Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

Sexual.

A little shiver swept through her. It had nothing to do with being cold. She was warm now, wrapped in his robe, a robe that smelled ever so faintly of man and soap. She shivered again, and he frowned.

“You’re trembling.”

“I—I guess I’m still a little chilled.”

“Dammit, woman, don’t give me a hard time.” He held out the glass. “At least take a sip.”

She took the glass, raised it to her lips. She wasn’t much of a drinker. White wine was about it for her, so she took a cautious taste of the scotch. The warmth of it filled her mouth, swept lightly down her throat.

“Not the end of the world,” he said, watching her. “Right?”

She nodded. Actually, the taste and warmth was lovely, but if he thought he was going to buy her off with expensive whisky, which she was sure this was, he was wrong.

“You said there’s been a change of plans.”

“A change of... Oh. Right. Sorry, but Mr. Castelianos is busy.”

Jaimie narrowed her eyes. “Does he even know that I’m here? Did you tell him that Jaimie Wi…” A tremendous roar of thunder drowned out her words. “Did you tell him that?”

“I did.”

“And?”

Those big, wide shoulders rose and fell in a who-gives-a-damn shrug.

“I told you. He’s busy.”

“But I have an appointment with him,” Jaimie said, and blanked out that damnable little voice that had returned just in time to whisper Maybe. “He’s expecting me.”

“He’s never heard of you.”

Jaimie glared at him. Then she put the glass on a small table, took her shoulder bag from the floor and dug through it. Zach watched, eyebrows raised. It looked as if she had the contents of half a dozen suitcases jammed inside.

“Here,” she said. “Show him this.” She held out a business card. “I’m from Stafford and Bengs. The realty firm.”

Zack frowned. A bell was starting a dim, distant peal. “Stafford and Bengs?”

“Yes. I work with Roger Bengs. He met Mr. Castelianos a few weeks ago. Go on. Take my card and show it to him.”

Zach took the card, snapped it against his thumb without looking at it, and tossed it aside.

“They talked about putting Mr. Castelianos’s condo on the market. This condo,” Jaimie said, gesturing around her.

“They did not.”

“Of course they did! Mr. Castelianos said—”

“Roger Bengs. A bad comb-over. Pot belly. Makes this little humming noise when he’s telling you something he figures will impress you.”

Despite everything, Jaimie wanted to laugh. The description was perfect.

She didn’t laugh, though. The description might be amusing. The situation wasn’t. And... she frowned. And how could this man, Zacharias Castelianos’s something-or-other, possibly know what her boss looked like?

“How do you know all that?” she said.

The man hesitated. She knew, in that instant, that whatever came next would not be good.