Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

“You find this amusing?”

“No,” Jaimie said quickly, “certainly not.”

“I?

??m waiting.”

She swallowed hard. “For...?”

There. His eyes almost scrunched shut. Another eighth of an inch and his lashes—dark and thick—would scrape his cheekbones.

“For an answer,” he snapped. “Who are you? What do you want? How’d you manage to convince Oliver that your name was Sari?”

“Who?”

“Oliver. The concierge.”

“Yes. He said that was his name. I mean, who’s Sari?”

A muscle danced in his jaw. “She isn’t you, that’s for damn sure.”

The man took a step forward. Jaimie took a step back. She was almost against the wall of the elevator. She considered slamming her hand against the raised brass L on the panel to her right. Then she thought better of it. Fear was giving way to irritation. Did he really think she’d used subterfuge to get up here?

“I never said I was anyone named Sari. And who, precisely, are you?”

“You’re asking me who I am?”

“Yes. I’m here to see Mr. Zacharias Castelianos. You, obviously, are not he. So, who are you?”

Actually, she was pretty sure she already had the answer. The body said he might be Castelianos’s personal trainer. Or his bodyguard.

Or…

Her gaze swept over the man again. Her pulse did a little hammering in her ears. He was, in a word, gorgeous.

Was his relationship with Castelianos more personal than that?

She’d grown up with totally hetero brothers and this man gave off totally hetero vibes but, hey, anything was possible, even if it would be an awful waste for womankind.

“Enjoying the view?”

Her eyes flew to his. A cool little smile tilted at the corner of his mouth. Jaimie felt her face heat. Whoever he was, whatever his function, he was not a nice man.

“Do you work for Mr. Castelianos?”

“No.”

No. Just “no.” Instinct told her the thing to do was push that L-for-Lobby button and get the hell out of here, but what would she tell Roger Bengs?

“Well,” she said, drawing herself up, “I do.”

“Really.”

Another of those little smiles. And now he was the one giving her the once-over. She wouldn’t blame him if he laughed. She knew what she looked like. She’d gotten a glimpse of herself in the mirrored doors of the elevator before they’d opened.

She was a walking disaster.

Plus, she was starting to feel chilled. The rain had been a warm drizzle most of the way here. It had become a downpour only as she made the last hundred-yard dash.