Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

He wasn’t a wham-bam-thank-you-ma’am kind of guy. It was just that what women never quite got was that what men wanted after a woman spent the night was either an instant replay and then a short, sweet goodbye, or the short, sweet goodbye all by itself.

A smile curved his lips as he walked down the hall to the kitchen.

Actually, he might just make an exception this morning. Eat whatever Jaimie had put together and then take her back to his bed. It had been a memorable night. Why not add a couple more memories before they said goodbye?

His steps quickened. He could hear her at the sink. Oh, yeah. The typical picture of kitchen-goddess bliss. Glasses rattling. Water running.

Smiling, he walked through the door.

Huh?

The woman at the sink wasn’t a gorgeous, supple blonde. She was a small, overweight brunette wrapped in an apron that damn near swallowed her.

He’d forgotten that his housekeeper would be coming in this morning.

Zach cleared his throat. “Mrs. Halverson?”

Mrs. Halverson swung around, wiping her hands on her apron, beaming at him.

“Welcome back, sir!”

“Thanks. Uh, Mrs. Halverson…”

“What a night, yes? That storm! And then the electric. Poof! But everything is back to normal this morning. Even the subway. It was a little late, yes, but here I am.”

Here she was. And where was Jaimie?

He cleared his throat again. “Ah, Mrs. Halverson. The young lady…”

His housekeeper’s bushy brows rose. “What young lady?”

“There was a—there was a—” Zach frowned. “You haven’t seen anyone since you got here?”

“No, sir. I arrived at seven. A little late because the subway—”

Zach turned, went quickly down the hall and ran up the stairs. This time, he took a better look at the dressing room.

Her clothes—his clothes, actually—were neatly folded, and stacked on a chair.

Her clothes were gone. In their place was a note.

Dear Mr. Castelianos:

I’ll tell Mr. Bengs that you are not interested in selling.

Thank you for everything.

And then initials. JW.

Initials?

His eyes narrowed. It was a note from a stranger to a stranger. She’d spent the better part of the night in his bed and now he was Mr. Castelianos? And what was with that “Thank you for everything?” shit. What was there to thank him for? Shelter? Food?

Sex?

A muscle danced in his cheek.

He read the note again. Big mistake. Two readings only made it twice as bewildering. Bewildering? Forget that. Two readings made it twice as infuriating.