man's
touch any more than necessary. The thought infuriated him, because his instinct was to
comfort her; the women in his family, mother, sister and sisters-in-law, were adored and
treasured by the men. He wanted to cradle Barrie Lovejoy against him, whisper promises to
her that he would personally dismember every bastard who had hurt her, but he didn't want to
do anything that would undermine her fragile control. They didn't have time for any
comforting, anyway.
She clambered to her feet, still clutching the blanket around her. Zane reached for it,
and her fingers tightened on the fabric, then slowly loosened. She didn't have to explain her
reluctance to release the protective cloth. Zane knew she was still both extrasensitive to
cold and painfully embarrassed by her near nudity.
"Wear it this way," he whispered, wrapping the blanket around her waist sarong-style so
that it draped to her feet. He tied the ends securely over her left hipbone, then bent down to
check that the fabric wasn't too tight around her feet, so she would have sufficient freedom
of movement if they had to run.
When he straightened, she touched his arm, then swiftly lifted her band away, as if even
that brief touch had been too much. "Thank you," she whispered.
"Watch me closely," he instructed. "Obey my hand signals." He explained the most
basic signals to her, the raised clenched fist that meant "Stop!" and the open hand that meant
merely "halt," the signal to proceed and the signal to hide. Considering her state of mind, plus
her obvious fatigue, he doubted she would be able to absorb more than those four simple
commands. They didn't have far to go, anyway; if he needed more commands than that, they
were in deep ca-ca.
She followed him out of the room and down the west staircase, though he felt her
reluctance to step into the Stygian depths. He showed her how to keep her back to the wall,
how to feel with her foot for the edge of the step. He felt her stumble once, heard her sharply
indrawn breath. He whirled to steady her; his pistol was in his right hand, but his left arm snaked
out, wrapping around her hips to steady her as she teetered two steps above him. The action lifted
her off her feet, hauling her against his left side. She felt soft in his grip, her hips narrow
but nicely curved, and his nostrils flared as he scented the warm sweetness of her skin.
She was all but sitting on his encircling arm, her hands braced on his shoulders.
Reluctantly he bent and set her on her feet, and she immediately straightened away from him.
"Sorry," she whispered in the darkness.
Zane's admiration for her grew. She hadn't squealed in alarm, despite nearly falling,
despite the way he'd grabbed her. She was holding herself together, narrowing her focus to the
achievement of one goal: freedom.
She was even more cautious in her movements after that one misstep, letting more distance
grow between them than he liked. On the last flight of steps he stopped, waiting for her to catch
up with him. Knowing that she couldn't see him, he said, "Here," when she was near, so she
wouldn't bump into him.
He eased his way down the last couple of steps into the faint light. There was no one in
sight. With a brief wave of his hand he signaled her forward, and she slipped out of the
darkness of the stairwell to stand beside him.
There was a set of huge wooden double doors that opened onto the street, but Zane was
aware of increased noise outside as dawn neared, and it was too risky to use that exit. From
their left came a raised voice, shouting in Arabic, and he felt her tense. Quickly, before the
sound of one of her kidnappers unnerved her, he shepherded her into a cluttered storage room,
where a small, single window shone high on the wall. "We'll go out this window," he
murmured. "There'll be a drop of about four feet to the ground, nothing drastic. I'll boost you
up. When you hit the ground, move away from the street but stay
touch any more than necessary. The thought infuriated him, because his instinct was to
comfort her; the women in his family, mother, sister and sisters-in-law, were adored and
treasured by the men. He wanted to cradle Barrie Lovejoy against him, whisper promises to
her that he would personally dismember every bastard who had hurt her, but he didn't want to
do anything that would undermine her fragile control. They didn't have time for any
comforting, anyway.
She clambered to her feet, still clutching the blanket around her. Zane reached for it,
and her fingers tightened on the fabric, then slowly loosened. She didn't have to explain her
reluctance to release the protective cloth. Zane knew she was still both extrasensitive to
cold and painfully embarrassed by her near nudity.
"Wear it this way," he whispered, wrapping the blanket around her waist sarong-style so
that it draped to her feet. He tied the ends securely over her left hipbone, then bent down to
check that the fabric wasn't too tight around her feet, so she would have sufficient freedom
of movement if they had to run.
When he straightened, she touched his arm, then swiftly lifted her band away, as if even
that brief touch had been too much. "Thank you," she whispered.
"Watch me closely," he instructed. "Obey my hand signals." He explained the most
basic signals to her, the raised clenched fist that meant "Stop!" and the open hand that meant
merely "halt," the signal to proceed and the signal to hide. Considering her state of mind, plus
her obvious fatigue, he doubted she would be able to absorb more than those four simple
commands. They didn't have far to go, anyway; if he needed more commands than that, they
were in deep ca-ca.
She followed him out of the room and down the west staircase, though he felt her
reluctance to step into the Stygian depths. He showed her how to keep her back to the wall,
how to feel with her foot for the edge of the step. He felt her stumble once, heard her sharply
indrawn breath. He whirled to steady her; his pistol was in his right hand, but his left arm snaked
out, wrapping around her hips to steady her as she teetered two steps above him. The action lifted
her off her feet, hauling her against his left side. She felt soft in his grip, her hips narrow
but nicely curved, and his nostrils flared as he scented the warm sweetness of her skin.
She was all but sitting on his encircling arm, her hands braced on his shoulders.
Reluctantly he bent and set her on her feet, and she immediately straightened away from him.
"Sorry," she whispered in the darkness.
Zane's admiration for her grew. She hadn't squealed in alarm, despite nearly falling,
despite the way he'd grabbed her. She was holding herself together, narrowing her focus to the
achievement of one goal: freedom.
She was even more cautious in her movements after that one misstep, letting more distance
grow between them than he liked. On the last flight of steps he stopped, waiting for her to catch
up with him. Knowing that she couldn't see him, he said, "Here," when she was near, so she
wouldn't bump into him.
He eased his way down the last couple of steps into the faint light. There was no one in
sight. With a brief wave of his hand he signaled her forward, and she slipped out of the
darkness of the stairwell to stand beside him.
There was a set of huge wooden double doors that opened onto the street, but Zane was
aware of increased noise outside as dawn neared, and it was too risky to use that exit. From
their left came a raised voice, shouting in Arabic, and he felt her tense. Quickly, before the
sound of one of her kidnappers unnerved her, he shepherded her into a cluttered storage room,
where a small, single window shone high on the wall. "We'll go out this window," he
murmured. "There'll be a drop of about four feet to the ground, nothing drastic. I'll boost you
up. When you hit the ground, move away from the street but stay
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