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    with the problem. Don't let it get out of hand. She was a trained professional, not some homy, sex-starved woman out to get laid.
    By the time she reached the door to the bedroom she would share with Jake tonight, she had herself convinced she could handle her overactive libido and do the job she'd been sent here to do. Even after getting another good look at Jake, who still sat in the chair at the desk, her resolve remained firm. After all, it wasn't as if he was the first good-looking man who'd ever come on to her.
    She placed his folded garments on the foot of his bed. "You can get dressed while I take my shower."
    "Aren't you going to handcuff me to the bed?" he asked flippantly.
    "If you try to make a break for it while I'm in the shower, Burgess and Lester will probably shoot you. So I don't recommend an escape. At least not tonight." She tried for the same humor he'd used.
    "All right. Not tonight." He scooted back the chair and stood, then walked across the room. "But maybe tomorrow night."
    She shook her head. "Not tomorrow night either. Why don't you wait until I tell you when."
    He gave her a puzzled look, then grinned, assuming she was joking. For just a moment she thought he was coming toward her, but he paused, glanced down at his clothes on the bed and said, "Are we going to bed soon?"
    "What?"
    "I was just thinking there would be no point in putting on my clothes if we're going to bed soon."
    "Uh, yes, I—I see." Oh, great, Mariah, get tongued-tied at the mention of you two going to bed. He didn't mean go to bed together. Or did he? "You can just put on your underwear and get in bed. It's early, but I have a busy day planned for us tomorrow."
    "I don't sleep in my underwear," he told her.
    "What do you— No. Absolutely not. If you're accustomed to sleeping in the raw, forget it. Put on your shorts and T-shirt."
    "Is that an order, Madam Warden?"
    "Yes, that's an order."
    When Jake sat on the bed, Mariah hurried to the closet, removed her pajamas, robe and slippers, then scurried across the hall to the bathroom. Once inside, she closed and locked the door, then stood there with her back braced against the door until her accelerated breathing calmed.
    She took her time showering and washing her hair, hoping that when she returned to the bedroom, Jake would be asleep. After her shower, when she was drying her hair, she picked her watch up off the edge of the sink. Nine-fifteen.
    Over an hour had passed. She groaned. Who was she kidding? Jake wouldn't be asleep. He'd be lying there in the bed next to hers, wide awake and waiting for their next verbal sparring match.
    When Mariah opened the bathroom door, she hesitated, then reminded herself of who she was and the importance of her assignment. No way could she allow personal issues to cloud her judgment She marched into the bedroom, closed the door behind her and, deliberately not looking at Jake's bed, walked straight to hers. She removed her velour robe, tossed it on the foot of her bed, turned down the covers and placed her gun under her pillow.
    "Even in those ugly flannel pajamas, you can't hide that great body," Jake said.
    "I'm not trying to hide anything," she told him. "I'm trying to stay warm."
    "If staying warm is a problem, I have a solution."
    Her mistake was looking at him. He sat up in bed, his pillow against the headboard, his broad, bare chest totally exposed.
    "Where's your T-shirt?" she asked. "You'll need it to stay warm." She used a hand gesture to request he not make any suggestions on how they could stay warm.
    "I don't sleep in a T-shirt." He scratched his hairy chest. "The damn thing presses against my hair and makes my chest itch."
    "Well, you're in the Arizona mountains in the dead of winter. I suggest you put on your T-shirt and scratch. It's better than freezing half to death."
    As hard as she tried, she couldn't immediately remove