Jaimie: Fire And Ice Part 6

He took a deep breath. Went down the last steps harder than necessary so that his bare feet thudded against them.

The woman spun toward him as he strode toward her.

"Here," he said briskly. He held out the robe. When she didn't take it, he draped it over her shoulders, forced himself not to let his hands brush against her and marched to the teak cabinet where he kept gla.s.ses and liquor. "Whisky? Or brandy?"

"Neither."

"Or wine." He opened the doors of the cabinet and turned to her. "Those are your three choices."

"I don't want anything. Thank you."

The "thank you" was an obvious afterthought. Chutzpah, in spades.

"We're not talking about what you want; we're talking about what you need. Something to warm you." He scowled. "Put your arms through the sleeves of the robe and cinch the belt."

"Do you always give orders?"

"When necessary, yes."

"Listen, mister-"

Jaimie took a quick step back as the man marched toward her.

"Put the robe on," he said.

"I just told you, I don't need to-What do you think you're doing?"

He didn't bother answering. Why would he, when his actions spoke for themselves? In a series of easy motions, he clasped her left hand and drew her arm into the sleeve, did the same with her right, and tied the sash in a perfect square knot at her waist.

She knew it was a square knot because she'd been a Girl Scout for probably twenty minutes endless years ago, before she'd realized being a Scout meant camping out in a tent.

Except, he didn't tie it at her waist.

He tied it around her hips because the robe was enormous on her.

Was it his?

Had he worn it over that beautiful body that was no longer half-naked? What a pity. He was a mean-tempered, unpleasant man but he was lovely to look at, and G.o.d, he was big. Incredibly big. He was barefoot, she was wearing spiked heels, and she still had to look up at him, look up to see those amazing eyes...

To see the fire blazing in those eyes. Green fire. Green flame. So hot. So incredibly hot...

Jaimie's heartbeat quickened. She took a step back. After what seemed an eternity, so did he.

"OK," he said brusquely, "that's good. The robe will warm you. So will a drink. Whisky. Wine. Brandy. Which do you prefer?"

She shook her head. "I told you, don't want anything. Where is Mr. Castelianos? You said he'd be down to see me."

Zach took two gla.s.ses from the cabinet. He'd had a gla.s.s around here somewhere before but he had no idea where, and what did it matter? All that counted was completing his good deed for the day and saying adios.

He opened the Macallan, poured a shot into each gla.s.s, and held hers out.

"Change of plans."

"For heaven's sake, I keep telling you that I don't want a drink. And what do you mean, change of plans?"

"Thank you."

"I beg your pardon?"

"It's polite to say thank you when somebody offers you something."

If looks could kill, he'd be dead because hers was lethal. His mystery guest was losing her cool. That might prove interesting. h.e.l.l, this was already interesting. He was enjoying himself. Enjoying her. And a little comic relief was just what he needed tonight.

"Thank you."

She all but spat the words at him. He put on what he hoped was a solemn expression.

"You're welcome. Now, take the gla.s.s and drink the whisky."

"I told you-"

"It'll take the chill off, and the sooner that happens, the sooner you can leave."

Thunder and a slas.h.i.+ng ribbon of lightning punctuated his words. Jaimie tried not to flinch, but she did. The huge room was pretty much all gla.s.s. It was all that separated her from the tempest that surrounded them.

The man who stood before her might have been a creature sp.a.w.ned of that tempest.

She could sense it.

There was a wildness to him, a kind of savagery. Not that she was afraid of him. She wasn't. This was a different kind of savagery.

It was male.

Primal.

s.e.xual.

A little s.h.i.+ver swept through her. It had nothing to do with being cold. She was warm now, wrapped in his robe, a robe that smelled ever so faintly of man and soap. She s.h.i.+vered again, and he frowned.

"You're trembling."

"I-I guess I'm still a little chilled."

"Dammit, woman, don't give me a hard time." He held out the gla.s.s. "At least take a sip."

She took the gla.s.s, raised it to her lips. She wasn't much of a drinker. White wine was about it for her, so she took a cautious taste of the scotch. The warmth of it filled her mouth, swept lightly down her throat.

"Not the end of the world," he said, watching her. "Right?"

She nodded. Actually, the taste and warmth was lovely, but if he thought he was going to buy her off with expensive whisky, which she was sure this was, he was wrong.

"You said there's been a change of plans."

"A change of... Oh. Right. Sorry, but Mr. Castelianos is busy."

Jaimie narrowed her eyes. "Does he even know that I'm here? Did you tell him that Jaimie Wi..." A tremendous roar of thunder drowned out her words. "Did you tell him that?"

"I did."

"And?"

Those big, wide shoulders rose and fell in a who-gives-a-d.a.m.n shrug.

"I told you. He's busy."

"But I have an appointment with him," Jaimie said, and blanked out that d.a.m.nable little voice that had returned just in time to whisper Maybe. "He's expecting me."

"He's never heard of you."

Jaimie glared at him. Then she put the gla.s.s on a small table, took her shoulder bag from the floor and dug through it. Zach watched, eyebrows raised. It looked as if she had the contents of half a dozen suitcases jammed inside.

"Here," she said. "Show him this." She held out a business card. "I'm from Stafford and Bengs. The realty firm."

Zack frowned. A bell was starting a dim, distant peal. "Stafford and Bengs?"

"Yes. I work with Roger Bengs. He met Mr. Castelianos a few weeks ago. Go on. Take my card and show it to him."

Zach took the card, snapped it against his thumb without looking at it, and tossed it aside.

"They talked about putting Mr. Castelianos's condo on the market. This condo," Jaimie said, gesturing around her.

"They did not."

"Of course they did! Mr. Castelianos said-"

"Roger Bengs. A bad comb-over. Pot belly. Makes this little humming noise when he's telling you something he figures will impress you."

Despite everything, Jaimie wanted to laugh. The description was perfect.

She didn't laugh, though. The description might be amusing. The situation wasn't. And... she frowned. And how could this man, Zacharias Castelianos's something-or-other, possibly know what her boss looked like?

"How do you know all that?" she said.

The man hesitated. She knew, in that instant, that whatever came next would not be good.

"Ms. ...Jaimie." His tone was low, almost apologetic. "I'm afraid you've been misled."

She felt her stomach drop. Why was she not surprised... except, she wasn't about to let him know that.

"You're the one who's been misled," she said, with a calmness that surprised even her. "I don't know why your-your Mr. Castelianos would tell you that he and I don't have an appointment when we do. Go back and remind him that I left him two messages and-"

"And he only got them today."

"Impossible."

"Completely possible. He's been...out of town. Even if he hadn't been, he wouldn't have agreed to see you. He isn't interested in selling this condo. Your Mr. Bengs knew that."

The man smiled. His smile was as s.e.xy and spectacular as the rest of him-and what did that have to do with anything?"

Jaimie drew herself up, put on her best professional air. Not easy, when your hair was hanging in your face and you were draped in a stranger's robe, but she did the best she could.

"Look," she said, trying for the voice of reason, "Mister...Mister Whoever You Are-"

Zach held up his hand. All good things had to come to an end, even games that had provided a pleasant half hour's diversion at a time when diversion was just what he'd needed.

"Zacharias Castelianos."

"Yes. If I could just see him, I could clear this up in-"

"You don't understand. I'm the man you came to see. I'm Zach Castelianos."

She blinked. "You?"

Zach nodded. "Me."

"But-but you can't be!"

His lips twisted. "Want to see my driver's license? Trust me. I am Zacharias Castelianos."

He was. She could see it in the way he was looking at her. This was the man Roger Bengs had sent her to see. He'd used her as-as bait. As a lure to draw this man into his net.

Tears rose in her eyes. G.o.ddammit, she hated that about herself! Other women got angry. Her sisters got angry. Emily yelled. Lissa cursed. Why in h.e.l.l did she cry? Crying was not logical.

"Come on, lady. This isn't worth crying about."

"I am not crying!"

Man, why did women say stuff like that? Of course she was crying. They always did. Tears were their weapon of choice.

"So-so what was this? Some kind of game?"

Bingo, except the way she said it made it sound shabby.

"No," Zach said quickly. "I mean, yeah, maybe, but it had nothing to do with you."

"It had everything to do with me!"

Her chin came up. She was really into it now, mascara running, lips trembling. She looked vulnerable and beautiful, and what the h.e.l.l did that have to do with anything? She was trying to make him feel guilty. And, dammit, she was succeeding.