A hurricane has hit town. We’re not talking about Latin superstar Enrique Iglesias, the force of nature who in fact has just blown in from Spain. We’re talking about a real hurricane, Irene. Sixty-mph winds whip the palm trees in Iglesias’s front yard. Waves crash against the singer’s infinity pool, which would normally blend seamlessly into Miami’s Biscayne Bay were the sea’s usually aquamarine water not all roiling gray fury. By the time the ceilings in the living room, billiard room and dining room of the bi-level, four-bedroom house begin to leak, there aren’t enough buckets and pans left to catch all of Irene’s downpour.

So where is Iglesias? Upstairs, leaning against his bed, knees to chest, bare toes scrunching the carpet. Virtually oblivious to the storm. Like an excited kid showing off a new toy truck, he’s playing tracks from Enrique, his fourth album and his first in English. “My bedroom is my most personal space. I write my songs on that desk,” says the 24-year-old son of Julio Iglesias, whose achingly romantic tunes have made him one of the top Latin singers in the world. In the last three years Iglesias the younger has sold almost 14 million albums and seen 12 songs soar to No. 1 on Billboard’s Latin charts and one, “Bailamos” (“We Dance”), top the U.S. pop chart. All while projecting an image of the boyish troubadour next door.

But there’s a song Iglesias unveils that breaks the mold. On “You’re My Number One,” his voice trembles as he sings of a girl with whom he does things he’s never done before. “I wanted to make the song a little bit more sexual. Why does a woman drive you crazy? Why is she amazing? Because she makes you wicked,” say Iglesias, a glint lighting up his intense brown eyes. This is what his fans adore--the combination of gentle boyfriend and fantasy lover. With his full lips, puma-sleek body, and penetrating eyes, Iglesias is even more good-looking in person than in his smoldering publicity photos. “He gets mobbed by women. And he doesn’t have a single security person. I’m like, ‘Get a damn bodyguard and make it easier on the rest of us,’ ” says Gerardo Mejía, the early-nineties one-hit wonder (“Rico Suave”) who first brought Iglesias to Interscope/UMG. The record company signed Iglesias to an impressive $44 million, six-album deal this year. Says his friend boxer Oscar De La Hoya, who went backstage with Madonna when Iglesias performed at L.A.’s Universal Amphitheater: “He’s energetic, he’s charismatic. Madonna was impressed at how he had the crowd going, and how the women drooled over him.” Madonna isn’t the only person marveling at the attention Enrique gets. Says Iglesias: “My mother was like, ‘This is the same kid who couldn’t get a date for the prom?’ ”

If Enrique’s no longer the shy, retiring type, he does like to get away from it all, namely here, at this tiled-roof casa where he can recharge after long recording sessions and tours. “To relax? I close all the shutters and go to sleep,” Iglesias says, laughing. Most of the time, however, those shutters are thrown wide open to the extraordinary panoramic views: the city’s skyline, glittering Miami Beach across the bay, tiny islands covered in palms and mangroves. Iglesias began building the house--a mere two down from the one where he lived as a teenager--three years ago. Relying on local decorators, he created an environment beyond what most 24-year-old multimillionaires would want. Sure, there is an oversize TV, a pool table and a workout room upstairs, but the overall effect is of a mature restraint, with rich, muted colors and Spanish-inspired detailings. Paintings by established Cuban artists abound, and a beautiful photo of his Philippine-born mother, Madrid socialite Isabel Preysler, prominently graces the living room.

Iglesias was born in Madrid. In 1979 his mother divorced Julio, one of the most successful Latin artists of all time, and sent the 8-year-old Enrique--along with older brother Julio Jr., now a rising singer in his own right, and older sister Chabeli, currently a Spanish-language talkshow host-- to live in the U.S. with their father. (His mother feared for her children’s safety after Basque separatists kidnapped Enrique’s paternal grandfather.) And though he spent summers with his mom, “leaving her was one of the hardest parts of my life.” As a teen Enrique was obsessed with music. “I would lock myself up in my room with my tape recorder and write little simple melodies,” he says. by 18 he was angling for a recording deal, something he didn’t tell either parent until he had landed one. Eager to prove himself on his own, he even sent out demo tapes using a fake last name. “He didn’t want to be seen as a curiosity,” says his manager, Fernan Martinez. Adds Iglesias: “I had one thought in my head, which was music, music, music.”

He’s not all work, though. Iglesias may be just beginning to show his wild side in his songs, but it’s out in force during downtime. Besides being a prankster (recently typing Mejía’s shoelaces to his luggage when he wasn’t looking), he’s a daredevil. Pointing to his head, he shows where he had 40 stitches after a waterskiing accident. “We were too close to the mangroves. I hit a tree and my ear was, like, coming off.” He hang glides too, and recently began to fly planes. “I’m a little afraid of it,” he says. “But I love fear.” It takes a lot to rattle him: When the storm moves in, he never mentions it once.

The next day, Irene has passed. Sunlight glistens on the bay. Iglesias’s golden retriever, Grammy, a gift from his former record company, runs around the yard. (“It’s kind of tacky, but I can’t change his name now,” says Iglesias.) He’s inspecting the property for damage with the person who keeps him grounded: ex-nanny Elvira Olivares, his unofficial household manager. When his dad was on the road, Olivares helped raise him; he dedicated his first album to her. “She’s family,” says Iglesias. He’s 6 foot 2, she’s 5 feet, if that. He gently rests his hand on her shoulder.

Right now she’s his main girl. He’s still looking for the woman he fantasizes about in his new song. “I like girls who are outgoing, independent--and a little bit crazy,” he says. A long-distance relationship with someone in Spain ended four years ago, and he has dated sporadically ever since. He allows that he tends to hold back. “I’m passionate in my music,” he says. “Sometimes I wish I could be that way in life.”

Reticent he may be, but he’s clearly a romantic. Near his bed sits a dried, half-opened pink rose. A fan gave it to him, probably never dreaming it would end up here. “I just left it there,” he says. “I don’t know why.” For her and his other admirers, the reciprocity, for now, will have to come through the CD player or radio. “I wish I could say what I say in my music to someone I love, face-to-face. But since I can’t--I don’t have the guts to, or it just won’t come out right--I just sing it.”

“I want a girl who’s a little bit on the wild side,” Iglesias says. “I want her to shock me once in a while.”

“There was a point in my career when I was so focused that I wasn’t really enjoying it. I gotta live now.”