He'd never intended to record anything even close to moments like that. Not as part of a surveillance. The images were safe; they were broadcast to his cell phone, but if Jaimie ever found that camera, if he ever had to tell he had placed it...

It was going to be tough enough to explain that Caleb had sent him to her.

He didn't want to imagine how it would be to explain that he'd produced a triple-X-rated movie.

Jaimie sighed and stirred in his arms.

"If I'm going to take that shower," she said softly, "I have to do it soon." She leaned back in his arms. "How long until the pizza gets here?

Zach cleared his throat. "The kid said half an hour."

"Mmm."

He knew what that "mmm" meant. And he wanted the same thing.

No.

The camera. Cameras. One in here, one in the kitchen.

"Zacharias?"

She batted her lashes. He pulled her to him, bent her back over his arm, and kissed her like the villain in an old movie.

"I see straight through your plan," he growled. "Delilah did it with a haircut. You're gonna do it with s.e.x. You figure you'll make me so weak I won't be able to fight you for my fair share of pizza."

"All the man can think about," she said with grave a.s.surance, "is his stomach."

He dipped his head and kissed her b.r.e.a.s.t.s.

"Not all," he said huskily.

Her eyes blurred with desire. He bit back a groan. He'd never been a slow starter, but he'd never been as ready for a woman as he was for her, each and every time. But not with that camera still tucked in among the silk flowers no more than six feet away, and the other camera doing its thing in her kitchen.

Zach raised her up, dropped a light kiss on her lips, turned her around and patted her on her backside.

"Get moving. And leave some hot water for me."

Jaimie glanced over her shoulder. She stuck out her tongue. He grinned.

"Promises, promises," he said.

He watched her walk into the bathroom, waited until he heard the sound of water drumming in the shower, waited some more until he heard the shower door shut.

Then he grabbed the basket of silk flowers, s.n.a.t.c.hed the tiny camera, pulled on his jeans and slipped the camera in a pocket.

The shower was still going.

He raced to the kitchen, found the second camera and breathed a sigh of relief.

His jacket was lying on a chair in the tiny living room. In fact, most of their clothes were in the living room. They'd been in a rush to get naked when they'd come back an hour ago.

Zach turned his head in the direction of the bedroom.

The shower was still running. Good. He'd feel safer with the material on his cell phone deleted and the cameras themselves stashed in a pocket of his jacket.

He dug his phone from the back pocket of his jeans, ready to hit delete. His finger stilled over the b.u.t.ton. He was a man dealing with a lover's problems, but he was also a trained investigator. He hadn't checked the downloads of either camera since last night.

It would only take a couple of seconds The kitchen download was fine, if you were into endless footage of appliances.

Delete.

Now for the bedroom video. He'd run it in reverse, as fast as it would go, because he had to be d.a.m.n near out of time.

He sped through the most recent stuff, taken only a couple of minutes ago, and, man, the footage of them making love right before that, which was a turn-on even to think about, and then there'd be footage of them dressing and, after that, the empty room taken when they'd gone out...

Zach froze.

Steven Young.

The camera caught him as he entered the room, first from the back, then in profile, then a full shot of him as he turned in a slow circle and gazed around him with the ease of a man out for a stroll.

Young ran his fingers over the top of Jaimie's dresser. Pulled open the left top drawer stroked his fingers over what was inside it. Lingerie. Young shut his eyes, tilted back his head, lost himself in those long, slow caresses.

Zach tried to control his breathing. He'd seen lot of things in his life that had filled him with rage, but this...

Bile rose in his throat.

And it was his fault. His G.o.dd.a.m.n fault. What in h.e.l.l had he been thinking? A prowler last night and he hadn't done a thing to secure the place this morning.

He'd been too busy indulging himself in mindless pleasure.

The figure on the tiny screen closed the drawer. Smiled. Curved his hand over the bulge in his trousers.

"I'm going to kill you," Zach whispered. "You sick f.u.c.k!"

Young turned around.

Walked to the bed.

His gaze fell on the rumpled sheets. His breathing quickened and he bent over them. Took what was clearly a long, deep, appreciative breath.

Young stood straight. Fumbled at his trousers. Stuck his hand inside his fly.

Zach's field of vision blurred. Went scarlet. His breathing stopped.

"Zacharias?"

Zach's hands fisted. He told himself to breathe. Inhale. Exhale. Inhale.

"Zacharias, where are you? The doorbell's ringing. It must be the delivery guy."

Jaimie. G.o.d, she could not know about this. She could not see this...

"Zacharias!"

He hand tightened around the cellphone. He wanted to smash it into a thousand pieces, smash it into Young's face...

Click.

"No!"

The cry was torn from his throat. In his fury, he'd hit the Delete b.u.t.ton. A red light came on; Zach hit the b.u.t.ton again and again, but it was too late.

It took only a second for all the video footage to vanish.

"'No' what? Zacharias What's the matter?"

Everything inside him seemed to still. His breathing, his heart, his brain. He stared at the phone for what surely was forever. Then he stuffed it his pocket, dragged in a breath, let it out, and swung toward the hall.

"Zacharias?"

"I'm here," he said, amazed that he could speak at all.

She was leaning into the hall from the bedroom door. She was dressed, wearing jeans and a sweater, drying her hair with a big towel.

"What was that 'no' for? And didn't you hear the bell?"

"Yeah. I heard it. I..." He pulled out his wallet, held it up. "I was having trouble finding my wallet-but I just did.."

The bell rang again. He went quickly to the door, opened it as far as the flimsy chain would permit. A gangly kid with a bad case of acne stood there with a white pizza box in his hands.

Zach undid the chain. "Sorry."

The kid shrugged. "No problem."

Zach took two twenties from his wallet, looked at the kid, then dug out two more. "Keep the change."

"Hey, thanks, dude."

"Yeah. You're welcome."

Zach took the box, shut and locked the door, and carried the pizza into the kitchen. Jaimie was placing a candle in a fat white jug on the small round table. She'd already put out pale pink cloth napkins, white earthenware plates and silver flatware with white enamel handles. Everything looked so normal. So simple.

So right.

"You were supposed to set the table," she said, as he put the box on the counter. "Honestly, Zacharias..."

"Honestly, Jaimie," he said, and he pulled her into his arms and kissed her.

"Hey," she said, laughing, "you have to give me enough room to breathe, Mr. Castelianos."

He nodded, loosened his grip.

"Sorry."

"Don't be sorry." She smiled, stood on her toes and planted a kiss on his lips.

He let it happen and then he thought of Young, of what he'd just seen, and his mind went to a dark place filled with cold vengeance.

The only cure was to gather Jaimie hard against him and deepen the kiss.

"Wow," she said, on a shaky breath.

"Sorry," he said again, "I didn't mean to-"

"I have a confession to make," she whispered, her hands in his hair, her lips an inch from his.

So did he.

What had distracted him earlier this morning wasn't the pursuit of mindless pleasure.

It was this. Holding Jaimie in his arms. Seeing her smile. Hearing her voice. But it was more. It was-it was what he felt...

"Hey."

He blinked. The look she gave him was equal parts Salome and Rebecca of Sunnybrook Farm.

"Don't you want to hear my confession?"

"Absolutely." He cleared his throat. "What is it?"

She kissed him. Softly. Sweetly. Put her lips to his ear. Her warm breath tickled his flesh "I've always preferred pizza when it's cold."

He understood the message. She wanted to make love and, G.o.d, so did he.

But not now. Not here. Never here, in that bed Steven Young had defiled. He wanted out of this place. He never wanted to see it again and he sure as h.e.l.l didn't want Jaimie to so much as step through the door after today.

"That's good," he said, framing her face with his hands, "because here's my plan. By the time we get to this pizza, it'll be so cold it'll make your teeth ache."

"Promises, promises."

"Wicked woman," he growled. "What I mean is, we're going to take it with us. To my hotel. Better still, we'll just take it for a ride in the Prius."

She looked at him as if he were certifiably wacko.

"We'll find somebody who looks as if he'd enjoy a free pizza. Then we can order up a new one from my place."

"Zacharias. I don't know what you're talking about."