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controlled, not a thing to control him. And yet he couldn’t help being seized by that same fire. The ache to touch her was painful; the fascination to hold her, to challenge all the soul and passion she seemed to promise streaked through him like molten steel. Everything about her was elusive and intriguing: the dark and haunting curls that formed a tempting web between her thighs; the rise of her breasts, rounded and firm and rose-tipped; the nipples, still hard and taut from the cold. Just a glance could have beckoned him to her; she was the type of Circe who could lure a man to anything….
    He closed his eyes, swallowing painfully, allowing a jolt of self-fury to grip him. Yes, yes, she could lure anyone. Had lured anyone! She had taken his father’s last days and made a mockery of them, made a fool of him, and she had been rewarded well. No one had ever claimed that beauty could not be mercenary.
    He reminded himself sharply that he had brought her here because he was growing more and more desperate about her state of well-being. He couldn’t get the brandy; he’d left it downstairs like an ass. If there were smelling salts in the place, he sure as hell didn’t know where. He couldn’t dump cold water on her because he was trying to warm her up!
    “How the hell can I be so incompetent?” he asked aloud, aggravated. He spun on his toes to the cabinet beneath the sink and dug out a white washcloth, dipped it into the water, and held it against her neck. He moved it over the other side, then gently over her cheeks. Her lips, he noted gratefully, were no longer blue.
    And then, to his vast relief, her eyes opened. They were dazed and disoriented at first—then very wide with shock and alarm at the sight of him. Color flooded back to her cheeks, bright red color to highlight each, and she scrambled to lock her arms around her knees, wincing as she did so. David was certain that she was going to start screaming accusations.
    He pressed the washcloth firmly over her lower face and spoke irritably as he rose. “Don’t you dare say anything! They can’t get any emergency vehicles through, and I was told to warm you up before you went into shock.”
    She didn’t say anything; she just shook her head, causing the washcloth to drop. Her eyes remained on him, and suddenly he discovered that he was giving her an ironic smile.
    “I promise—I wasn’t trying to drown you. You were doing that all by yourself.” He shifted on his sodden shoes impatiently. “Look, are you with me? Do you feel like you’re going to pass out again? I’ll run quickly for the brandy.”
    “I’m—I’m not going to slip,” she said weakly.
    David nodded, but he still wasn’t certain. He raced down the stairs to the library, then raced back up, arriving just in time to see her grope for a towel, about to leave the tub. She saw him, paled again, turned red again, sat quickly back within the tub, and hugged her knees. For some reason he couldn’t begin to understand, he felt a softening toward her. He spoke less harshly.
    “I’m not trying to embarrass you. I can’t leave you in there alone.” He handed her the brandy, and then he couldn’t quite contain a slightly wicked smile because she was studiously trying to figure out a way to take the bottle without exposing herself.
    David slipped a hand about her nape and placed the bottle to her lips. He could see the suspicion in her eyes—sea eyes now, green and blue and luminous—and his grin deepened. “Take a sip carefully,” he warned her.
    She did, then wheezed and coughed, anyway. He went to pat her on her back; she raised a hand to stop him, then groaned miserably and hugged it back around herself as she realized that she had defeated the whole purpose of his assistance.
    David laughed.
    “Miss Anderson, the modesty is a little false, isn’t it? I mean, we both know how you got into that tub.”
    “Oh, will you get out of here?”
    “What gratitude!” he said, dryly