Jaimie: Fire And Ice Part 8

Powerful storm wreaks havoc along northeast corridor. Ma.s.sive power outage reported from Montreal through Baltimore. Authorities say they have no estimate yet as to how long it will take to get the situation under control...

OK. It was the weather. And he believed it. Two separate nations were involved. If this had been an attack, they'd be sending out a very different kind of announcement.

Still, there was always that faint element of doubt. You didn't survive wars in two of the world's most G.o.dforsaken places without hanging onto what his unit had always called survival cynicism.

"Have you found something?"

He looked at the woman. At Jaimie. Wordlessly, he turned his iPhone toward her. She read the crawl, read it again, then looked at him.

"The storm," she said, on a slow exhalation of breath. "That's good. I mean, at first, I thought it might have been-"

He held up his hand again, turned away from her, hit a speed dial number on the phone. It rang once and then a voice said, "Figured you'd call."

"Yes," Zach said.

"You can relax, dude. Word just came in. It's the weather. Nothing else."

"Thanks."

"No problem."

Zach nodded, disconnected, and turned toward Jaimie.

"Who'd you call?"

He gave a lazy shrug. "A friend. A, uh, a government meteorologist. I thought he might have more info about how long this is liable to last."

"And?"

"And, they have no idea. An hour, a couple of hours..."

"You think it'll take that long? I have a flight back to D.C. at nine o'clock."

What he thought was that it might take days and that even if it didn't, the airports would be canceling planes right and left, but there was no logic in telling her that. Instead, he nodded, shut off the phone and tucked it back into his pocket.

She made a little sound of distress.

"We can't use it," he said. "We have to conserve the battery."

"But you just-"

"We'll turn it on every hour and check for news. How's that sound?"

She hesitated. He'd heard the wariness in her voice. Yeah, and who could blame her for that? She knew squat about him and here she was, trapped with only him for company.

"Every half hour," he said, with a quick smile. "OK?"

She nodded. "Fine."

Fine wasn't quite what she meant, but she was determined to brave it out.

Good.

The last thing he needed was a hysterical female on his hands.

But she was definitely female, even with her body obscured by the voluminous folds of his robe, or maybe the very size of the robe, the way she was almost lost within it, only emphasized her femininity.

She was also doing her best to hang onto her composure.

She was an uninvited guest; he had not pretended otherwise. Now the city had gone dark and she was trapped far above it with a stranger.

He had to admire the way she was handling things.

She was also trembling. Fear? He didn't think so. The wet clothes were getting to her. He had to get her out of those clothes, especially now that they might be stuck up here for who knew how long. She could wear one of his sweatshirts, a pair of his sweatpants rolled up.

The problem wasn't what she could put on but how to get her to do it.

Instinct warned him that there might be some inherent difficulty in a man telling a woman he'd just met that she had to get undressed, even if it was for a strictly honorable purpose.

OK. First things first. He had flashlights. Batteries. Candles. Even a one burner propane stove. It was time to get them out.

"Well," he said briskly, "we don't want to sit around in the dark all night."

"All night?"

"It's best to be prepared for the worst, right?"

"Right," she said, after a couple of seconds.

"Besides, it'll be more cheerful if we have some light, a cup of coffee..."

"Coffee," she said, and flashed a quick smile.

"Coffee. Some soup." He smiled, too. "That dinner I was talking about before."

Her smile faded. Her shoulders stiffened.

Jesus, he was an idiot. A little while ago, he'd been flirting with her, talking about dinner. It had made her uncomfortable. Now here he was, bringing up the topic again.

"Hurricane Sandy," he said. "Remember? She taught me a lesson. I have a little stove. Flashlights. Batteries. Candles. Even one of those wind-up radios."

"Oh."

He could see some of her tension easing.

"It's all upstairs." He reached for her hand. "Come on. There's just enough light to get us up there if we're careful."

He took a step. She didn't.

"You won't fall, I promise. I know this place inside out. Just hang on to me and-"

"I keep a flashlight and candles in my kitchen."

Zach arched an eyebrow. "And?"

"And, why would you keep those things upstairs?"

"I don't know. I just do. Now, come on. Hold on to my-"

"Where upstairs?"

Great. What did she do in her spare time, study feng shui?

"On the shelves in my dressing room."

"Your dressing room."

"Right. Just off my bedroom."

"Your bedroom."

What the h.e.l.l was there an echo in here?

"Right. Upstairs, in the dressing room just off my bedroom. And while we're up there, you can undress. Get out of those clothes and into-"

She pulled her hand free of his so fast that her nails raked his palm. Then she undid the sash of the robe, yanked the thing from her shoulders, and tossed it in the general direction of a chair.

"Goodbye, Mr. Castelianos."

Zach blinked as she hoisted the suitcase masquerading as a shoulder bag and slung it over her arm.

"What are you doing?"

"Thank you for your hospitality."

"For my..."

She marched past him. He could hear her wet shoes squishing against the Brazilian rosewood floor. Frowning, he replayed the conversation. c.r.a.p! He'd said all the magic words. Bedroom. Undress. Get out of those clothes.

"Hey," he said, going after her, "look, whatever you're thinking... What I said came out wrong."

Jaimie kept moving, even though she couldn't see too far ahead of her. It was getting darker and darker as night settled over the lightless city.

What he'd said had come out wrong?

Like h.e.l.l it had.

Oof!

She'd walked into something. A table? She felt her way across its surface. A table. Yes. Hadn't there been a table on the wall next to the elevator? People said your eyes adapted to the absence of light. Really? Because if this was all the adaptation hers were going to make, she was in deep trouble.

But not as much trouble as if she went upstairs with Zacharias Castelianos.

What he'd said had come out exactly as he'd meant it.

OK. Perhaps not.

He might have been talking about the fact that she was wet. And cold. Well, yes. She was, but what did it matter?

He'd been bent on seduction, right before the lights went out.

That smile. Those words. That s.e.xy voice, that s.e.xy body, that spectacular face.

If she stayed here, anything might happen. Anything.

And there was only one way to be sure that nothing did, because as it was, this was turning into the most confused night of her life.

Dammit, where was that elevator? She hated feeling her way through a dark room. She didn't like the dark at all; she never had. As kids, Emily and Lissa used to love to play scary games outside on moonless nights at El Sueno. Not her. Running around when you couldn't see more than a few inches ahead of you, having somebody, even when you knew it was your sister, sneak up on you and clamp a hand on your shoulder wasn't funny.

Neither was this.

And where was that d.a.m.n elev- His voice came from right behind her.

"Look," he said, "honey-"

"My name is not 'Honey.'"

"Right. I knew that. It's...Jaimie." He cleared his throat. "Look, I know this is a little difficult. You. Me. Us, here together."

"There is no us. We are not together. I am in your home, uninvited and unwanted. My apologies, Mr. Castel-Dammit!"

Where had that wall come from?

Zach reached out, caught her by the shoulders to steady her. She shook him off, felt along the wall, found the elevator, felt for the call b.u.t.ton, found it and pushed it. Hard.

"Jaimie."

"Goodbye, Mr. Castelianos."

"Don't be ridiculous. Even if you managed to get out of here, where would you go?"

"That isn't your concern."

"Of course it is," he said irritably. "You think I can just watch you walk off into the night when who knows what's liable to be happening out there?"

It was the who-knows-what part she was trying not to think about.

Where was that miserable elevator?