"I hereby bequeath the house to my foster son, Jake North, and my niece, Cassandra Mallory."

With those words, Cassandra felt the balance she'd created in her life tilting precariously, dropping her right into a partnership with a man with whom she shared nothing in common. Jake -- an economist who judged things according to profit and loss -- was hardly likely to be swayed by sentimentality.

Yet it wasn't only the tropical sun that was causing Cassandra's temperature: to rise. Nor was it just Jake's infuriating air of undentable confidence. Cassandra knew that the teasing, predatory way Jake looked at her had more than something to do with it. But she and Jake had the future of Vieux Pitons to resolve, and it was far safer to effect an atmosphere of controlled cooperation -- even if she didn't feel it.