Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

So she was wet.

And now, thanks to the AC that felt as if it was turned to full blast, she could feel herself on the verge of shivering.

Or maybe she was already shivering, she decided, as the man stopped smiling and gave her another raking look with those amazing eyes.

His gaze stopped at her chest.

She was afraid to look down. Why bother? Her silk suit was thin. The blouse beneath it was even thinner. And the air conditioning was brutal.

Add it all up, and she knew what the cold had done to her nipples.

Should she fold her arms? Not fold them? Pretend she didn’t know what he was looking at? Be casual about it? Be sophisticated?

“Dammit,” she said, and folded her arms over her breasts.

His gaze met hers. It gave away nothing.

“Too bad you don’t believe in umbrellas,” he said.

Jaimie’s chin shot up. “Too bad you don’t believe in answering—”

She’d intended her next word to be “questions,” but thunder roared through the room. She jumped at the sound, gave a little gasp as the lights in the elevator and in the foyer dimmed, then came on again.

OK. Now she really was shivering.

“It’s just the storm.”

She blinked. “What?”

“The lights. They flickered because of the storm.”

“I know that. I’m just—”

“Wet and cold and, goddammit…” Zach took a step back. “Well? Are you going to stand in that elevator until you turn into a block of ice? Jesus, woman, come inside!”

He could see her thinking things over. Should she give up the elevator car for his foyer? He couldn’t imagine why she wouldn’t, when getting into his place was obviously her intention, but the look on her face was easy to read.

Whatever she was doing here, whatever she wanted, had not necessarily involved a bad storm and a half-naked man.

At this point, half-naked was a term that could almost be applied to her, too.

Her white suit—silk, he figured, based on the looks of it—was beginning to give up all her secrets.

It seemed to be shrinking, right before his eyes.

A few seconds ago, before she’d figured that out, he’d been able to see the rounded outline of her breasts, the faint thrust of her nipples. Now she had all of that covered, but that left him with a clear view of her skirt. It not only clung to her thighs, it had ridden up higher than he suspected she’d deem proper.

Despite her wet, bedraggled appearance, something about her hinted at propriety, but propriety laid over something else. Something earthy and real and hot.

And, dammit, what was he doing?

His imagination was working overtime; his body was starting to get the message his brain was sending. Another couple of seconds, she’d know it. His jeans were soft and old; the denim cupped his balls in a way that was eminently comfortable for a man who’d planned nothing more exotic than lounging on a terrace…

But eminently embarrassing if he got an erection.

Thunder filled the room. It was the perfect dramatic touch. It also gave him reason to turn away from her and walk toward the stairs.

“You have a choice,” he said gruffly. “You can stand there and freeze like a deer caught in the headlights or you can come in and I’ll get you a towel. Zacharias Castelianos doesn’t appreciate his guests, invited or otherwise, dripping all over the place.”