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going—didn’t really care—and her internal time clock was so topsy-turvy that she didn’t have a clue what time it was. But there was some kind of ambient pale light outside, enough to reveal breathtaking, snow-covered mountains, higher than any she’d either seen or dreamed of.
    â€œWhere are we?”
    â€œIn the air,” Maguire said dryly.
    She flashed him a look. “I might just sock you on general principle. Answer the question.”
    â€œWe’re at one of the places that’s going to help you find the answers you’re looking for.”
    â€œI hate cryptic. Just so you know.”
    â€œAll right. I’ll answer you straight. We’re going to a place where you’re going to get good and muddy. Muddier than you’ve ever been in your entire life.”
    â€œMuddy? Huh?”

Chapter Five
    H e meant it. The crazy man actually meant it. Carolina remembered the lists he’d made her create, that somewhere she’d mentioned wanting to sleep in a real castle, something else about wanting a spa weekend. At the time, she’d thought the whole thing was a joke. Nothing anyone would take seriously.
    Yet the green mud completely slathering her body was unquestionably real.
    And so was the castle.
    â€œYou’re not too cold, mam’selle? Too warm?”
    â€œI’m perfect,” Carolina assured the tall Amazon with the serene blue eyes and hands of steel.
    â€œAre you thirsty? Would you care for a drink?”
    The last time she’d admitted to thirst, Greta had given her some god-awful herbal concoction that made her eyes sting and her tongue pucker. It wasn’t safe around here to admit wanting or needing anything.
    â€œI’m fine,” she said.
    â€œAll right. Now, you close your eyes. I’ll be back in thirty minutes, after the clay has set.”
    The mud-clay had already started setting. She was increasingly feeling like a naked mummy. A naked green mummy. The castle was located in the Alps—whether Swiss or French or Italian, she had no idea. But it was perched on a cliff top, accessible only via helicopter, and the once-classic structure had been turned into an elegantly exotic spa. The place had a great room draped with impossibly tall silk tapestries. The fireplaces in half the rooms were bigger than she was. The floors were all stone or marble, but heated beneath the floor, so it was warm walking around, even in bare feet. Fountains decorated almost all the rooms, as did candles. The view outside was of treacherously tall mountains, draped with a white ermine cape of snow. Inside was luxury, pampering, softness, gentle music.
    â€œYou’re surviving in there, Cee?”
    She heard him. Maguire’s sexy tenor was unmistakable. He was in the next room—sort of an anteroom he’d turned into a makeshift office. It hada laptop, printer, fax, all the usual office suspects, although she hadn’t once heard a telephone ring. She concluded Maguire had forbidden telephones anywhere near her.
    He’d disappeared from physical sight, once the Amazonian Greta had shown up to slather her in mud and seaweed. He was just within calling distance, and asked how she was doing on a regular basis.
    He hadn’t looked. Not the whole time she’d been stripped down, gooped up, smoothed, encased in oils and warm towels and then this clay-mud thing. It was more than a little weird, being naked with strangers. But enticingly weird, knowing Maguire was in the next room, always close enough to call for him.
    It was impossible not to be aware that she was naked. That he knew it.
    Of course, she was coated in green slime, so heaven knew why sex was on her mind. Probably he’d run for the hills if he saw her.
    â€œDoing good. You getting business done in there?”
    â€œYeah. Funny world today. It doesn’t really matter where you are, it’s not that hard to communicate with anyone at any time from any