“Is it stuck?”
“No, dammit.”
Amused by the mixture of irritation and fierce pride he detected in her voice, he inquired lazily, “Well, if it’s not locked and it’s not stuck, what’s the problem?”
“The bed’s in front of it.”
He chuckled.
“Don’t you dare laugh.”
“I’m not laughing,” he swore, fighting the urge to do exactly that. “Just move the bed.”
“Oh, for heaven’s sake, don’t you think I would if I could?” she snapped.
Paul bit back another laugh. “Gabrielle, exactly what is wrong in there?”
“I was trying to put down my new rug,” she began after a lengthy pause. Her voice trailed off forlornly. That odd note in her voice concerned him as nothing else had. Gabrielle Clayton forlorn? Defeated by an inanimate object?
“And,” he encouraged.
He could practically hear her taking a deep breath before she said in a rush, “I moved the bed and then the chest fell over and now I’m sort of trapped in here.”
Any desire to laugh died at once. “Under the damn chest?” he demanded, his voice rising in panic again.
“Sort of,” she said softly. “Oh, hell, I was so sure I could do this on my own.”
“Just wait there,” he said soothingly before he realized the utter absurdity of the order. Of course she would stay right where she was. What else would a woman with most of her bones crushed do?
Without giving it a second thought, he raced through the apartment, down the steps and around the building to the fire escape. He was halfway up when the icy metal against his bare feet registered. Suddenly he realized exactly how ridiculous he must look climbing a fire escape in gym shorts on a morning when the temperature could not possibly be much above freezing. It wasn’t something he had time to worry about, though. Gabrielle might even be going into shock. She’d sounded pitiful and frail there toward the end, when she’d finally admitted she was trapped. That tone of voice was definitely unusual for her.
He reached the bedroom window and tried to lift it, peering through the glass for some sign of Gabrielle under the hodgepodge of furniture. He saw bare toes and a slender calf. He followed the curve of her leg upward, trying not to linger over it, and encountered—the chest of drawers, on its side. Only the fact that a corner had snagged the edge of the bed on the way down had kept it from landing on top of her with its full weight. His breath caught in his throat and his heart seemed to stop right then. The silence inside that room seemed particularly ominous. Impatient with the stuck window, he shattered the glass, oblivious to the cuts on his hand.
At the sound of glass breaking, Gaby shouted at him. “Don’t you dare come in here and bleed all over my new carpet.”
His heart began pumping again.
“Did you hear me?” she called out. “No bleeding.”
He grinned at the feisty warning. She must be improving. “I heard, but I don’t give a damn about your carpet,” he said, feeling suddenly more cheerful. “Just stay still until I can get to you. I have to be careful where I step because of all the glass.”
“Aren’t you wearing shoes?”
“Sorry. I didn’t take time to stop and dress formally. Think of this as a come-as-you-are party.”
“What are you wearing?” she asked curiously.
“Shorts,” he said curtly.
“That’s all?” She definitely sounded better. In fact, she sounded downright perky.
“Be thankful I’m wearing those. At least it’s probably enough to keep the neighbors from calling the cops about the crazed nudist on our fire escape. Now before I lift this chest up, does anything hurt?”
“Mostly my pride.”
“Sorry. I’m afraid you can’t afford any just now.”
He lifted the chest up slowly, making a frantic grab for the drawers as they slid forward. He just barely kept them from tumbling out on top of her.
Once the piece of furniture was righted and out of the way, he saw that she’d been trapped not so much by the weight of the chest as by that damnable carpet. It was wrapped halfway around her, pinning her arms to her sides, raising all sorts of interesting possibilities. He knelt down beside her, trying very hard not to stare at the rounded swell of her breast peeking from the top of a very sexy nightgown. That view fueled those possibilities more effectively than matches and gasoline.
“You’re not dressed,” he said, his choked voice laced with surprise and sudden uncertainty. His mind was screaming off-limits so loudly his head hurt. It wasn’t the only part of his body responding to the intriguing combination of sensuality and indignation before him.
“I hadn’t planned on having company,” she retorted dryly. “I might add that my body is covered more adequately than yours.”
Paul had a horrible feeling that was all too true. Fighting embarrassment and desire and a whole new meaning of panic, he freed her from the carpet with swift, trembling fingers, then shoved the bed aside. He noticed that she seemed to be holding her breath, her eyes wide as they met his. A man could get lost in those eyes.
“Get dressed,” he ordered brusquely as he left the room.
“Aren’t you going to help me clean up the mess?” The laughing request followed him down the hall, daring him to stay. He wondered how often Gabrielle was tempted to play with fire.
“Later.” Perhaps after he’d taken vows of celibacy.
He went back to his room, grabbed his clothes and practically ran through the apartment to the bathroom. En route he regarded the tub balefully and promised himself that he would install a shower in every one of the apartments the minute he had the money…even if he could only supply it with cold water. That was all he was likely to use for the next few weeks anyway.
* * *
Gabrielle was filled with confusion as she watched Paul storm off. She hadn’t realized at first that he really was furious. Otherwise she would never have teased him after he’d
