Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

“Nobody’s as bad as that,” Zach said, hoping for a smile and getting only an even harder glare. “Look, I didn’t know a thing about this. I told you, I didn’t expect you or anyone else from that office. Not tonight. Not anytime.”

“And I told you, I left messages on your voice mail.”

“What is there in ‘I’ve been out of town’ that you don’t understand?”

“The purpose of having voice mail,” she said coldly, “is so one can check one’s messages, in town or out!”

“Yeah, well this one didn’t. Couldn’t.” Zach ran his hand through his hair. “If it helps, I’m sorry.”

“I bet.”

“I’ll call Bengs and explain that none of this was your fault.”

“No,” she said quickly, “no, don’t do that!”

He looked at her. She was an interesting sight. The bottom of his robe, probably six sizes too big for her, was puddled at her feet. Her hair was surely what she’d call a mess, but he loved the sight of a woman’s hair when it looked as if she’d just risen from bed. She had those black smudges under her eyes. The big bag she was clutching was the final touch of glamor.

She was a mess.

And beautiful, yeah, that same word again.

Suddenly he didn’t want the evening to end like this.

“Listen,” he said, “listen, uh...” He tried to remember her name and drew a blank. J something. “Listen, Jeannie...”

“It’s Jaimie.”

“Jaimie.” He paused. “Let me make up for what’s happened. Give me a minute, let me get a jacket and some shoes, and we’ll go out for dinner.”

“Thank you,” she said, with exaggerated courtesy, “but no.”

Another spike of lightning sizzled through the room.

“You’re right. Going out in this weather would be crazy. We’ll order in. What would you like? Italian? Chinese? Thai? There’s a little place just opened, serves South American food, the best Peruvian stuff you ever had.”

Jaimie stared at the man who was Zacharias Castelianos. The man who was absolutely not an Aristotle Onassis lookalike.

She hated him for the torment he’d put her through... but the fault was really Bengs’s. He’d sent her on a wild-goose chase, and now, the wild-goose was inviting her to dinner.

It was tempting. So tempting. How often did a woman meet a man like this?

“Jaimie.”

Her eyes met his. The fire was there again. She could feel her heart beating. Fire was not her thing. She knew women who played with it and she’d never understood why they would when surely you could, surely you would end up getting burned.

It was illogical. Totally illogical. And she was always—she was always logical.

“Say yes.”

“No,” she said in a voice that didn’t even sound like her own, “no. I have to go. I have a plane to catch—”

“You should take off that robe.”

If her heart thumped any harder, he’d hear it.

“Otherwise, how can we know if your suit has dried?”

“Really. Mr. Castelianos—”