Jaimie: Fire and Ice (The Wilde Sisters 2)

She did. He put the handkerchief away and gathered her in his arms again.

“You don’t have to worry about him anymore.”

“Thank you. For saying that, I mean, but—”

“Jaimie.” Zach clasped her arms and held her so she could look into his face. “It’s over.”

“Zacharias. Don’t you see? It won’t be over until he decides it’s over. Giving somebody presents isn’t against the law. Calling them by the wrong name isn’t, either. And I don’t have a shred of proof that he’s been in—”

“You’re not listening.” Zach’s voice was low. Cold. “You do not have to worry about him anymore.”

“Zacharias—”

“I’m here. I’ll protect you.”

“You have to go back to New York.”

“I’m not going anywhere.”

“But—”

He kissed her. It was the best way to silence her, but the truth was, he needed that kiss, the taste of her, the warmth of her mouth, the way her lips parted beneath his.

“I’m not leaving you, baby. And Steven Young won’t bother you anymore. I guarantee it.”

Damn right, he’d guarantee it. Tonight, he’d go to Young’s place. Have a talk with him. Put the fear of God and man into the son of a bitch, he thought coldly, and put things right.

Jaimie’s eyes searched his. Then, slowly, he saw the fear begin to fade from her face.

Zach traced the outline of her lips with the pad of his thumb.

“OK?” he said softly.

She nodded. “OK.”

“Good.” He kissed her again. Then he buckled her seat belt, buckled his, and started the car. “Actually,” he said with a deliberate, quick smile, “I’m more a pizza kind of guy than a sit-down-in-a-fancy restaurant type.”

She laughed. It was a little weak-sounding, but it was a laugh and that was something.

“How about you? Are you up for pizza? Sausage. Meatballs. Garlic. Olives.”

“Extra cheese,” she said, and he loved her for that sweet attempt at normalcy.

“Of course, extra cheese! Who would order a pizza without extra cheese?” He reached for her hand, threaded his fingers through hers. “Here’s the plan. We’ll stop at this pizza joint I know and stuff our faces.” She laughed. It was a stronger laugh this time, and a weight seemed to lift from his heart. “Then we’ll go to your place. You’ll pack some things—”

“Pack?”

He nodded. He knew he had to phrase this carefully; if she thought he was only taking her away to protect her, she might balk, tell him, as she already had, that she knew he had to return to New York.

“I’m staying at the Four Seasons. I have a suite. You’ll like it.”

“I will?”

“Absolutely.” He shot her a quick smile. “If you don’t, we’ll go somewhere else.”

“Zacharias. I don’t understand.”

“I want you to stay there with me.”