatly. ''So what do you suggest I do on your island?''

''Anything you damned please,'' he said, echoing her words from the first night they met. Strangely, he felt a burning pain in his shoulders, and the black T-shirt rubbed against them uncomfortably.

She was standing with her back against the crystal-blue water of the swimming pool, and the mouth that could be sweet and vulnerable curved in a haughty smile. ''And what makes you think I'd want to leave everything and move up there?''

''More room for dogs?'' he suggested. ''And

look at it this way—if you come home with me you'll never have to have a blind date again.'' ''I've sworn off them anyway,'' she said. ''Come back with me,'' he said urgently. Not knowing why, only knowing that he couldn't live without her. ''Why?''

''Because I'm in love with you. And I think you're in love with me.'' ''I met you two days ago.'' ''I didn't say it made sense. I just said it was true.''

She was so close he could reach out and touch the icy perfection of her. ''I'll think about it,'' she said after a moment. ''I'm late for a photo shoot. And then I'm meeting Jasmine for coffee. She's still shaken up about running out on Aaron at the altar— smart girl. Go on back to your hotel and call me in a few days.''

Her hands were shaking. Beneath her haughty demeanor her hands were shaking, and he knew if he took the sunglasses off her perfect nose he'd see the truth in her vulnerable eyes. He wanted to kiss her, needed to kiss her, and she needed him. It was that simple.

He moved toward her, and she stood her ground, watching his approach. If she tried to back away, and if she moved to either side he could reach out and stop her. He still wasn't certain that was the thing to do, wouldn't be until he saw her eyes.

But she didn't move. He reached up and took the sunglasses away, and there it was again. Her eyes, staring into his, her defenses stripped bare. And he knew that the rest of her needed to be stripped bare as well.

''I need to leave,'' she said, her voice shaky.

And he reached out and pushed her perfect body into the swimming pool, jumping in after her.

She surfaced, spluttered, her makeup running down her face, her hair soaked, her designer outfit ruined as she treaded water in her high heels. She glared at him. And then she laughed.

She dove at him, pushing him under the blessed coolness of the water. When they surfaced she'd managed to pull his T-shirt over his head. Her ruined silk dress was floating nearby, and he was kissing her. She was kissing him back, her body wrapped around his. She broke the kiss for a moment, pushing him away. Just a little bit away. ''You're lucky my dog likes you,'' she said. ''I trust his judgment better than my own.''

''Trust me," he said, kissing her again. And as they sank beneath the cool blue water, she did.

The heat on his shoulders woke him up, burning into his flesh. He was lying on his stomach, and he wasn't alone. He turned his head, and Sam was lying next to him, her tawny hair cropped short, a sleepy smile on her face. He could hear the water nearby, and he knew they were home. On his island. Their island.

Sam put her hand on his mouth, touching it gently, and he saw the ring on her finger.

''I had a nightmare,'' he said, not moving. ''I dreamed you married a veterinarian.''

''It would save a lot on bills,'' she said sleepily. ''But I prefer a husband who plays the piano. Oh, what those hands can do,'' she said, smiling again. ''What are you doing awake so early? I thought you'd be sleeping until noon.'' ''What time is it?''

''Just after eight.'' She rolled over on her back, and he saw the faint swell of her belly beneath the pale blue sheet that covered her. ''You'd better get all the sleep you can. In five months you're not going to have the chance.''

''Come here!'' He caught her arm and pulled, and she rolled against him, then sat back, the sheet falling around her waist. She was most definitely, gloriously pregnant, and he wondered why he was surprised. And even as he thought it, the surprise vanished, as if he'd always known it.

''You know what my favorite part of your body is?'' she said, leaning over and kissing the small of his back.

''Yes.''

She slapped his butt. ''Mind out of the gutter, Hyde,'' she said. She kissed the nape of his neck, and his shoulders tingled. He could remember hands on his shoulders, shoving him. Strong, burning hands.

Another dream, because Sam was kissing his shoulders slowly, first one, then the other. ''Your tattoos,'' she said dreamily against his skin. She put her hands on him, exactly where the phantom hands had rested. ''Though I think you have delusions of grandeur to get a pair of angel's wings tattooed on your shoulders.''

It didn't even surprise him. The past was fading rapidly, like fog dissolving in the light of day, and only here and now remained. ''Maybe a fallen angel,'' he said, turning over and pulling her down to his mouth.

''Just the way I like them,'' she said, kissing him before pulling away.

He reached up and ruffled her short hair. ''Just

because we're awake doesn't mean we have to get up.''

''And what will Ralph do?'' ''Ralph?''

''He's a very old dog, and he's been sitting there patiently, waiting for one of us to get up and let him out, for ages now.''

He turned. The old dog sat there, tongue hanging out, a big doggy grin on his face as he waited for them. ''Has that always been his name?'' he asked, momentarily disoriented.

''Of course it has, silly,'' she said, leaning over to kiss him before pulling away.

''Ralph,'' he echoed in a meditative voice. ''You know, sometimes I think I knew Ralph in another lifetime,'' he said, throwing back the covers and climbing out of bed.

''He's definitely an old soul,'' Sam agreed. ''I just hope dogs end up in the same heaven as people do. I want to find him waiting for me when I die.'' Gideon looked down at him for a moment. ''He'll be waiting,'' he said.

And they headed out into the early morning sunrise, with Ralph bounding happily along beside them.