"Just think," he heard himself say, "if you'd taken me up on my dinner offer, we'd be in some little restaurant right now. Nothing as nice as this. I mean, who'd want linen tablecloths? A waiter hovering over us? And candles. Skinny ones. What do you call them?"

"Tapers," she said.

"Tapers. The word always makes me think of those animals in South America. The ones that look like guinea pigs on steroids."

Good. That had won him a faint smile.

"And what would we have had for supper? Surely not Soupe des Legumes la Maison."

Yes. A definite smile.

"And then, dessert. Some glop a dude in a cheap tux would light up, tableside."

She laughed, which was what he'd counted on, and he sent up silent pleas for forgiveness to every matre d' who'd ever performed magic with Cherries Jubilee.

"Who'd want that when we have this? Heck, the only thing missing is music."

"Mmm," she said. "That would be nice."

She had surprised him with that admission.

She could see it in his eyes.

Well, d.a.m.n, she'd surprised herself.

An hour ago, she'd been trying to get away from Zacharias Castelianos.

What a mistake that would have been.

He wasn't only drop-dead gorgeous, he was fun. He was charming. He was a man any woman would want. Well, except her. She was far too busy chasing her new career to get involved with anybody. Besides, he lived in New York. She lived in Washington.

And wasn't thinking like that ridiculous?

Why did she always have to come up with logical reasons to explain things? She was, OK, she was attracted to him. And unless she'd forgotten everything she'd ever known about men and women, he was attracted to her.

For tonight.

This wasn't about forever. It was about attraction. Pheromones.

For goodness' sake, James, it's about l.u.s.t.

And if she were a different kind of woman, if she could give herself a good reason to let go and just enjoy whatever the night might offer...

"Such deep thoughts."

His voice was low and rough. Jaimie blinked, looked up. He was inches away, smiling down at her as she sat at the counter, and what she saw in his eyes left her breathless.

"No," she said quickly, "not deep. Just-just-I was wondering if there's any news."

The h.e.l.l she was.

Her face was an open book. She'd been thinking the same thing he was thinking. He could see it in the sweep of color high on her cheeks, in the way she suddenly and, he'd bet, unknowingly swiped the tip of her tongue over her bottom lip.

Such a full, perfect, pink bottom lip.

G.o.d, he wanted to touch her.

Just once. Just lightly.

Zach let himself reach out and stroke an errant strand of gold behind her ear.

It wasn't enough.

He wanted to kiss her.

He wanted to strip her naked, sweep everything from the counter, lay her across it and take her again and again until she was mindless with pleasure.

At least he didn't have to worry about the knot in his b.a.l.l.s anymore. It had been replaced by one h.e.l.l of an erection.

He took a quick step back.

"News," he said, in the manic tones of a desperate man. "Excellent idea. I forgot all about that wind-up radio."

He swung away, all but marched to the butcher-block table where he'd stashed the box of emergency supplies. He stood with his back to her and concentrated on cold showers, ice storms, glaciers and whatever other hard-on killers he could think of until it was safe to pluck the radio from the box, carry it across the room, set it on the counter and crank the handle.

"Here we go," he said brightly. "We won't get much time out of it, so-"

"...huge software glitch that has affected the grid on virtually the entire East Coast. Authorities have isolated the problem but say they cannot offer an estimate of when they'll solve it-"

Static. More static, and the crisp intonations of the announcer gave way to...

A piano. Soft, bluesy notes. And then a raw, emotion-filled voice.

"Springsteen," Jaimie said.

Zach nodded. "It's 'Back in Your Arms Again.'"

"I know." She hummed a little of it. "I love that song."

He laughed. "It must be almost as old as you are."

"Not even close," she said, laughing along with him. "But I admit, I grew up on this stuff. I have older brothers. One of them is a big Springsteen fan."

She shut her eyes, hummed softly with the music, head back, shoulders gently swaying.

He watched her for a few seconds. Then he reached for her hand.

She looked at him.

"Dance with me," he said softly.

Time, the very universe, narrowed down to this moment. He held his breath until, slowly, she rose to her feet and put her hand in his.

He drew her into his arms. She came to him willingly on a soft, sweet sigh. He drew her close, closer still until her could feel the beat of her heart merge with the beat of his.

He pressed his lips to her hair.

She wrapped her arms around his neck, put her head against his shoulder.

They moved slowly to the music. After a while, it faded. Died. Still, they swayed together as the candlelight painted their silhouettes on the walls.

An eternity went by. Then Zach put his hands into Jaimie's hair and raised her face to his. He knew he would never forget the smoky blueness of her eyes.

"Jaimie," he said his voice low and urgent.

"Zacharias," she whispered back.

And then his mouth was on hers, her lips parted to the stroke of his tongue and, in a heartbeat, the night turned to magic.

CHAPTER SIX.

He'd wanted to take her right here.

No time wasted.

Standing, her legs around his hips, him thrusting, thrusting, thrusting deep inside her until she came and then he would let go and find his own release.

He was hard, painfully hard, so ready for claiming her that seconds ago he'd felt as if he might explode.

Now, with Jaimie in his arms, her mouth sweet as honey against his, Zach knew that as much as he needed to be inside her, he wanted more.

Jaimie, in his bed, naked, all of her bared to his eyes, his hands, his mouth, her cloud of golden hair spread over his pillow, her b.r.e.a.s.t.s uptilted, the nipples pouting for the sweep of his tongue. He wanted to see her raise her arms to embrace him, wanted to part her thighs and see the feminine heart of her, stroke her with his fingers, taste the essence of her on his lips.

But, G.o.d, he ached, he ached...and she was moving against him, her pelvis against his, and if he got any bigger, any harder...

What he had not considered was her own impatience.

"Please," she said, "Zacharias, please," and he swept everything aside, bowls, silverware, placemats and napkins sliding away on the wide granite counter as he lifted her onto the edge of it, stripped away her sweats, stroked her, found her hot and wet and, G.o.d, ready for him, so ready...

"Jaimie," he said, and he unzipped his jeans, clasped her hips and drove into her.

She screamed his name.

The sound of her voice penetrated the red haze of his desire and he held still, looked down into her face. Had he hurt her? No. No. Her eyes were blurred with want; her lips were parted. She was o.r.g.a.s.ming around him, the muscles of her v.a.g.i.n.a contracting around his engorged p.e.n.i.s.

He fought against letting go. He didn't want to come. Not yet. He wanted to go deeper within her silken walls, he wanted to fill her, make her come again and again.

"Look at me," he said, his, voice a low, harsh growl. "Jaimie. Look at me."

She blinked. Brought her eyes to his. His hands tightened on her and he drove into her again, again, again, until she was sobbing, reaching for him, and he lowered his head, took her mouth as he was taking her body,, and she arched her back, her body an elegant bow as she came and came and finally, as the world threatened to spin out of control, he groaned, pressed into her, and let go, let go, let go...

He collapsed against her or maybe she collapsed against him, both of them gasping for breath, both their hearts rocketing.

He'd been on missions where his heart had not beaten this hard and fast.

He swept his arms around her. Closed his eyes, buried his face in her hair, inhaled her fragrance. Her face was pressed against his throat; he could feel the warmth of her breath against his skin.

What was she thinking?

He'd been with women who liked s.e.x done this way. Hard. Fast. Without any sense of time or place, but she hadn't seemed the kind who would want something like that.

Should he apologize? Explain? Ask that time-honored question, Are you OK?

Jesus. How about a better question?

"Jaimie." He cleared his throat. "I can't believe that I-I didn't use a condom."

She made a little sound. Sort of as if she were clearing her throat.

"I'm on the pill."

"Good. I mean..." He drew back, just an inch or two. Framed her face with his hands. "Hey," he said softly.

Not brilliant, but it made her open her eyes and look at him. Ah, G.o.d, that look! Pleasure. Shock. How could it be both?

Maybe the moment was right for that time-honored question after all.

"Honey? You OK?"

She sucked in a breath. Swallowed. Color swept into her face.

"Yes."