Jaimie: Fire and Ice

by Sandra Marton

  So, instead of saying something foolish, he smiled and said, “Well then, we’re even.”

  Jaimie rolled her eyes.

  “Puh-leeze,” she said. “You’re a guy. You expect me to believe you’ve led a sheltered life?”

  “Absolutely.” He grinned. “I’d never had sex with a Realtor before.”

  That won him another tap on the shoulder. And a soft laugh. She was happy. He was the reason. It made him feel at least ten feet tall.

  His grin faded and he dropped another light kiss on her lips.

  “You want the truth?”

  She nodded.

  “I’d never had a night like that in my life,” he said softly. “You were…you were everything I’d ever dreamed. And then I woke up and you were gone and, for a couple of seconds, I thought that maybe I really had dreamed it all.”

  Her smile dimmed. “I shouldn’t have run away.”

  “Hey.” He put his hand under her chin. “We settled this last night, remember? If you were wrong to take off, I was equally wrong not to have gone after you.” And not to have checked out Young’s story. If only he could tell her that. “It’s all water under the proverbial bridge, honey. For both of us. Right?”

  She swallowed hard. Her gaze dropped from his. She took a deep breath and when she looked up again, her eyes were bright with emotion. “I don’t want any more untruths between us, Zacharias. I left the way I did because—because…It was what you said. I didn’t know how to deal with my feelings. With wanting to stay right where I was, in your arms, in your bed.”

  God, she was killing him. Her talk about untruths—such a nice, old-fashioned word—only made him think about his untruths and, hell, that wasn’t even what they were. They were outright lies.

  She believed he’d come here to find her.

  The truth was that he’d come here because Caleb had asked him to. He was Caleb’s spy.

  Except, it wasn’t that simple.

  In the world he’d been part of most of his life, there were no grays. There was only black and white. In the real world, there wasn’t even only one gray. Fifty shades? Hell, there were ten thousand shades of gray.

  Of course, he’d come because Caleb had asked him to do it, but there were other truths involved. The first was that if Jaimie needed protection, he was the only man he’d trust to protect her.

  Which led directly to the deeper truth. To the one truth.

  He’d had to see her again. And for that, he’d needed an excuse because between his stupid pride—thinking the night had been special only to wake to an empty bed and a note that pretty much said it hadn’t—and then that call from Young, and how come he’d bought that bucket of crap without checking it out? He was an investigator, wasn’t he?

  His pride again.

  Amazing, how something so pathetic could get in the way of reason.

  What it came down to was that he’d always wanted to go after her. He’d just had to find a way to make it happen without feeling like a fool, and Caleb had handed him exactly the excuse he needed to be with her again, talk with her, laugh with her, make love with her, share simple moments like this one.

  And he didn’t want to dwell on that too long or too hard because as it was, those simple realizations already scared the hell out of him.

  * * * *

  Jaimie said she’d make breakfast.

  “Or lunch,” she said with a laugh, “or supper, or whatever meal it is we’re up to.”

  Zach checked his watch. “If we were Brits,” he said, “we’d be heading off to Claridge’s for tea. But we’re not, and it’s four o’clock, so we’re too late for lunch and too early for dinner. We’ll either have to starve to death or go to this little place I know.”

  “You know Washington?”

  “Yeah. A little.”

  “Because?”

  “Because…” No need to lie about that, he thought as he helped her on with a jacket then put on his. “I lived here for a while.”

  “Really?”

  “Really.” They stepped out of her apartment, Zach checking the hall, the shadows, the stairs. All clear. “I worked here,” he said, as they made their way out the front door, down the steps and to the Prius.

  “A Prius.” She looked at him and smiled. “Somehow, I wouldn’t have imagined you driving something so—so conservative.”

  He laughed as he shut the passenger door, went around to the driver’s side and got behind the wheel.

  “It’s a rental.”

  “Don’t tell me.” Jaimie looked at him. “You really drive a Ferrari.”

  “Very good.” He smiled. “I did, until last year. I gave it up for a Porsche. A Carrera.”

  “See? I knew you were a fast-car guy.”

  “Guilty as charged.”

  They drove in silence for a couple of minutes. Then, she looked at him again.

  “So, what do you do?”

  “What do I do?”

  “What kind of work? Something that goes with Porsches and Ferraris and a home in the sky, I’ll bet.”

  Zach checked for traffic, then changed lanes. It gave him a couple of seconds to think. What was he going to tell her?

  The silence lengthened. Then he gave her a quick smile.

  “I own a company.”

  “What kind of company?”

  “Give me a minute, honey. These roads…”

  Jaimie knew that made sense. She couldn’t fault him for concentrating on the traffic. The sleet had made the roads slippery and, as usual, Washingtonians seemed determined to pretend that the still-approaching winter weather was a novelty when it really wasn’t.

  It was just strange that she still didn’t know anything about him.

  Well, no.

  She knew his body. All that lean, hard muscle. The six-pack abs. And his face, so beautifully masculine that Michelangelo might have sculpted it. She knew he was a lover so skilled that he could move her to tears with his tenderness or make her mindless with his caresses.

  But she knew nothing else.

  The truth was, she knew less about Zacharias than any man she’d ever dated.

  And he wasn’t a date.

  He was her lover.

  A frisson of heat swept over her skin.

  Her lover. She’d never used the word before, never even thought it to describe a man she’d slept with.

  The word had been a topic of discussion when she and Emily and Lissa were in their mid-teens. She could still remember the three of them sitting cross-legged on the floor in Lissa’s room, hands rhythmically dipping in and out of a huge bag of potato chips.

  “Cissy McDonough says her big sister has a lover,” Em had said. Munch, munch, munch. “So, what’s the difference between a lover and a boyfriend?”

  Lissa, the oldest of them, who seemed to know everything about everything, had popped the tab on a can of soda.

  “Sex,” she’d said.

  Emily, with caution: “You can’t have sex with a boyfriend?”

  Lissa, rolling her eyes: “Idiot. Of course you can.”

  Jaimie, puzzled: “Then, what’s the difference?”

  Lissa, on an exaggerated sigh: “Boyfriends fuck. Lovers make love.”

  Jaimie and Emily had been shocked, as Lissa had undoubtedly hoped. They’d taken a couple of minutes to think that over. Then they’d both nodded.

  “Sounds right,” Jaimie had finally said.

  And, all these years later, it still seemed right.

  She’d slept with other men. Not a lot of them and not often, but she did have a sex life. OK. She hadn’t, not for a while now. She was too busy. And she’d stopped even thinking about sex since Steven and how creepy that had all become—and she wasn’t going to think about that now, not now—but what Lissa had said remained valid.

  Boyfriends fucked.

  Lovers…lovers made love.

  Which made Zacharias her lover.

  And made it strange that she knew so little about him. He was—how to put
it? He was self-contained. Or maybe it was that she knew he was withholding some part of himself. Yes. That was it. He was like a handsomely wrapped package, all beautiful paper and gorgeous bows that turned your knees to water even before you knew what it contained.

  She’d never been with a man who talked so little about himself.

  Men were given to boasting, even if they did it with subtlety. Doctors wanted to be sure you knew that they saved lives. Cops wanted you to know they dealt with bad guys. She’d once dated an archaeologist who worked at the Smithsonian and who’d talked endlessly about a dig in Libya and the ancient curse on it until her eyes had almost crossed and she’d come within a breath of saying, OK, I get it, you’re really Indiana Jones in disguise.

  Fast forward to Zacharias, who hadn’t even hinted at his occupation.

  He was rich. The car. The condo. Rich, yes, but she couldn’t picture him sitting behind a desk with a dozen phones ringing at the same time.

  Which was, she thought, glancing at him from under lashes, about as foolishly biased an assessment as possible.

  She had three brothers. They were all big, strong, macho guys, and two of them sat behind desks. So did the third, some of the time.

  Strange, how often she looked at Zacharias and thought of Jacob. Or Travis. Or Caleb. Mostly Caleb, who could talk your ears off about the law but go strangely silent about his past.

  “You know, you remind me of my brother, Caleb.”

  The Prius swerved right, then left.

  “What?”

  Zacharias was staring at her. Jaimie laughed at the look on his face.

  “Sorry. I guess it sounds flaky, you know, telling the man you’re…the man you’re with that he reminds you of your brother. The thing is, he—Caleb, I mean—is an attorney now, but he used to work for the government. Some agency he never talks about…God! I’m making this sound so Machiavellian!”

  “Shadow Inc.,” Zach said, speaking pretty much as fast as his pulse was racing. Man, he needed to get Caleb Wilde out of this conversation. “I own a company called Shadow Inc.”

  “Shadow Ink? You mean, as in tattoos?”

  There was nothing like a little laughter to provide diversion.

  “As in high-tech security.”

  “Got it. Men in Black.”

  He reached for her hand and brought it to his lips.

  “Sorry to disappoint you, but last time I looked, we didn’t have any space aliens on the payroll.”

  “Ah. Well, into each life—”

  “A little rain must fall, except this isn’t rain anymore; it isn’t even sleet. I forget. What do you call that white stuff in these parts? Could it be snow?”

  “This is the South. It never snows in the South.”

  “This is not the South. And you get blizzards in wherever this is.”

  “The stuff isn’t even sticking. And you’re changing the subject. What do you do at Shadow Inc.?”

  So much for diversion.

  “We protect corporations and people.”

  “From?”

  “From whatever they need protecting from.”

  Jaimie gave a soft laugh. “My brother, Jacob, would tell you that you shouldn’t end a sentence with a preposition.”

  Zach glanced at her.

  “And I’d tell your brother Jacob—politely, of course—that I’m sure he’s a cool dude, but I want to spend today alone with my girl.”

  Jaimie’s heart leaped.

  “Is that what I am?” she asked softly. “Your girl?”

  Zach reached for her hand again.

  “Damn right,” he said gruffly, and thought what a great feeling it was finally to tell her something that was true.

  * * * *

  He drove into Virginia, headed off the interstate and took a handsome, winding road that rose gently into the hills.

  They’d been talking the last few minutes. Nothing special, just about New York and D.C. and the differences between the two cities, so Jaimie hadn’t paid attention to their surroundings until Zach said, “Here we are,” and pulled into a small parking lot. “This place has always been one of my favorites.”

  Jaimie looked out the window.

  “Oh,” she said softly.

  It was one of her favorites, too—at least it had been until a couple of weeks ago. She’d shown a house in Fairfax; after, she’d brought her client here for a late lunch.

  Midway through their chopped salads, the client—a woman—had leaned forward and said, “Don’t look now, dear, but there’s a nice-looking gentleman giving you the once-over.”

  Jaimie had known, right away, that it was Steven. It didn’t even surprise her. She’d had an uncomfortable feeling, that hair-rising-on-the-nape-of-your-neck sensation almost as soon as they’d been seated.

  Carefully, she’d put down her fork. Forced a smile. Kept that smile even when Steven appeared beside their table.

  “Celeste,” he’d said softly, “I’ve missed you.”

  “Steven.” Her voice had trembled. Not much, but she’d hated herself for it. “I’m very busy right now.”

  “Yes. I see that.” He’d turned to Jaimie’s client, who was watching them with a puzzled smile on her lips. “How do you do?” he’d said, extending his hand. “Jaimie seems to have forgotten her manners. I’m Steven Young. Her fiancé.”

  “He isn’t my—”

  “Sorry, darling. I know you don’t like to talk about our personal lives when you’re in a business setting.” He’d smiled, his lips curving, his eyes flat as those of a dead fish. “Ladies. Enjoy your lunch. Celeste, I’ll see you later.”

  Of course, the client had bubbled with questions, starting with that name, Celeste. Jaimie had made light of the incident. She’d tried, anyway, but her hands were shaking so badly she had difficulty picking up her glass of water, and eating even another mouthful of her salad was beyond all possibility.

  After a few minutes, the client had glanced at her watch and made a big show of how late it was getting. They’d gone back to Jaimie’s office where the client had recovered her car and mumbled something about being in touch.

  Jaimie had known she wouldn’t.

  And when she’d returned home that evening, she’d opened the door with trepidation, checked each room in her apartment, looked under the bed and in the closets and in the shower stall…

  “Jaimie. Jaimie? Honey, what is it?”

  She blinked.

  Zacharias was holding her shoulders, his face a study in concern.

  “Nothing,” she said. Somehow, she forced a smile. “Nothing. Honestly. It’s—I’m just not very hungry, that’s all.”

  “Jaimie.” His tone was hard. So was the feel of his hands. “What’s going on?”

  “I told you. I’m not—I’m not—”

  To her horror, tears spilled from her eyes. She tried choking back a sob, but it didn’t work.

  “Sweetheart,” Zacharias whispered.

  A second later, he’d unbuckled both their seat belts and she was in his arms.

  He held her against him, one hand cupping the back of her head, the other stroking up and down her spine. She was shaking; her tears were soaking into his jacket, her little gasps were hot against his throat.

  He had never felt more useless in his life.

  “Don’t,” he said, “honey, don’t. Whatever it is, I’ll take care of it. Tell me. Baby, talk to me.” He clasped her face, drew back just a little, gave her no choice but to look up at him. “Please. Tell me what’s happening.”

  She stared at him. She couldn’t tell him, wouldn’t tell him. Just a little while ago, she’d admitted to herself that this man was her lover, but that he was also a stranger. She couldn’t unload this on him.

  “Jaimie.” Zach bent his head, brushed his lips tenderly over hers. “Trust me. Tell me why you’re crying.”

  Trust him, she thought. Trust him…

  “There’s a man,” she said. “His name is Young. Steven Young.”

&nb
sp; The story poured from her lips. Meeting Steven. Thinking what a nice guy he was. His growing interest in her; her trying to let him down gently once she realized that he wanted lots more from her than friendship. The unwanted gifts. The unwanted visits. Calling her by a name nobody but he used for her. And, finally, what had happened recently, right in this restaurant.

  Zach felt as if a ball of ice were forming in his belly.

  His brain took in what she was saying, processed it, and the instinct to protect her took over, so powerfully that it made him almost light-headed.

  “He follows me,” Jaimie said. “I never see him, but I can feel his presence. I know that doesn’t make sense, but—”

  “It makes a lot of sense,” Zach said grimly.

  She sighed with relief.

  “I was afraid you’d say it was crazy.”

  Gently, he smoothed her tangled hair back from her face.

  “It’s an atavistic thing, honey. A survival skill.”

  “You really think so?”

  “I know so. You know the old saying Been there, done that?”

  “At Shadow?”

  Hell. He took a long breath.

  “I was in the Marines. A Special Ops group. If you’re any good at all, one of the first things you learn is to give credence to your instincts.”

  “Then you won’t think I’m also crazy if I tell you that—that I know that somehow, he’s been in my apartment. Sometimes, I can feel his presence. I even thought I felt it for a little while last night.”

  Last night, Zach thought, if he hadn’t been sitting outside in the Prius last night…

  “I know he’s been in my apartment,” she said, her voice rising. “Things were moved. Not a lot, but they were moved. He touched my panties. My bras. I could feel him there. I could—I could smell him…” She drew a long breath. “I hate him,” she said fiercely. “I hate that he can make me feel so—so helpless. I’ve never been helpless, dammit, I don’t do helpless!”

  Angry tears trickled down her cheeks. Zach dug in his pocket, took out a handkerchief. Wiped her eyes. Held the handkerchief to her nose.

  “Blow,” he said gently.

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