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ducked one to his jaw. He grabbed her wrists; he could encircle both with one hand. Under different circumstances, that might have given him a rush of pleasure. At the moment, however, he was more interested in self-preservation. If he wasn't careful, he could end up a castrato .
    "Do something!" she cried. "I'll go crazy if I'm stuck in here with you."
    "You're not exactly my idea of a swell evening yourself, lady," he muttered, dropping her hands and stepping out of reach. He glanced at his watch. Six p.m.
    Fifteen hours until the door opened again in the morning.
    Fifteen long hours alone with a crazy woman.
    And he'd thought combat was scary.
    Charlie pounded on the door, aimed karate chops at the lock, and searched in vain for a window or an emergency switch--anything that would get them the hell out of that fur-lined ice box. He turned himself into a human projectile aimed at the door hinges but no dice.
    "They told me the security system was foolproof," said Caroline, voice trembling.
    "They were right," Charlie growled. "Fort Knox doesn't have a security system like this son of a bitch."
    "Must you?" she asked automatically. "It's bad enough we're locked in here together. You don't have to be crude on top of it."
    "Crude?" His laugh made her want to punch him again. "I haven't begun to get crude."
    "Keep it to yourself then. I don't need a bar room vocabulary lesson, thank you." She knew all the words; she'd even used a few of them herself on occasion. However she wasn't about to grant him so much as an inch. If she let down her guard for an instant, he would be running roughshod over her as if he owned the place.
    He muttered something about "ice princess" and she murmured "simple-minded cretin," then they both fell silent. What was there left to say, when you came down to it? She was certain her vocabulary of insults paled compared to his. Besides, there was the matter of her image to be considered, although how she would maintain her cool, calm, and collected persona for the next fifteen hours was beyond her.
    She glanced around the room, cursing herself for not having the presence of mind to put in a skylight at the very least. But, no. She had to listen to the "experts" who told her that sunlight was the arch enemy of fine fabrics. "No windows, Ms. Bradley, and plenty of air-conditioning year round. Fur vaults must be cool and dark," she'd been told. "Think hibernation!" Great for grizzlies, but not exactly optimal conditions for two adults trapped together against their wills.
    If only there was some way out of this mess. Her gaze fell upon Donohue who was pacing the length of the room like a caged beast. He was big and strong. Why couldn't he fling himself at the door just one more time? Surely the locks, wonderful though they were, couldn't withstand another assault from all of that coiled male outrage. She opened her mouth to tell him so, but the look he shot in her direction convinced her to keep her own counsel, at least for the moment.
    His jet black brows seemed permanently knotted over the bridge of his nose and his jaw was set in granite. She'd already pummeled him once and gotten away with it. From the expression in his eyes, she doubted if she would get away with a similar stunt again.
    No, she thought, sitting on a box in the far corner of the room, right near the sables and minks. The thing to do is concentrate. She'd never once met a problem she couldn't solve with her wits and she'd be damned if she let this one get the better of her. There was no way she would spend the next fifteen hours alone with only Charlie Donohue for company.
    Absolutely no way on earth.
     
    #
     
    The first sixty minutes of the captivity of Charlie and Caroline ticked away with the slow and deliberate rhythm of a funeral dirge. Caroline felt a scream lodged somewhere deep in her chest. Charlie wanted to see if he could pull a Rambo and blast through the walls with fists instead of an Uzi. The incessant hum of the