“Yes. Most definitely.” Humor twinkled in his eyes.

“What if someone heard?” Her eyes widened.

“The trees provide excellent sound insulation. Do you hear anyone rushing to your aid?” He raised a brow.

“No.”

“So, as you can see, you’re at my mercy.” His smile broadened.

“Even if they could hear, I bet your faithful employees would just whistle and pretend they heard nothing.” She narrowed her eyes. Her mouth fought a grin.

“It’s nice being the boss.” He winked. “But then you’d know that.”

Anna swallowed. He still had no idea she was penniless, bankrupt…a failure.

“Though I don’t know how you run a business if you don’t like money.”

“I like money just fine.”

“You could have fooled me.” He tilted his head, smiling at her. “I keep trying to give you some, but I can’t get you to take it. I guess you have too much already.”

If only.

“It’s not that I don’t want the money…” Her voice trailed off.

“But you’re too proud to take it?”

She hesitated. Was it pride? Maybe a little. But it was something else, too. Mushy sentimentality for a place she’d once called home.

An indulgence she couldn’t afford.

“I just need to be sure I’m being fairly compensated.” She grasped at the first straw that came to mind. “I’m a businesswoman, as you said.”

“If you run your business anything like the way you…” he regarded her steadily with those penetrating black eyes “…play tennis, I’m in a very dangerous position on the other side of a bargaining table from you.”

Her nipples tingled at the suggestion in his voice and she stretched, trying to look casual. “I only want what’s fair.”

“I suppose there is the matter of the cookbook.” He stared at the ground for a moment, then met her gaze again.

“Is that the red leather book I found in Mom’s kitchen?” She thought of those carefully written creamy pages with their lovely drawings.

A line appeared between Naldo’s brows. “Yes. That’s the one. My father illustrated it.” He looked up, gazing into the trees behind her. “He always liked to draw.”

Oh. So that’s why she didn’t remember her mom being artistic. The book was a joint effort. A labor of love. The image of them working on it together made her bite her lip to stem a surge of emotion.

“I can’t picture your father drawing. I always saw him in action, striding about the place.” It was hard to imagine the dynamic Robert De Leon taking the time and care to make those intricate and carefully observed illustrations.

“Oh, yeah. He painted, too. Usually early in the morning, before the day got rolling. He loved to go out to the orchards with an easel and capture the trees in bloom.”

An orange blossom petal drifted down from the tree above them and landed on Anna’s belly. “I don’t think there’s a more beautiful sight on earth,” she murmured, looking up at the white clustered branches.

“There isn’t.” Naldo looked at her. “I’ve traveled enough to know that. This is heaven, right here. My dad knew he lived in paradise and he lived every minute of it to the fullest.”

Anna chewed her lip. She’d once been so keen to get away, to get on with building a “real life.” Real life had turned out to be a crushing disappointment compared to life here in Paradiso.

“What’s the matter?” Naldo brushed a strand of hair off her face.

“I didn’t realize how much I’d missed this place.”

“It seeps into your blood, doesn’t it?” He stroked her cheek with his thumb. “Wraps itself around you, and doesn’t want to let you go. I guess that’s why the De Leons have been here so damn long.”

And why I don’t want to leave again.

Overcome by a wave of panic, Anna shook her head, tossing her hair. Naldo pulled his hand back.

You have to leave. You have no choice. This isn’t your home anymore.

“I guess that’s why I can’t stomach the idea of parting with even one acre.” Naldo’s dimple appeared. His words, spoken so casually, made her gut twist with anguish. A simple reminder that he wanted her to take the money and give his land back.

She sat up and reached for her dress, trying to maintain a veneer of calm. Think business. “I still don’t understand why the cookbook was mentioned in the will. Because they did it together?”

“It’s not the book that’s important, so much as the recipes. I guess he wanted to acknowledge that they were your mom’s.” Naldo shifted onto his elbow, frowning at the dress in her hand. “They’re the foundation of the retail business.”

She froze. “The marinades and dressings that you sell in supermarkets?”

“Yes.”

“The products that netted three million dollars in profits in their first year of production?” Her thoughts, spoken aloud, made that now familiar furrow reappear between Naldo’s brows.

“Your mother developed the recipes as an employee of the estate.” His tone had turned professional. Cold.

“Of course.” A surge of fresh hurt mingled with fury and stung her. “She came up with ideas that generate millions in cash for the estate, while earning a cook’s salary.”

“She was compensated in other ways.”

“The jewels.” Anna’s blood chilled. “Your father bought her off. Kept her quiet.”

Naldo blew out an exasperated burst of air and sat up. “What happened to you, Anna? What made you so bitter and untrusting? My father loved your mother. They were a team-much as it pains me to say it-and they did almost everything together. He gave her an acre of the estate, for crying out loud. Do you have any idea how extraordinary that is? It’s never happened before in the history of the De Leon family.”

“The estate. That’s all it comes down to, isn’t it? Preserving the estate, building the estate, growing the profits. The idea of that one acre not being under your control is a real burr under your saddle isn’t it? Did Ricky tell you I didn’t want the acre mowed?”

Naldo raised an eyebrow. “Yes, he told me. Why don’t you want it mowed? Are you raising hay? Or just raising hell?”

This woman was crazy, no doubt about it. She knelt across from him on the sand with her dress fisted in her lap. Light and shade filtered through the blossom-covered tree and made tracery patterns on her stunning, slender body.

Her bright eyes shone with the fire of her passion. Anna Marcus was passionate in every possible way.

He hid a smile that wanted to sneak across his mouth. Yes, he wanted his acre back, and he’d get it, but not without going through that fire some more. Lucky thing he didn’t burn easily.

“Just making sure we all know where we stand.” On her own cue, she stood and shook out her dress. “I think you should bring the gems back to the cottage.”

A swell of naked lust rolled through him at the sight of those long legs that wrapped around him so perfectly, climbing back into the white cotton dress.

“Need help with the zipper?” He didn’t try to hide the evidence of his arousal.

“I’ve got it.” She zipped up the back without a hitch.

“You would. You don’t need anyone, do you? No wonder marriage didn’t suit you.”

That stopped her in her tracks. She shoved a lock of hair awkwardly off her face. “You don’t know anything about my marriage.”

“No. I don’t. Anything I should know?”

Damn. On the one hand, he was curious. On the other, he didn’t want to know anything at all about Anna and another man. He shifted in the sand, uncomfortable.

“He left me.” She said it quickly, and for once her fire seemed to dim. “I guess you’re right. He left me for someone totally different. Said he wanted someone quiet and nurturing. More submissive.”

“I’m sorry.” The hurt in her eyes tore at his chest. “He was the wrong man for you, because you sure aren’t cut out to be submissive.”

“I guess, like you said, marriage doesn’t suit me.”

“Hey.” He reached for his pants. “Don’t let a bad experience get you down. You just need someone who appreciates you for who you are.”

“I don’t think there’s anyone that crazy.” She tried to sound lighthearted, but it didn’t fool him.

“You’re a woman in a million.”

“Yeah?” She tossed her hair and narrowed her eyes. “Is that why you’re willing to pay four million to get rid of me?”

He couldn’t help laughing. She was right, of course.

At this point he was offering her far more than what the gems, the cookbook and the land were worth. What would it take to make this woman see sense?

It might help if he could keep his damn hands off her for a whole day.

Why was he making love to the daughter of his father’s lover? She was the last woman on earth he should be interested in.

He shook his head. Anna Marcus was definitely having a disturbing effect on him. He’d actually experienced a surge of relief that the jewels were legally hers, otherwise he’d have felt like he was cheating her out of them. And the cookbook, too. He’d originally intended to gloss over that, to have her leave without knowing what the clause in the will really meant.

But he couldn’t do it.

Since he’d gotten to know her again he had a powerful urge to protect her interests and safeguard her rights, even at the expense of the estate-not to mention his own sanity.

No doubt it was just his sense of honor. His father had raised him to do the right thing.

She slipped her feet back into her sandals. Pink soles peeped at him for a tantalizing second as she put them on, before he dragged his eyes away.

He needed to back off and play it cool. The more he came on strong, the more she fought him.

The worst part was how much he enjoyed that. Anna’s fire lit an inferno inside him in a way he’d never experienced with any other woman. He loved the way she stood up to him. That she didn’t fawn and simper and pander over him like so many women who saw him as some kind of trophy, not as a man.

Anna saw him as a man, all right.

And despite his duty to the estate, he couldn’t help seeing her as a woman. A savvy businesswoman who refused to be cheated, a loyal and caring woman who wanted to see her mother’s memory honored, a passionate and sensual woman who called to something stronger than principle and pragmatism.

He could tell she loved the estate, too, that she felt a deep connection to land and the trees.

He snapped his attention away from the hot burst of feeling rushing through his chest.

It was time to be practical. “I’ll send Tom over with the gems when I get back. Then the ball is in your court.” He settled back in the sand with his hands behind his head, trying to look like he didn’t care much one way or the other.

“Good.” She shot him a dirty look that only tickled his libido.

As she stalked back down the row of trees in her unsuitable shoes, he heaved a deep sigh, which brought him no relaxation whatsoever.

He just wanted to put things back the way they should be. The estate whole and entire. The family secrets buried safely where they belonged.

Why did it have to be so hard?

If he didn’t get rid of Anna soon, rumors really would start to fly, and once they got out there’d be no putting that genie back in the bottle. He should be doing everything in his power to make her leave-right now.

Instead, all he wanted to do was run his hands over her silky skin and trace the proud angle of her chin with kisses. To make bone-shaking, earth-tilting love to her again.

And again.

He scrubbed a hand over his face, inadvertently getting a bunch of gritty sand on it. He had sand all over him from head to toe and was lying naked and alone in his own orange grove.

What was wrong with this picture?

Relax. It’s a fair offer. More than fair. She’ll come to her senses, take the money, and go.

The thought made him more uncomfortable than ever.

Eight

The sound of footsteps on the cottage steps roused Anna from a deep night’s sleep. Not really footsteps, more like loud thuds. She sat up, heart pounding.

“Who’s there?”

She squinted against morning sunlight as the bedroom door flung open.

Who else?

Naldo stood in the doorway, fury hot in his eyes. He brandished a tabloid-size newspaper. “What do you mean by this?”

“Get out of my room!” She clutched the covers around herself, more out of instinctive self-defense than modesty.

“I’m not going anywhere until you explain this article.”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

He flung the paper down on the rumpled bedcover and rapped the page with the back of his hand. “You know exactly what I’m talking about.”

Still sleepy, she squinted, then rubbed her eyes, trying to focus on the tiny newsprint. De Leon Heir in Legal Wrangle was the rather small heading of a short article on page eight.