“I adore you,” she’d once said, “but, honestly, James, you must have been born wearing a suit.”
No suit tonight.
Instead, she was lost within seemingly endless folds of pale gray and deep blue jersey.
The pair of socks he’d left her were the pièce de résistance. They were olive drab. Khaki, actually, a color you became familiar with when you had a father and two brothers who’d been in the service. Their fit was, well, beyond huge.
She just had to hope she wouldn’t trip over them.
Her gaze moved past her own flickering reflection to the dressing room itself.
A long rack held half a dozen suits. Navy. Dark gray. Black with a thin off-white stripe. Dress shirts. White. Pale blue. Dark blue. Shelves held sweaters, T-shirts, casual shirts, underwear.
It seemed that Zacharias Castelianos preferred boxer briefs.
Black boxers briefs, all neatly rolled in what she recognized as military style.
A picture swept into her head. That big, long, muscular body wearing a pair of boxers. Just that. Nothing else…
“Honey?”
Jaimie swung toward the door.
“Yes?”
“You OK?”
“I’m fine.”
Quickly, she shook out her damp sit and blouse, arranged them neatly on hangers. Then she took a breath, reached for the knob and opened the door. He was standing just outside, leaning against a night table, hip-shot, arms folded over his chest, a big flashlight in one hand.
His eyes met hers, then moved over her slowly, from her face to her toes and then back up again.
“Warm enough?”
“Uh huh. Yes. Thank you.”
“You’re welcome.” A slow smile tilted at the corner of his mouth. “Why do I get the feeling Roger wouldn’t approve?”
“Rog…Oh. Mr. Bengs.” Jaimie laughed. “No. This outfit isn’t exactly on his How to Succeed as a Realtor list.”
“Well, luckily for us both, old Roger isn’t here.” He straightened, turned on the flashlight and held out his hand. “Can you get down the stairs, or do you want me to carry you?”
“I can get down on my own,” she said quickly.
“Fine. So. Ready to scrounge up something to eat?”
“Ready,” she said, and put her hand in his.
* * * *
The kitchen was candlelit.
She could see it more clearly now than during that first quick pass she’d made through it. Like everything else, like the man who lived here, it was big, efficient, and handsome.
And it smelled wonderful.
Jaimie all but drooled at the sight of the small pot bubbling gently on the butane burner.