Beckett y phone nearly slipped out of my hands when the elevator lurched. It felt like we dropped twenty feet. Now, it’s pitch black thanks to the woman who caused this disaster. My shitty morning just got shittier. “Oh my God, the power is out,” she says. Her heavy breathing matches mine. You think? “Thanks to you, we’re now trapped.” “Thanks to me?” She has the gall to sound shocked. “You were the one pressing the buttons like you were on a mission.” “I told you I was late,” she says. “And I told you hitting the ‘close door’ button wouldn’t make a damn difference.” She huffs. “What do you know about elevators?” I may not be able to see her, but the warmth of her body radiates near mine. And her floral scent... she smells divine. “Not much, but Google does. While you were losing your shit on that poor button, I did a quick search. I was right.” “Good for you.” Her tone suggests she’s rolling her eyes right now. “No, not good for me, because now I’m stuck in damnation with you.” I cross my arms over my chest. “Had you been a little more patient, I’d be walking into my meeting on the twentieth floor.” I have an appointment with our advertising agency. Now I’m going nowhere. A series of bells ring and voices shout from around us. “People are calling out for help,” I say. “Thank God.” “If there’s a building-blackout, it won’t do us much good,” I say. “We might be stuck here for a while.” “Maybe we should call 911?” she says. “I’m certain someone already has.” She lets out a huff of resignation. “Since we don’t know how long we’re going to be here, it’s best to conserve the battery life on our phones.” She lets out a frustrated groan this time. “Why the hell do they have a button on the dashboard if it doesn’t even work? I’m pretty sure it’s not for decoration.” “In many ways, it is.” “That’s stupid.” “It’s about perceived control.” She snorts. “That’s ridiculous.” “From where I was standing”—and thank you for the exquisite view, by the way—“I could see it all play out.” “What are you talking about?” “By believing you were in control of your fate—or at least how fast you got to the nineteenth floor—your stress level diminished. It was all an illusion. How’s your stress level now?” I couldn’t help myself. “You’re a comedian, aren’t you?” “Something like that.” I chuckle. “Since we might be trapped in here for God knows how long, we might as well relax and enjoy the downtime.” “Relax? Relax?” I sense she disagrees. This woman is wound up so tight. I’d taken great pleasure in checking out her fine ass in her snug pencil skirt that hits her below the knee. I could develop a fetish because of that skirt. And those shapely calves, thanks to those killer high heels...
Damn. I wish I’d caught a glimpse of her face. At least I was able to appreciate her beautiful profile. Maybe if her hair wasn’t pulled that tight, she wouldn’t be this stuck up. I’m sure I can help in that d epartment. I’d love nothing more than to fuck up her hair to find out how long it was before wrapping it around my wrist and pulling–– “I can’t relax.” She exhales a long breath. “I’m supposed to be at a meeting as we speak.” You and me both, babe. “God, I hate being trapped in a small space.” Her hand slaps against what sounds like her thigh. She’s frustrated. So am I. “Are you claustrophobic?” The last thing I need is for her to be jittery on top of being bitchy. “No. I don’t like not being in control.” Her need for control is what got us into this mess in the first place. No point in reminding her. “I doubt we’ll be the only two people to arrive late to a meeting,” I say. “I don’t make it a habit of being late, sir.” Sir? I like how it sounds on her lips. “Tardiness isn’t in my DNA. I’m always on time. Always.” I let out a laugh. “What’s so funny?” “You’re new to LA.” “What makes you say that?” I’m not imagining the guardedness in her voice. The darkness intensified my senses, making me that much more aware of the melodic timbre of her voice, despite the edge. I wish I could see her. “Down, girl—” “That’s such a prehistoric way of referring to women. Newsflash, this isn’t the Stone Age, Tarzan. Cavemen no longer roam among us.” “Ouch.” That was below the belt. “You asked for it,” she says. It’s a good thing I made a vow of chastity for the next month. I thought Rhys had lost his marbles this morning, but now, I’ll have to thank him when I get back to the office. This woman’s walls are erected so high, not even an invasion of grand proportions would bring them down. Flirting with her would be a big fat waste of time, which means I should erase all images of the unmistakable curve of her ass from my memory. I ignore her snide remark. “To answer your question, the nightmarish traffic in this city isn’t an overused cliché,” I say. “You never know when you’ll get to your destination.” “Well, I was on time, but some unexpected drama at the coffee shop caused me to be late.” She sighs. “It’s one of those mornings.” “I can sympathize. I’m having a hell of a morning myself.” “What happened? Your girl burnt your toast this morning? Or maybe your girl didn’t make your coffee at the right temperature?” She’s a tough cookie. “Are you always this friendly?” “I don’t have to be friendly. We’ll be out of here in no time and I’ll never see you again,” she says. “Never say never.” “Oh, now you’re quoting James Bond?” “There’s no winning with you.” “Men. It’s always about the win.” “That remark wasn’t directed at me, so I’m going to ignore it. You should redirect all that pent-up anger to the asshole who did you wrong.”
“You know nothing about me,” she says. “You’re right.” There must be a way of cracking this tough nut. “Maybe we should get to know each other a little better since we’re roommates. My name is Beckett. And you?” “I’m not giving my name to a complete stranger,” she says. “I give up.” Did she sweeten her coffee with battery acid? Nah, I bet she laced it with hydrogen peroxide. A few short minutes tick away. Shut the hell up and leave her be. I try a different approach. “Are you going to chew my balls off if I ask where you come from?” Silence. “My name is Ari and I’m from Philadelphia.” I’m sure it’s a nickname, but at least it’s something. “Pleased to meet you, Ari,” I say. “First time in LA?” “No.” “Do you live here now?” She sighs. “Are we playing twenty questions?” “What’s wrong with a pleasant conversation with a stranger?” She doesn’t answer. “Don’t you want to know anything about me?” “Not really.” I should be licking my wounds right now, but you know what they say about a dog with a bone. Backing away from a challenge isn’t something I’m capable of and right now winning this woman over would be like climbing Mount Everest barefoot. Challenge. Acc epted. “Why not? I’m a loveable guy.” I deliver the line with my trademark charm and panache, adding an extra lightness in my voice since she can’t see me. “They all say that, don’t they? Then, the truth slaps you across the face and knocks you off your feet... and not in a good way.” I guess that fell on an unimpressed audience. I allow her words to hang heavy around us. “If you give me his name and address, I can get someone to take care of him,” I say. “Not even the elite police force will be able to find the body.” I expect another smart retort but she surprises me. “Don’t tempt me,” she says. “I suspect you aren’t part of the mafia, so chances are, we’ll get caught. Since orange isn’t my color, I won’t entertain the thought.” Yikes. “Maybe I gave you a fake name. How do you know I’m not the most wanted mob king on the FBI’s list? Remember, you said you didn’t want to know anything about me.” She doesn’t answer, but I feel her moving away from me. “I’m pulling your leg. I’m an honest citizen. There are no bodies hidden under my pool.” “Good to know.” “For what it’s worth, I’m sure he’ll get what’s coming to him.” “I doubt it. Some people are like Teflon,” she says. He did a number on her. Isn’t it ironic? She’s unwilling to share her full name, but she’s willing to share something far more personal. A long stretch of silence passes between us. “I wonder how much time we have left before the oxygen runs out,” I say. “What?” “I’m pulling your leg again.” “You’re mean.” There’s lightness in that statement. “Not at all. I wanted to get a reaction out of you since it seems it’s all I can get.” She lets out a low laugh. “Are we friends now?” “Not even in your wildest dreams, loverboy.” “Look at that, you stumbled onto something.” “What are you talking about?” I’m sure she’s sporting a frown. “I’m a lover, not a fighter.” “Moving right along,” she says. I chuckle. Feeling
like we’ve made progress, I take a chance. “You smell lovely, by the way.” The closed space traps the exquisite floral scent of her perfume. “Thanks,” she says. “I’m lucky you didn’t eat garlic, yogurt, or sardines for breakfast. Halitosis is so unattractive.” I chuckle again. “Is that your way of saying you like how I smell?” “You’re putting words into my mouth, loverboy.” “I’m going to savor this moment because you went from hating my guts to calling me loverboy. Twice.” “Don’t get the wrong idea, I still hate your guts, but that was smooth.” “It’s my trademark, along with my dazzling white smile and baby blue eyes.” “Oh, someone is so full of themselves.” “Not at all,” I say. “I’m describing my best assets while ke eping it PG. Feel free to do the same.” That gets me a laugh. It’s contained, nonetheless, it’s a laugh. “I’m sure your charm must go over well with the women you try to seduce—” “Try? I’m insulted. The word isn’t even part of my vocabulary.” “I guess women drop their panties for you every single time.” “Wouldn’t you want to know, cupcake?” I don’t know how far apart we are, but I take a small st ep closer to her. Her clothes shuffle and then there’s a thumping sound. “Shit.” “I guess you can’t run far.” “Don’t you dare touch me,” she says. “I’ve taken self-defense classes.” “I wouldn’t dream of touching you unless you begged for it.” She gasps. I grin wide. “Only a woman who has no sense of her worth would beg a man to touch her,” she says. “I can assure you, they beg for much more than that.” She clears her throat. A million questions bounce around in my head. Is she a screamer in bed? Would she dig her fingernails into my ass as I drive into her? Does she prefer doggie style, or woman on top, or maybe reverse cowgirl. What am I thinking about? She’s not that wild. I bet I could change that in an instant. “Wow, Romeo. You have a hell of an ego.” “Perhaps you’ve never had it good enough to beg for it,” I say. “Women fake it all the time and men are none the wiser.” Feisty. “There are certain telltale signs women can’t fake. A good lover knows that.” “You’re so full of—” The elevator jerks as she’s about to rip me a new one. The lights flicker back on and static screeches from the ceiling speakers before a voice blares. “This is the Los Angeles Fire D epartment. Hold on tight. Everything should be restored soon.” I shield my eyes from the brightness. Eager to know what she looks like, I lower my hand and turn my head. To say I’m shocked would be an understatement. Holy shit, she’s fucking hot. I don’t mean made-up hot. I mean, born-hot, the kind that’s practically an oddity in my circle where hair, lashes, nails, tits, and asses are more often than not, grossly fake. True, I can’t attest to every part of her being the real deal, but I’ll tell you, God was smiling down on her the day she was born. She’s tiny. The top of her head doesn’t reach my shoulder—even in her sexy skyscraper heels. What a turn-on. Her face is striking. Her fair skin suggests she isn’t from southern California. Images of me gliding my hands across her body as I discover her soft, pale skin assail me.
Oh yeah. Even her earlobes are sexy. If there’s such a thing as a perfect nose, hers is it. And those lips... hmm. They’re painted in a soft shade of pink with a shiver that accentuates her pout. No duck lips for her. Thank God. I bet those perfect lips would look fucking sexy wrapped around my cock. I had pictured her differently. I guess you can’t judge a book by its cover any more than you can judge a voice in the dark by its clipped tone. My eyes swe ep up and down the length of her body in one glance. So many women put it all out there. They leave nothing to the imagination because there’s no subtlety in the way they dress. Not her. She’s like a chocolate bar covered in foil I’m dying to unwrap. I like the mystery. Expressive wide brown eyes stare up at me. With a slow, deliberate gaze she takes me in from head to toe. A smile is firmly planted on my lips when our eyes meet again. She looks me up and down again as if I’m a figment of her imagination. I’m all real, baby. Her eyes widen, and she sucks in a gasp, her cheeks ignite in flames as redness colors them. “Hey roomie.” I wave, pinning my warmest smile on my face. She shakes her head as if breaking free from a trance. “Seems to me, you like what you see.” Her mouth falls open. “It’s okay. You can admit it. I like what I see.” A lot. She glares hard, as if she wishes she could make me vanish in a cloud of smoke. She rolls her eyes. “As if.” I push the envelope. “What’s wrong with us admitting how we feel about each other?” “Don’t look so pleased with yourself, roomie,” she says. “This is the last call for us.” Then it hits me. Not a trace of recognition. She has no idea who I am. Her accent sounds American, but maybe I’m wrong. I’ve been high profile for the better part of my life. Having someone oblivious to who I am is a refreshing change. And another turn-on. “You’re right,” I say. “This,” I say, waving my finger between us, with a cocky grin stretching my lips, “is like when the lights come back on in a club or a bar... right before we decide if we’ll leave together and spend the night enjoying each other’s company.” Her cheeks flame up and her eyes grow as wide as saucers. I can’t help the sly smile when my eyes fall to her neck. Her pulse thrums in her throat, the rapid rise and fall of her chest is so, so seductive. A touch of unexpected vulnerability. I like it. A lot. She clears her throat. “I’m never out late. Ever.” My jaw drops. “I wouldn’t know what it’s like to pick up stray dogs... who might or might not have unsavory diseases I’d rather stay far away from. STDs... so nasty.” Her lips pull up in a triumphant grin. I ignore her snide dig and zoom in on what’s important. “No random hookups?” “Nope.” I’m dumbfounded. “Ever?” “Nope.” “And you’ve never closed a bar or a dance floor?” “Never.” Who the hell is that goody two-shoes? “How come?” “I value my sle ep.” “How old are you? Ninety-five?” She shoots me an unimpressed gaze. We’re back to being cat and dog. She lifts her chin up. “A rested mind is a productive mind.” My eyebrows draw down in confusion. What kind
of answer is that? “Sle ep over fun?” She nods. “Always.” “Even on weekends?” I should drop it, but I can’t. She narrows her eyes. “I gather it’s the complete opposite for you?” “It is.” Even though my former reckless career is behind me and I sit at the helm of a formidable company, I still like to party hard. “Why am I not surprised?” Sarcasm laces her words. My eyes travel down the length of her body, searching for clues. They’re glaring at me. She’s young, but she hasn’t lived. Maybe she’s a virgin. Her hair is pulled back tight. Too tight. The color is a perfect blend of blonde and brown meshes. There isn’t a strand out of place. The conservative form-fitted three-piece gray suit she’s wearing isn’t something you see often in LA. Her white blouse is buttoned up all the way. No flash of skin or cleavage—not even a hint. At first glance, it all screams, Stay the hell away. A second glance tells a different story. She’s in desperate need of someone to ruffle and mess up her ordered life. An injection of chaos into her overly controlled universe, a cocky sabotage to loosen her up. I take little pleasure in popping a cherry, but I’d make an exc eption for her. I’d sacrifice myself to fuck the prim and proper out of her. Another time, another place, I’d say I was that guy, but not today. Thanks for nothing, Rhys, for cock blocking me. She’d be fun to unravel. Alas, I’m forced to rein in my cock and suppress my needs for the next thirty days. My eyes are on the prize. That bike is mine. Not to mention, she comes across as the kind of woman who would want to break my balls instead of licking them. Yeah, I’ll stick to my fist. “You need to let your hair down once in a while,” I say. “You might enjoy it.” She squints. “I’m afraid you’re mistaking me for one of your girls—” The elevator jerks into motion. “Thank God this is over,” she says before tearing her gaze away from mine, staring in front of her. “Not a minute too soon.” “We agree on something,” I say.