Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

Dammit, where was that elevator? She hated feeling her way through a dark room. She didn’t like the dark at all; she never had. As kids, Emily and Lissa used to love to play scary games outside on moonless nights at El Sueño. Not her. Running around when you couldn’t see more than a few inches ahead of you, having somebody, even when you knew it was your sister, sneak up on you and clamp a hand on your shoulder wasn’t funny.

Neither was this.

And where was that damn elev—

His voice came from right behind her.

“Look,” he said, “honey—”

“My name is not ‘Honey.’”

“Right. I knew that. It’s…Jaimie.” He cleared his throat. “Look, I know this is a little difficult. You. Me. Us, here together.”

“There is no us. We are not together. I am in your home, uninvited and unwanted. My apologies, Mr. Castel­—Dammit!”

Where had that wall come from?

Zach reached out, caught her by the shoulders to steady her. She shook him off, felt along the wall, found the elevator, felt for the call button, found it and pushed it. Hard.

“Jaimie.”

“Goodbye, Mr. Castelianos.”

“Don’t be ridiculous. Even if you managed to get out of here, where would you go?”

“That isn’t your concern.”

“Of course it is,” he said irritably. “You think I can just watch you walk off into the night when who knows what’s liable to be happening out there?”

It was the who-knows-what part she was trying not to think about.

Where was that miserable elevator?

She jabbed the call button again.

“I asked you a question. Where would you go if you got out of here?”

“And I said that’s not your concern.”

“You think you’re going to grab a taxi and head for a hotel?” He gave a disbelieving snort. “No way. Everybody else in Manhattan had the same idea ten minutes ago. Plus, even if you found a cab, there aren’t any traffic lights. It’ll be like the Indy 500 out there. ”

He was right. He was probably right about all of it, but what did that matter? She was not about to stay here even if she had misinterpreted what he’d said.

Why would any woman in her right mind agree to spend what might be hours in the dark, fifty floors above the city, alone with a stranger?

“Dammit,” she snarled, aiming a kick at the elevator door, “what’s with this elevator? Where in hell is it?”

“I don’t know how to break this to you, honey, but elevators operate on electricity.”

She swung toward him. Easy enough, because he was only a couple of inches away, looming over her, arms folded, all six foot two or three or maybe four of him.

She stared at him. Then she swallowed. Hard.

“I knew that.”

“So you were pounding on the call button because…?”

Her chin went up. Her eyes narrowed.