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carried her back into the foyer and up the steps, hesitating a second, then walking ahead to his room. He laid her on the brown comforter and then wrapped it around her.
    He realized then that he was touching her as he might a cobra, and that was ridiculous. Whatever she was, whatever he thought of her, she was in bad shape at the moment, and he couldn’t go tiptoeing around with concern for her feelings or his own.
    He left her and hurried into the bathroom, quickly drawing water that was steaming hot but touchable. He left the tub to fill and hurried back to the bedroom. He hesitated only once, staring down at her ashen features. She looked like a porcelain doll; her features were so pure, her skin so smooth. Her dark lashes swept her cheeks like velvet spikes, black against the pallor of her skin. Her hair, even sodden and tangled about her, glittered with red highlights, and he shook his head a little, objectively admitting that she was a uniquely stunning woman.
    He stiffened, determined to keep that objectivity and not to harm her by acting like a fool.
    He knelt down beside her, swept away the blanket, and started stripping away her drenched clothing. He didn’t watch his hands—they were almost as cold from his own soaking as her flesh—but watched her face as he found the zipper to her skirt, loosened it, and pulled away skirt, slip, and panty hose all in one, casting them to the floor. He rested her face against his chest to struggle with the red jacket and her blouse.
    She moaned slightly as he at last did away with her bra, and he paused with her weight against him, thinking that it would be a hell of a thing if she regained consciousness then—hating him the way she had so assuredly informed him that she did. She would be certain that he was attempting to rape her.
    He made a sound close to a growl as he lifted her again, hurried back to the bathroom, balanced her weight, and turned off the water. Thank God she was light! She stood about five-five, he thought, but she didn’t weigh more than a hundred or a hundred and five. If she’d been much larger, he thought with a quirk of humor, he’d probably have dropped her by now.
    The quick spurt of amusement left him as he carefully placed her in the tub, and still she showed no sign of life. Maybe he should have tried the brandy first.
    He shook his head in self-disgust, wishing the damned road hadn’t washed out. It wasn’t doing much for his tangled soul to realize that he wasn’t any bargain in an emergency. He winced. Somehow he’d always been all right before. In the service he had made do with whatever was around in far worse circumstances. Now a slip of a woman he had every reason to detest had passed out on him, and he was starting to get really frightened that he was doing it all wrong.
    David managed to set her head on the rim of the tub, and he checked her pulse against her throat. It was still strong and sturdy; her breathing was even and natural. And the water was surely warming her. Maybe he should get the brandy now…. He hunched back on his heels, worrying that if he left her, she might slip into the tub.
    And then he discovered that he was staring at her, that he really couldn’t help himself. Her body was as perfect as her face. Her flesh was unmarred in any way, a lovely creamy tan color without a scar or scratch. David knew there were those people who were unique, so lovely that no one could deny their particular beauty. She was one of them.
    Even in this deadened repose her length seemed to be all grace. Her legs were long, lightly muscled. They rose to an enchanting curve at her hip, and her waist was narrow-even her damned belly button was perfectly set in her taut stomach.
    He felt uncomfortably like a voyeur but still couldn’t help assessing her. Objectively, of course, he tried to tell himself. But the sensation he had felt when they had so crudely tussled in the library was with him again. Desire was something that a man