Sleepless in Manhattan (From Manhattan with Love 1)

Jake stepped into the elevator. “Yeah, but you’re not going to.” He leaned against the mirrored wall and removed his bow tie with a few flicks of his fingers. “I know you like to be independent. I understand the reason and it’s an admirable quality, but once in a while it would be good if you said yes to something without arguing.”

There was a soft purr as the doors slid shut, enclosing them.

“I say yes all the time.”

There was a skeptical gleam in his eyes. “Give me an example of something you’d say yes to.”

Right now she would have said yes to sex. Where he was concerned, she would have said yes to virtually anything. She’d promised herself she was always going to seize the moment, and right now she wanted to seize him. But she’d made a fool of herself once, and no way was she ever doing it again. “I say yes to Eva’s cooking, to drinks on our roof terrace, to movie night even though Matt never lets us watch romantic movies. I say yes to a run in the Botanical Gardens, to a bagel fresh from the cart. Want me to go on?”

He was impossibly handsome, so gorgeous it fried her brain to look at him. Even now, half-undressed, he looked better than any other man dressed to impress up on that roof terrace.

His bow tie hung around his neck with casual disregard for its future appearance. His shirt was open at the neck, revealing a hint of dark chest hair. His jaw, clean shaved first thing in the morning, was dark with shadow.

He shouldn’t have looked this good, but if she’d ever seen a sexier man, she couldn’t remember it.

He watched her with that disturbingly intimate gaze that made her wonder if he could read her mind. She was an expert at hiding her feelings. She’d learned to protect others every bit as much as they protected her, but somehow with Jake she had to work harder.

He saw things. He paid attention.

She was about to make a flippant comment when the elevator gave a jolt. Thrown off balance by her uncomfortably high heels she was flung against him, smacking into the hard wall of his chest. For a moment all she was aware of was the solid bulk of his biceps under her fingers and the warmth of his breath on her face. Desire uncurled inside her, a slow warmth that immediately flared to burning heat.

His mouth was right there, right there—if she turned her head—

His hand slid around her waist to steady her and he frowned at the control panel. “Did you press something?”

“No.” Her teeth were gritted. It had been years since she’d been this close to him, and yet it felt as natural as if their bodies had been glued together for a decade. “I didn’t touch anything. It stopped by itself.”

“Must have been my electric personality.”

She pulled away from him, irritated by the depth of her attraction. Why couldn’t she feel this way about a man who was interested in her? There was no justice. “Perhaps you’d like to use your electric personality to get us out of here, then. Press the button.” As the sharp edge of her desire faded, she felt a lurch of fear. She wasn’t good with enclosed spaces. Never had been.

It would be fine, she told herself. Probably something simple.

The button for the ground floor was already illuminated but he pressed it again.

There was a clicking sound.

Nothing happened.

Paige felt her palms grow clammy. Her chest tightened. Elevators were fine as a means of getting from one place to another, providing they were moving, but being trapped in a tight airless space? She’d always hated it. As far as she was concerned being in an MRI scanner felt like being buried alive.

“Maybe the venue have trapped us here until we’ve paid for our event.” She tried to lighten the atmosphere but it grew heavier, as if the walls were coming in to squeeze her.

“Maybe.” His gaze skimmed the control panel. Then he reached into his pocket and she saw a brief flash of metal.

“Is that a screwdriver? You carry a screwdriver around with you? Why?”

“This isn’t the first time I’ve had to get myself out of a tight spot. Hold my jacket.” He shrugged out of it and threw it to her, then rolled back his sleeves.

“What was your last tight spot? Was she married?”

He smiled as he worked. “I never touch married women. Too complicated. Put your hand out—”

“Why?”

“Paige—” his voice was patient “—this is another one o

f those occasions when you say yes and do it. You don’t ask a million questions and you don’t argue with me.”