Her cry rose into the night. He could feel her o.r.g.a.s.m taking her, consuming her, and he threw back his head, came apart in her arms as she came apart in his.

She was weeping.

He drew her even closer.

Kissed her tear-filled eyes. Her tender mouth.

She whispered his name and he kissed her again, kissed her with a tenderness he'd never felt before.

This time, when she drifted off to sleep, so did he, still with her held tightly in his embrace.

He came awake in a rush, heart racing, pulse pounding, rising out of a disjointed dream of looming mountains, destroyed villages, danger and death.

He was lying on his belly, face buried in the pillows, the linens tangled low on his hips.

Something was wrong. He sensed it. Yeah, but what?

Zach forced himself to remain still. Habits formed by years of waking in places where danger lurked had taught him that there were times survival depended on not making any fast moves.

After a few seconds, he felt his muscles start to uncoil. His heartbeat slowed. Carefully, he opened his eyes, rolled onto his back- And remembered.

The power outage. The darkness. The woman.

Gone.

He swung his legs to the floor and sat up.

Sunlight poured in through the floor-to-ceiling windows and through the enormous skylight that was centered above the bed. The time display on the clock radio on the nightstand was blinking on and off.

The power was on.

And the bed beside him was empty.

Was Jaimie in the bathroom?

He rose, searched until he found his jeans and stepped into them, zipping up the fly as he padded, barefoot, across the room.

The bathroom was empty. So was his dressing room.

Where was she? Downstairs, in the kitchen? He sighed. Of course. She'd awakened, found that the electricity was on and she'd taken that as an invitation to do what women who spent the night in his bed always did, or at least tried to do. Making breakfast was in the DNA of the female of the species, he thought as he went back into the bathroom, did his thing, washed his hands and, as a last-minute consideration, took a swig of mouthwash, rolled it around his mouth, then spat it into the sink.

Zach turned on the water, looked in the mirror and ran his hands through his hair.

Too bad that the last thing he ever wanted was that I'm-making-you-bacon-and-eggs bit, that little touch of domesticity that women figured should punctuate a night of s.e.x.

He turned off the water, dried his hands and face and headed for the stairs.

He wasn't a wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am kind of guy. It was just that what women never quite got was that what men wanted after a woman spent the night was either an instant replay and then a short, sweet goodbye, or the short, sweet goodbye all by itself.

A smile curved his lips as he walked down the hall to the kitchen.

Actually, he might just make an exception this morning. Eat whatever Jaimie had put together and then take her back to his bed. It had been a memorable night. Why not add a couple more memories before they said goodbye?

His steps quickened. He could hear her at the sink. Oh, yeah. The typical picture of kitchen-G.o.ddess bliss. Gla.s.ses rattling. Water running.

Smiling, he walked through the door.

Huh?

The woman at the sink wasn't a gorgeous, supple blonde. She was a small, overweight brunette wrapped in an ap.r.o.n that d.a.m.n near swallowed her.

He'd forgotten that his housekeeper would be coming in this morning.

Zach cleared his throat. "Mrs. Halverson?"

Mrs. Halverson swung around, wiping her hands on her ap.r.o.n, beaming at him.

"Welcome back, sir!"

"Thanks. Uh, Mrs. Halverson..."

"What a night, yes? That storm! And then the electric. Poof! But everything is back to normal this morning. Even the subway. It was a little late, yes, but here I am."

Here she was. And where was Jaimie?

He cleared his throat again. "Ah, Mrs. Halverson. The young lady..."

His housekeeper's bushy brows rose. "What young lady?"

"There was a-there was a-" Zach frowned. "You haven't seen anyone since you got here?"

"No, sir. I arrived at seven. A little late because the subway-"

Zach turned, went quickly down the hall and ran up the stairs. This time, he took a better look at the dressing room.

Her clothes-his clothes, actually-were neatly folded, and stacked on a chair.

Her clothes were gone. In their place was a note.

Dear Mr. Castelianos: I'll tell Mr. Bengs that you are not interested in selling.

Thank you for everything.

And then initials. JW.

Initials?

His eyes narrowed. It was a note from a stranger to a stranger. She'd spent the better part of the night in his bed and now he was Mr. Castelianos? And what was with that "Thank you for everything?" s.h.i.t. What was there to thank him for? Shelter? Food?

s.e.x?

A muscle danced in his cheek.

He read the note again. Big mistake. Two readings only made it twice as bewildering. Bewildering? Forget that. Two readings made it twice as infuriating.

Talk about wham-bam-thank-you-ma'am...

Zach crumpled the note in his hand.

Talk about things that were insulting...

His cellphone beeped. His brows knotted. Where in h.e.l.l was the effing thing? He patted his pockets. Checked the shelves.

The phone stopped beeping.

Good. He wasn't in the mood for- Beep. Beep beep. Beep beep.

"s.h.i.t," he muttered, and strode into the bedroom. Where was it? Not on the dresser, not on the night table.

There it was. On the floor beside the bed. He s.n.a.t.c.hed it up, glared at it, didn't recognize the number or the caller's name, and jammed the thing against his ear.

"What?" he barked.

"Mr. Castelianos?"

The voice was male. Smooth. Authoritative.

"Mr. Zacharias Castelianos?"

"Listen, pal, if you're trying to sell me something-"

"A word to the wise, Mr. Castelianos, and is that not a ridiculous idiom? If you were wise, I would not have to offer you this word."

Zach took the iPhone from his ear, glared at it, then put it to his ear again.

"Who is this?"

"My name is Steven Young."

"Well, listen and listen well, Mr. Young. You have the wrong-"

"Jaimie is my fiancee."

"Huh?"

"The woman with whom you spent the night, sir. My fiancee."

"I don't know what in h.e.l.l you're talking-" Zach caught his breath. "What?"

"She and I are engaged to be married."

"Engaged to be-"

"I love her very much. And she loves me. But..." The other man cleared his throat. "But, she has a problem. She is-there is no polite way to say this-she has issues. s.e.xual issues."

Zach sank down on the side of the bed.

"Have you taken your meds today, Stevie?"

"I am not going to ask you what you and my fiancee did last night, Mr. Castelianos. What I will ask is your a.s.surance that you will not see her again."

Zach unfolded the note. Read it a third time.

Thank you for everything.

"You are undoubtedly puzzled, Mr. Castelianos."

Zach barked a laugh.

"I know, I know. She gives the appearance of being, how shall I put this? Of being s.e.xually unsophisticated. You see, she is in treatment. She has come a long way, with the help of her psychotherapist and me. I am not saying anything happened between you last night, sir, but if anything did... Well, she is surely trying to put it out of her head this morning." A long, gusty sigh. "My Jaimie is very good at denial."

Denial.

Zach put his hand to his forehead. He'd slept with a woman who had psychos.e.xual problems. Holy s.h.i.t.

"How did you get this number, Mister...Mister..."

"Young. Steven Young." Another gusty sigh. "My beloved Jaimie gave it to me, of course. She phoned me early this morning. You must have been sleeping. She told me she'd made a terrible mistake and asked me to forgive her. She said she was on her way home and-"

Zach disconnected.

He fell back on the bed and stared at the skylight.

Years ago, he'd slept with a Thai hooker. He hadn't known she was a hooker; he'd been painfully young, a long way from home, lonely as only a man, a boy, really, in a strange land among strange customs can be.

The girl-pretty and sweet-had come up to him in a crowded club. She'd spoken very little English, but that was more than he could speak in Thai. She'd let him hold her hand; after a while, she'd let him kiss her. Then she'd taken him with her to what he'd thought was her home.

"Must be very quiet," she'd whispered, and he'd made love to her there, in a tiny room that smelled of incense and fish, and it was only afterward, when she held out her hand and he looked baffled and she spat what even he knew was an ugly word, that he'd realized he'd been with a wh.o.r.e.