Zach gathered her against him.

"I'm talking about a tub big enough for two. A walk-in shower. A bed the size of a football field." He nuzzled her throat. "And pizza, delivered hot, enjoyed cold because it will be absolutely stone cold by the time I've had my wicked way with you, woman."

"Let me get this straight. You want us to wait until we get to your hotel to eat pizza."

"I want us to wait until we get there to make love."

Her expression softened. "Because?"

This time, he could, at the very least, tell her part of the truth.

"Because," he said softly, "of what you told me about the guy who's been following you."

Her face fell.

"Steven. I almost forgot about him."

"That's just it, honey. I want you to forget about him. I want him out of your life and out of your head, and one of the best ways to do that is to go someplace where the memories we make will be all about us. Only us. Does that make sense to you?"

Jaimie stared at him. The seconds flew by. Was she going to tell him that he really did sound crazy? He didn't realize he'd been holding his breath until she smiled.

"You're a wonderful man, Zacharias Castelianos," she said softly.

"No," he said quickly, "Really, Jaimie, I'm-"

"Wonderful," she said, and then she rose on her toes, pressed one last kiss to his lips, and went into the bedroom to pack.

CHAPTER TWELVE.

In the end, he didn't let her pack much.

It was almost as if he didn't want her to take anything from her dresser or her closet.

"Toothbrush," he said. "Hairbrush. That's it."

"That cannot be it, Zacharias," she said, sounding more like an old-fashioned schoolteacher than a woman who'd just told him she was in a hurry to get him into bed. "I need clothes."

"You're wearing clothes."

"I need a change of clothes. For a day. Or two."

"I'll buy you whatever you need."

Her eyebrows shot up. "You will not do any such thing. I'll pack another pair of jeans. A sweater. Panties. Bras."

"No," he said, far more sharply than he'd intended, but the image of Young was trapped in his head, Young with his hand in Jaimie's lingerie drawer. "No," he said, calmly. "I mean...I mean, every guy has his fantasies, honey."

Jaimie folded her arms over her chest.

"I'm almost afraid to ask."

The look on her face made him laugh. Laughter right about now, he figured, was a very good thing.

"You know those movies where a guy takes his woman shopping?"

"Is that what I am?" Her voice was soft. "Your woman?"

"d.a.m.n right," he said, but so tenderly that she could have sworn she felt her heart turn over.

"Are we talking about chick flicks?" she said, moving closer to him. She put her hands on his chest, ran them down over those hard, amazing muscles. Are you telling me you watch them?"

He blushed. It was an incredible sight. That oh-so-masculine face, those cheekbones that looked as if they'd been carved out of stone, suddenly striped with red.

"No! Of course not. I do not watch-"

"What you're telling me is that you want to pick out the bras and panties you're going to take off me an hour later?"

"An hour's too long," Zach said with a lazy smile, "but yeah, that's the idea."

"I have never let anyone buy my clothes for me."

"Well, I get that. But-"

"I make a pretty good living." She sighed. "Or, I did until I gave up a nice, steady 9-to-5 for selling real estate."

"I thought you said real estate was safe."

"I said it involved numbers. And that isn't the point. I am not a woman who lets men buy her things."

"You let me buy you pizza," he said, with a straight face.

Jaimie nodded. He couldn't read her expression at all-until she giggled.

"Pizza and lingerie. What a combination."

"Extra cheese," he said gruffly, "and extra lace."

They drove to the Georgetown campus. Zach stopped beside the first student they saw.

"Dude? How'd you like a pizza?"

The kid looked suspicious. Jaimie could hardly blame him. She put down her window and leaned out.

"We ordered a pizza. Turns out my boyfriend can't eat it. He's allergic to pepperoni and they put pepperoni on it."

"Really?"

"Really. You want it, it's yours."

They drove away pizza-less.

Zach reached for Jaimie's hand. He couldn't recall ever being called someone's boyfriend. In high school, boyfriends had been guys with letters on their jackets and their own cars. In the Corps, there hadn't been time for relationships that lasted more than a night or maybe a couple of days, and once he was in Special Ops and The Agency, the idea of a woman waiting for him had never entered his head. His life was too uncertain, too risky.

Too free.

His life was still like that. By now, it was part of what and who he was-and yet, hearing that old-fashioned word from Jaimie made him feel good.

Crazy, of course.

He liked her. He enjoyed being with her, but...

But, what about that stuff he'd told her a little while ago? About something happening between them. What had made him say such a thing or even think it?

There was still time to change his strategy. Phone one of Shadow's operatives. He had half a dozen guys he'd trust with his life; surely, he could trust them with hers.

Sure he could.

But he was here, on the job already, and it only made sense to stay with what he'd started.

That was logical.

He could feel that cool att.i.tude slipping away even as they rode the elevator to his suite.

He was losing track of the rules he lived by. Every last one of them, starting with choosing not to tell Caleb he was the last man for this job. Plus, he kept going back to what he'd said to Jaimie, all that c.r.a.p about precipices and feelings. Not that he'd used the word, but that was what it came down to.

By the time they reached the suite, he'd gone full circle.

Time to come clean.

Tell Jaimie the truth. Why he was here. Who had sent him. She'd be angry. h.e.l.l, angry didn't come close, but so what? He'd tell her about the surveillance videos, too. About Young. Then she'd understand that no matter how furious she was with him, she needed protection. A couple of calls and he'd have things in place. Jaimie, where Young couldn't find her; three of his men on 24/7 rotation to guard her while he set the legal wheels turning. Young had connections; getting him arrested for trespa.s.s and hara.s.sment might not be the piece of cake it should have been, but Zach had high-level contacts within the D.C. Metropolitan police. A quiet word would accomplish a lot.

It was a cool, calm and, yes, logical plan. It was how he should have handled things once he'd discovered what was on that camera. He was a professional and if he'd lost sight of that, he had it back now.

The h.e.l.l he did.

The silence of the room, the darkness collecting outside the windows, seemed to close in. He felt his heart thudding, heard the steadiness of his breath. Every one of his senses had come fully alive in the way they always did when he was heading toward the reality of a mission.

Jaimie was standing at the French doors. Her back was to him. She was saying something, probably about the view, but at this point, he could hear only sounds, not words.

He said her name. Not loudly enough, perhaps, because she didn't respond. He said it again, and she turned and looked at him. She was smiling.

And then, she wasn't.

"Zacharias?" Jaimie said.

Her lover was walking slowly toward her. She had never seen him like this: his eyes were the color of the sea before a storm; that muscle she'd noticed before was flickering in his jaw. They were in a very civilized place in a very civilized city, but what she saw in Zacharias now was feral.

A tiny flicker of alarm danced over her skin.

"Zacharias," she said softly, "why are you looking at me that way?"

"Get undressed."

"What?"

He tugged his T-shirt from his jeans, yanked it over his head and dropped it.

"I said, get undressed."

She gave a nervous laugh.

"Really, Zacharias-"

He kicked off his sneakers. Undid his belt. His fly. His jeans dropped to his lean hips.

"G.o.ddammit, take off your clothes!"

She stumbled back. Her heart leaped into her throat.

"Zacharias. You're scaring me. I don't-"

He was on her before she could take another step, his hands in her hair, tugging her head back, his mouth on hers, hard and hot and demanding.

"I need you," he said, the words raw and savage. "Now. Right now. No waiting. No preliminaries. I need to be inside you."

His hands were all over her, under her sweater, unzipping her jeans, pulling them down her legs. His touch was rough, primitive, terrifying. Ice filled her veins.

"Wait," she gasped. "Zacharias, wait..."

She tried to pull away from him. He wouldn't let that happen. He caught her wrists. Forced her arms to her sides. Captured her mouth with his again.

"I need you," he growled.

And without warning, ice turned to fire.

A soft cry broke from her throat.