Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

“I bet you don’t tell him that.”

“Listen to me—”

“How many men have you fucked, Celeste?”

Oh God, she’d thought, oh God oh God!

“Your boss. All those men you work with. This one. And let’s not forget the man in New York. The Greek tycoon. I bet you fucked him straight through that entire blackout.”

Jaimie’s thoughts had raced. Should she scream? Try to get past him and run for the street? Knee him in the groin? She had to do something, and fast, but if she made the wrong choice…

Right then, the street door had opened. A neighbor, a man she’d never said more than “hello” and “goodbye” to, entered the vestibule.

“Good evening,” he’d said.

Jaimie had reacted like a drowning woman grabbing a life preserver.

“Oh,” she’d babbled, “so nice to see you. How’ve you been? How’s your wife? I saw her walking that beautiful dog of yours the other day. A poodle, right? Or is it a water spaniel? I never can tell the difference…”

She’d talked on and on for what had seemed forever, but probably had only been a few seconds. The guy had looked puzzled. Steven had looked…like Steven. Pleasant. Easygoing. Nobody would have believed him capable of saying the things he’d said only a couple of minutes before.

When he’d reached out to touch Jaimie’s hair, she’d flinched.

Her neighbor had noticed. He’d moved so that he stood directly beside her and took his cell phone from his pocket.

“Is there a problem here, Ms. Wilde?”

“No problem,” Steven had replied. “Ms. Wilde and I were just saying good night.” His smile had glittered. “Isn’t that right, Celeste?”

She’d managed to nod. Steven had strolled past her, opened the door and left.

Jaimie had slumped back against the wall.

“Ms. Wilde? Are you all right?”

Jaimie had nodded. “Yes. I’m fine. Thank you. That was just—it was just someone I know who—who tends to get a little carried away.”

She’d babbled some more—it had been her night for babbling. Her neighbor had headed for his own apartment. Jaimie had gone into hers, double-locked the door and collapsed onto the sofa. She’d spent the balance of the night trying to figure out how to deal with what had happened, but she hadn’t found a solution that wouldn’t involve unwanted notoriety—for all its sophistication, D.C. was like a small town that thrived on gossip.

Besides, maybe she’d overreacted.

Steven had always been given to overblown gestures. This confrontation, whatever you wanted to call it, might have been nothing more than that.

So, in the end, she’d let the entire thing go. It had been the right decision. Steven hadn’t bothered her again. She was certain of it. The sense she’d had of being followed a couple of nights ago, the even more ridiculous sense that someone had been in her apartment, had gone through her things.

Nonsense, both times.

Nobody had followed her. She’d turned around and checked. And nobody had been in her apartment. Surely a burglar would have taken something. That the panties in her underwear drawer weren’t stacked the same way as usual was just plain ridiculous. She could easily have messed them up herself.

Of course, she could have.

Jaimie pulled back onto the road and continued driving toward El Sueño.

* * * *

The Texas sun was low on the western horizon when Jaimie pulled the rental car off the road, yanked down the sun visor and looked at herself in the mirror. Not good. She was pale, there were bags under her eyes. And her cheekbones… She must have lost a little weight because they stood out as if she’d penciled them in.

Somebody would notice. Emily or Lissa. Jacob, maybe, or Caleb or Travis. One of her siblings would look at her and say, “James? What’s going on?”