Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

What was wrong with him? He had never dreamed about a woman in his life, but, dammit, he dreamed about her. Every night. The feel of her. The taste—

Braaap! Braaap! Braaap!

An eighteen-wheeler roared past, the sides of the Porsche and the trailer damn near within kissing distance.

Zach cursed, tossed the phone on the seat, and concentrated on the road.

He should never have taken this case, or whatever you wanted to call it. There was a reason surgeons didn’t operate on family. When you were doing something that could prove risky, you wanted a cool head.

You didn’t want emotion. And what was sex if not emotion?

Yes, but how would he have turned Caleb away? He certainly couldn’t have said he was too busy. That wasn’t an excuse an old pal would accept. The other choice wasn’t a choice at all. He couldn’t have said, See, the thing is, I’d love to help you, but I slept with your sister the first night I met her.

And, dammit, OK, if it turned out there was something here, if Jaimie Wilde really was in danger, he wanted to be the man who would protect her.

Lights flashed. A siren sounded behind him. Zach looked in the mirror, saw the police car. He groaned, put on his blinker, pulled onto the shoulder of the highway.

He had his license and registration out and ready by the time the cop reached the Porsche.

“Nice wheels,” the cop said, deadpan.

Zach nodded. “How fast was I going?”

“Ninety.”

Zach nodded again, handed over his documents. Why fight the inevitable?

The cop glanced at the papers.

“How fast will it go?”

“It’s OK, officer. I’ve no intention of—”

“One fifty?”

Zach looked at the cop. “It’s a GT.”

“A Gran Turismo. Right. I know. So, better than 150?”

Zach grinned. “I’ve done 185.”

The cop let out a long breath and handed over the registration and license.

“Rein it in, OK? This isn’t the place for that kind of stuff.”

“Yeah. Thanks.”

“Hey, I’ve got a souped-up ’Vette. Nothing like this baby, but…” He smiled. “My wife says it’s weird, how men are attracted to fast cars and fast women.”

“But cars are like women,” Zach said, smiling back. “Beautiful. Unpredictable. Dangerous.”

“You got that right.” The cop slapped the door of the Porsche and stepped back. “Stay safe.”

“You, too.”

Zach turned on the engine. Checked for traffic. Pulled out into the lane.

Beautiful. Unpredictable. Dangerous. His Porsche… Or Jaimie Wilde?