A PERFECT RENDEZVOUS

Too Tired

Harry glared at him open-mouthed, then snapped his jaws together and said irately, "I'm not on a vacation! I'm a hostage, and don't expect me to forget it!"

In answer, Zayn gave him a long-suffering look, as if he were being impossibly difficult, so he jerked his gaze from Zayn and marched into the house. Inside, the mountain retreat was both rustic and startlingly luxurious, built around a gigantic center room shaped like a hexagon, with three doors opening off of it into bedroom suites. Soaring wood ceilings were supported by gigantic crossbeams of rough-hew cedar, and a winding staircase led up to a loft that was lined with handsome bookcases. Four of the six walls were made entirely of glass, offering a view of the mountains that Harry knew would be breath-taking on a clear day. The fifth wall was built of native stone with an enormous fireplace carved into the center above a raised hearth. Facing the fireplace was a long L-shaped sofa upholstered in a butter soft silvery leather. Opposite the sofa and facing the windows were two overstuffed chairs and ottomans upholstered in silver and green stripes that blended with the fat throw pillows on the sofa and raised hearth. A thick carpet with the same design as the throw pillows sculpted into the border covered part of the gleaming wooden floor in front of the fireplace. Two more pairs of chairs were positioned invitingly near two of the windows and a desk was tucked into an angle created by the glass walls.

At any other time, Harry would have been awed and intrigued by what was the most unique and beautiful place he'd ever seen, but he was too upset and too hungry to give it more than passing notice. Turning, he wandered into the kitchen area, an efficient, modernistic galley-type affair that stretched across the back wall of the house and was divided from the living room by a high counter with six leather stools in front of it. His stomach growled as he looked at the oak cabinets and oak-fronted built-in refrigerator, but his appetite was already losing the battle with exhaustion. Feeling like a sneak thief, he opened a cabinet that contained dishes and glassware, then another that contained—luckily—a wide variety of canned goods. Deciding to make a sandwich and then go to bed, he was reaching timidly for a can of albacore tuna fish when Zayn opened the back door and saw him. "Dare I hope," he said, kicking snow off his boots, "that this means you're domestically inclined?"

"Do you mean, can I cook?"

"Yes."

"Not for you." Harry put the can of tuna back and closed the cabinet door just as his stomach let out an audible growl of protest.

"Jesus, you are stubborn!" Chafing his hands against the cold, he walked over to the thermostat on the wall and turned up the heat, then he headed for the refrigerator and opened the freezer door. Harry peeked around him and spied dozens of thick steaks and pork chops, huge roasts, some packages wrapped in white freezer paper, and boxes and boxes of vegetables, some raw and others prepared. It was a display that would do justice to any gourmet market. His mouth began to water as he reached for a steak that was an inch and a half thick, but exhaustion was already overwhelming him. His relief at being in a warm house instead of the car and at having arrived at a destination after an endless, nerve-wracking drive was suddenly making him feel limp, and he realized he wanted a hot shower and long nap a great deal more than food. "I have to get some sleep," he said, scarcely able to muster the strength to sound cool and authoritative any more. "Please. Where?"

Something in his pale face and heavy eyes made Zayn respond without argument. "The bedroom is this way," he said, already turning on his heel and heading for a doorway that opened off the living room. When he flipped on the light switch, Harry found himself in an enormous bedroom suite with a fireplace and an adjoining bathroom of black marble with mirrored walls. He spotted the telephone on the nightstand beside the king-size bed at the same moment he did. "It has its own bath," Zayn told him unnecessarily as he walked over to the nightstand and briskly unplugged the telephone, tucking it under his arm.