"Does it bother you that he hasn't come?"

She thought about it. "No," she said slowly. "I think I've come to terms with my father." She laughed shakily. "It's about time, isn't it?"

"I'm glad." He was silent a moment. "I received a follow-up report on you from the detective agency this morning. It was very interesting."

"Was it?" She leaned back against him dreamily. "Have you ever considered the possibility that your avid interest in my scandalous past may be slightly unhealthy?"

"Scandalous, hell," he growled. "Poor little greedy rock star whose passion for luxuries impoverished her and forced her into a life of sin."

"I am impoverished," she said lightly. "I'm sure your Sherlock discovered that when he was nosing around."

"Oh, yes. Your bank account is bare as a bone. Denbrook found that out at once." He paused. "It took him longer to find out where the money had gone."

"Really? And I thought he appeared to be such an efficient operator."

"He was looking for investments, not charities. You gave last year's entire income to the Ethiopian Relief Fund. The year before you set up a shelter for stray animals in upper New York State."

"I like animals," she said. "And I didn't need the money. I was on the road all the time."

"So you gave it all away. Then you threw your career down the drain to come with me here to Sedikhan." His tone was suddenly harsh. "For heaven's sake, don't you have any sense of self-preservation?"

"I do not," she said quietly. "You taught it to me."

There was a silence in which the only sound was the sibilant hiss of the brush moving through her hair. "I know I did." His words were low and halting. "I don't give gentle lessons, do I?"

She didn't answer. She felt an aching need to ease the torment she sensed beneath his question, but the pain of that night was still too fresh, Philip's cruelty still too incomprehensible to give him false assurances.

He pulled the strap of her blue nightgown off her shoulder and placed a kiss where her arm joined the shoulder. "I like this spot," he murmured. "I can feel the suppleness of your muscles beneath the satin skin." He nipped the flesh lightly. "It's very arousing."

Yes, it was. Pandora could feel the heat tingle through her shoulder. She felt warm and lazy and infinitely treasured. How odd that those feelings could exist side by side with this tingling heat. "Philip, I don't think—"

"It's all right." His lips moved to the hollow at the base of her throat. "We're just playing a little. I know you're not well enough to"—he suddenly chuckled as he repeated her phrase—"be invaded."

"I remember the last time you 'played,' " she said breathlessly.

"That was different. That was the preliminary for the invasion." He slipped the strap from her other shoulder. "This is just me giving you pleasure. Just a little, not enough to make you ache as I've been doing for the last few days."

"Have you?" she asked with a twinge of guilt.

She knew Philip was a highly sexed man, yet she had been accepting his services as if he were a maid. He had bathed her, helped her to the bathroom, kept her company, and sought to entertain her almost all of her waking hours since the night of the accident. "Perhaps you could arrange for someone else to help me for a few days. I'll be all right after that."

"I want to do it." He was brushing her hair again. "I'm enjoying it in a masochistic way. You're my hair shirt."

"Well, then I guess I don't have to worry about you. There's nothing in the least erotic about a hair shirt."

"How do you know?" His lips were moving back and forth on her neck. "Any texture can be erotic, depending on the way it's used." His arms were sliding around her. "For instance, do you know what I told the jeweler when I ordered this hairbrush? I told him to make the bristles firm, but soft as a whisper."

"You did?" His hard chest was pressing against her back and his warm breath was feathering her ear.

"Shall we see if he carried out my instructions?" He pushed the bodice of her gown down, baring her breasts, and ran the brush lightly over one taut mound. The sensation of the soft bristles moving across her sensitive flesh was incredible. She drew in her breath sharply, and heard him laugh softly in her ear. "Textures. How does it feel?" He brushed lightly back and forth with a teasing stroke that suddenly caused her to arch forward against his arms with a little cry.

His long, strong fingers pressed lightly below her left breast. "Your heart is going wild. I don't think you have to answer." He kissed her temple, pulled up the bodice of the gown, and slipped the thin straps over her shoulders. "I'll send the jeweler a little bonus. I'll have to remember that you like that particular texture." He reached over and set the brush on the bedside table. Then his arms were cradling her again, pulling her back against his chest and rocking her as if she were a child in need of soothing. "Now just relax and well cuddle like this for a while." There were long, peaceful moments in which the haze of sensuality that engulfed her was gradually transformed into warm contentment. "I do love you, you know." His voice was low and clear in her ear.

"Oh, I do hope you do," she whispered. He was so dear. She had never dreamed that he could be this exquisitely gentle. "I love you so much, Philip. I don't want to leave you. I never want to leave you."

He stiffened against her. "You're never going to leave me. Stop talking about it." His arms tightened, and then released her. He stood up.

"You're going?" she asked, disappointed.

"I think I'd better." His lips twisted in a lopsided grin. "I need some more exercise. I get a little too anxious to start climbing those Alps when you say things like that. I'm riding out to the irrigation project for an hour or so. I'll have Raoul look in on you every so often until I get back."

"When will that be?" she asked wistfully. "Will you be back in time for dinner?"

"I wouldn't miss it," he said with a smile that lit his dark face. "Wait for me." He strode toward the door. "Do you want to nap, or shall I put a movie on the video recorder?"

"A movie, I think. Something funny."

He inserted a cassette and turned on the television. "There, that should keep you occupied." He slanted her a mischievous glance over his shoulder. "There are a few X-rated ones in the collection, but I thought we'd save those to watch together. I want to see if you're as responsive to visual stimuli as you are to touch."

"I think we'll wait on those," she said dryly. "I've had quite enough stimuli, thank you."

"Pandora," he said softly as he opened the door. "You have no idea yet how much is enough. But you will, love. You will."

* * *

The gown was delivered the afternoon before Philip's two-week hiatus was over. When she opened the box the first thing she was conscious of was the color. The deep cranberry of the brocade was so vibrant it appeared to glow with jewel-like radiance in its nest of white tissue paper.

The design of the gown was very simple. The boat neckline and the long, full sleeves were both modest, but the bodice would cling to her breasts with loving detail. The high waist that started immediately beneath the bust flowed to the floor with a gentle flare.