The crowd of people piling into the lift with them made her swallow her reply. Wearing his shirt was worse than underwear. She saw a few sly looks, and knew just what half the people in the lift were thinking, given most hadn’t seen her in the building before. Same as what she was thinking.
That she’d come from his bed.
The elevator stopped on every floor of course, people taking a painfully slow time to exit. She was awkwardly aware of him standing too close because of the crowd. But even as it thinned he didn’t step away. As she was sandwiched between him and the wall, she couldn’t back away. She grew hotter and hotter as insanely inappropriate thoughts raced through her head. She stared straight ahead.
Get a grip, Chelsea.
It was clear he wasn’t similarly afflicted—not with the joking words he shared with another resident. The heat burned in her cheeks as he walked with her out onto her floor—his hand on her back. Oh so polite. Except for the inordinate amount of skin they were both displaying.
As soon as the elevator doors shut behind them, she stopped and turned to face him. Oh mamma, it was damn hard to verbalize anything when confronted by that body.
“You really don’t need to see me to my door,” she said huskily.
He merely walked around her, strolling along the corridor before turning back to face her, right outside her apartment. His smile was shameless. “You’re wearing my favorite tee-shirt.”
“Oh,” she glanced down and walked the last few paces to her door—where he already waited.
Suddenly he was standing closer than he had in the elevator. She could feel the raw denim of his jeans brushing the outside of her thigh. Wicked laughter danced in his eyes. Too overwhelming.
She looked down at his bare chest. A sprinkling of hair. Flat brown nipples that she could easily reach with her tongue. And a tan. And she’d already experienced the warmth of it, and the hard strength. It was a chest for touching, admiring, tasting. She’d have it beneath her, above her, his arms around her. He had such sensuality emanating from him—challenging her.
A frisson of aggression rippled through her body. She’d never been challenged this way. Never met anyone so blatantly wanting with just a look and a smile.
She didn’t want blatant. When she got back in the scene, she’d be taking it very, very easy. Not squaring off with some playboy. She lifted her chin and pulled the tee-shirt off in a quick movement, letting it dangle on the end of her finger.
“Thanks,” she said, totally feigning moxie.
With a grin he lifted the shirt from her crooked index finger and hooked it into his belt so it hung like a rag down the side of his leg.
“My pleasure.” The polite rejoinder sounded way too intimate to be all that polite. It sounded dangerous. And tempting. He leaned closer, bracing his arm on her doorway—so he took up even more of her vision. Dominating.
“What are you doing?”
“Making a move.”
Oh my. How was that for blunt? “Isn’t there some code of ethics that stops you superhero rescue guys from getting involved with the people you save?”
“Not that I’m aware of.”
“There should be. Women might mistake gratitude for lu—something else.”
“You think you’re feeling ‘something else’ for me?”
“I… no.” Somehow she held eye contact. The way he was looking at her sent flickers of heat along every nerve cell.
“Anyway, I didn’t really rescue you,” he said. “You’d have slid down the banister or something if you’d had to. Really it was all an excuse to get my hands on you.”
“Oh, so you’ve no ethics then.”
“Guess not.” He had that total ‘whaddaya gonna do about it’ look on his face.
And it was obvious what he was going to do about it. The laughter in his eyes was wicked—and mesmerizing.
It was a game. She got that. Except the sizzle that she felt wasn’t entirely playful. It was intense. And as she stared up at him the smile in his eyes and on his lips faded as a predatory look hardened his expression. She raised her hand. Pressed her fingertips on his mouth. To stop him? To touch him? She didn’t really know.
He stilled beneath her touch, his eyes locked on hers. In their depths she saw it, the reflection of her fantasy. Of being with him, against this door. Right here. Now. Hard. Rough. Fast.
She felt his breath on her fingers. Then his tongue. Curling around her middle finger. A sizzle shot up her arm. Intense, fierce desire ripped through her. She snatched her fingers away.
“Sorry,” she mumbled. Embarrassment burned all over her face. She’d been about to moan in the middle of the hallway.
“S’okay,” he softly answered, his eyes never leaving hers. “Anytime.”
She swallowed. The invitation hung in the small space between them. Awareness sparked between them. Sensuality oozed from the man—drawing her in.
“What did you say your name was?” he asked, leaning that bit closer.
She slowly shook her head. “Not Lois Lane.” She wasn’t going to fall for superhero good looks and good deeds. Nor the not-so-good deeds.
“No?” He reached out and took her hand. “You’re going to make me work for it?”
She leaned back against her door, glad it was behind her and able to take the bulk of her weight. But it made the temptation to part her legs all the more irresistible. Because the look in his eyes told her, captured her, swayed her.
He was going to kiss her and she was going to let him. She was going to let him do whatever the hell he wanted to do with her. She was one of the millions and she didn’t give a damn.
The elevator pinged. The door opened, expelling more people. His fingers tightened on hers. Suddenly he frowned—at the interruption?
But he didn’t look to the too-loud residents. Instead he looked down—staring hard at her hand. Then she felt the way her fingers were pressed together by his. Metal pressed into her skin—hurting. Her ring. The white gold ring with the solitaire in the center. The one she hadn’t been able to bring herself to remove in the two years since she’d been given it. The two years since the accident that had ended all their plans.
No mistaking what kind of ring it was. She swallowed. She should explain.
“I.. um…” She pulled her hand free. She couldn’t do it. She couldn’t talk about it. Nor could she pull off any real kind of flirt. Better to escape. “My keys are up by the pool,” she said quickly. “I left my bag up there.”
“I’ll go get them.” He offered instantly, but his expression had shuttered. He stepped back.
“No, I can do it.” She straightened up. “I can get them myself.” She’d have to get past the guys at the desk to get to the pool again, but they’d do it for her. They’d been kind to her before and she was sure they’d be okay with it.
“Of course.” He stood still, glanced again at her ring, his muscles tense.
She walked past him, her limp worse than ever. Belatedly she turned, determined to be polite despite the ferocious chill that was emanating from him now. “Thank you.”
“Any time.”
He still sounded like he meant it.
But he didn’t sound pleased.
Chapter Three
One, two, three, four, one, two, three, four.
Xander pounded his feet in time with his counts but still couldn’t lose himself in the rhythm and relax mindlessly into the zone. His brain churned in a tight circle.
The new occupant of unit 1605 had been genuinely scared when he’d found her stuck in the stairwell like a headlights-hit bunny. Her pallor, the fear in her eyes had been too much for a little unexpected fire drill. But she’d gotten distracted—he’d seen to that. To the point that she’d touched him. Then the fear had flashed back. As if she’d thought she shouldn’t have reached out. Well course she’d shouldn’t. Not with that giant rock on her finger.
The fucking engagement ring.
What the hell was she doing coloring up ar
ound him, her body responding so swiftly when she was engaged? It hadn’t been the chill tightening her nipples, it had been arousal. The look in her eyes had been pure sexual yearning and he—
“Tell us about the tee-shirt girl.” Hunter interrupted his thoughts with a goading challenge.
“Nothing to tell.” He pushed his pace a little faster, but his buddies easily stretched it out, keeping up with him.
“What tee-shirt?” Rocco asked.