"I'll take care of you," he said softly.

Then he gathered her in his arms, rose to his feet, and carried her back up the stairs.

CHAPTER FIVE.

Zacharias Castelianos carried Jaimie to his bedroom, all the while whispering that she'd be fine, that he wouldn't let anything happen to her.

And she believed him.

She'd met him less than an hour ago and only minutes before, she'd been willing to brave the dark, the endless descent to the lobby, the turmoil that might await her on the streets far below, just to get away from him.

Now, safe in his arms, his deep voice a soothing murmur in her ear, he had become her safe haven.

He sat her gently in a big armchair near the window. She watched him cross the room to a bed that looked as big as her entire apartment in D.C. and scoop a blanket from its foot. Then he came back to her, wrapped her in the blanket-soft wool that smelled faintly of pine and soap, that smelled of him-squatted down before her and clasped her hand.

"OK, honey. Here's what we're going to do. I'm going to get those supplies I told you about from the dressing room. It's right there, in that corner. See?"

She couldn't, not really; night was fast closing in. But she could hear him, the concern in his voice, and she nodded.

"OK."

"Good girl."

She wasn't a girl, she was a twenty-six year old woman, but he'd said the words in a way that was meant to be kind. Besides, she'd behaved like a girl, not a grown up. Breaking down as she had... It made her feel incredibly foolish.

And now, dammit, added to everything else, she was shaking. Her teeth were banging together and the harder she tried to keep it from happening, the worse it got.

"You're wet," he said briskly. "And cold. And you're in shock." He rose to his feet. "The blanket will help until I find you some dry stuff to wear. Are you good with that?"

She nodded. Why say OK and risk sounding as if she were playing castanets?

He headed across the room and vanished in the dark. She heard the sounds of things shifting, things knocking together, and then a tiny orange light appeared. It was the flame from a candle burning in what looked like a Mason jar.

Nothing in her life had ever been more welcome.

Zacharias came toward her and set the candle on a table beside the chair.

"Better?"

She smiled. It was. Amazingly better.

"Good. Let me get a few things we're gonna need..."

He disappeared into the dressing room again. When he remerged, he was carrying a carton. Things in it clinked together as he placed it on the floor.

"Our supplies," he said, smiling at her. "Now, we'll get a little more light going in here..."

Seconds later, three more candles were blazing. She could see the room now, the size of it-big, like him. Efficient and masculine, like him.

And beautiful.

Like him.

Because he was. Beautiful. Watching him move was wonderful. His body was lean, long, and elegantly muscled. His face was sculpted, the jaw hard and defined, the nose straight and perfect except for a little b.u.mp halfway down its length.

Jaimie's breath seemed to catch in her throat.

It was difficult to remember why she'd feared him, why she'd been willing to risk so much to escape him.

He'd flirted with her, sure. So what? Men flirted. She never flirted back-she wasn't comfortable with it-but flirting was harmless.

Deep inside, she'd surely known he wouldn't hurt her, wouldn't do anything she didn't want him to do.

And maybe that was the problem, that part of her had understood that there might be things he'd ask of her that she would want, would need, would do despite the fact that he was a stranger, that she knew nothing about him except that he was beautiful and exciting and, yes, a little dangerous...

"Time to get you into something warm and dry."

She blinked, looked up. He was standing over her and his tone was businesslike. Nothing even close to flirtatious or s.e.xy. No innuendo, simply a statement of fact.

He nodded toward the dressing room, softly illuminated by candlelight.

"I've laid out some things. A T-shirt. A sweatshirt. An old pair of cut-down sweatpants. They go to my knees, so they should be fine for you. Wool socks. And if that stuff doesn't work for you, take whatever you prefer. OK?"

Jaimie cleared her throat.

"About before," she began. "About you ma-making that same offer..."

"Honey. We can talk later." He reached for her, lifted her as easily as if she were a feather and put her on her feet. "I left a big towel for you, too. Rub down, then get dressed. I'm going to take some things downstairs, but I'll come right back and I'll be out here, waiting for you." He flashed that devastating smile. "Then we'll see about something to eat. How's that sound?"

Like paradise, she thought as she shut the dressing room door behind her.

There was no lock.

A little while ago, a.s.suming she'd let him talk her into this, she'd have searched for something to jam under the k.n.o.b.

Now, she simply began undressing.

And got as far as her bra and pantyhose.

On? Or off?

Neither was wet or even damp, but she never wore pantyhose with sweats. And if she didn't keep the pantyhose on, she'd feel silly wearing her bra.

She looked at the clothing he'd laid out for her. Picked up the sweatshirt and held it against her. It was huge. Only she would know she wasn't wearing a bra.

Or panties.

That she was naked under the clothes.

His clothes.

A little tremor went through her. The cold. That was the reason. She had to stop wasting time and get warm.

Quickly, she stripped off her underwear and used the towel to rub some circulation back into her flesh. Once she had, she pulled on the clothes he'd left for her. The air conditioning had gone off when the power had, of course, but its chill lingered.

His clothes were just right.

Well, everything floated on her, but the pieces were soft and warm against her skin. There was a mirrored wall across from her and she caught a glimpse of herself in it.

Stunning, she thought with a wry smile.

Her hair had dried the way it always did if she didn't blow-dry it to get out the waves and curls that always resisted all her attempts at taming. And her outfit was...

Interesting.

She gave a soft laugh as she imagined Lissa seeing her like this.

Her big sister often teased her about her clothing choices.

"I adore you," she'd once said, "but, honestly, James, you must have been born wearing a suit."

No suit tonight.

Instead, she was lost within seemingly endless folds of pale gray and deep blue jersey.

The pair of socks he'd left her were the piece de resistance. They were olive drab. Khaki, actually, a color you became familiar with when you had a father and two brothers who'd been in the service. Their fit was, well, beyond huge.

She just had to hope she wouldn't trip over them.

Her gaze moved past her own flickering reflection to the dressing room itself.

A long rack held half a dozen suits. Navy. Dark gray. Black with a thin off-white stripe. Dress shirts. White. Pale blue. Dark blue. Shelves held sweaters, T-shirts, casual shirts, underwear.

It seemed that Zacharias Castelianos preferred boxer briefs.

Black boxers briefs, all neatly rolled in what she recognized as military style.

A picture swept into her head. That big, long, muscular body wearing a pair of boxers. Just that. Nothing else...

"Honey?"

Jaimie swung toward the door.

"Yes?"

"You OK?"

"I'm fine."

Quickly, she shook out her damp sit and blouse, arranged them neatly on hangers. Then she took a breath, reached for the k.n.o.b and opened the door. He was standing just outside, leaning against a night table, hip-shot, arms folded over his chest, a big flashlight in one hand.

His eyes met hers, then moved over her slowly, from her face to her toes and then back up again.

"Warm enough?"

"Uh huh. Yes. Thank you."

"You're welcome." A slow smile tilted at the corner of his mouth. "Why do I get the feeling Roger wouldn't approve?"

"Rog...Oh. Mr. Bengs." Jaimie laughed. "No. This outfit isn't exactly on his How to Succeed as a Realtor list."

"Well, luckily for us both, old Roger isn't here." He straightened, turned on the flashlight and held out his hand. "Can you get down the stairs, or do you want me to carry you?"

"I can get down on my own," she said quickly.

"Fine. So. Ready to scrounge up something to eat?"

"Ready," she said, and put her hand in his.

The kitchen was candlelit.

She could see it more clearly now than during that first quick pa.s.s she'd made through it. Like everything else, like the man who lived here, it was big, efficient, and handsome.

And it smelled wonderful.

Jaimie all but drooled at the sight of the small pot bubbling gently on the butane burner.

"Soup?"

"Yeah. Vegetable and barley. I opened the first can I found on the shelf. I hope that's all right."

Her stomach growled. He looked at her and grinned.

"Was that a vote of a.s.sent?"

"I'm starved," she admitted.

"Good. So am I."