Breathe for Me (Be for Me 1)

Really? Chelsea’s narrowed her eyes. He was going to give her the lover-look now? When he’d walked out while she was asleep and not made any kind of contact since?

Well she was so not letting him know she’d been thinking of him and nothing but for the last eighty hours. She had pride. She’d play it cool. Well, as cool as possible given the oxygen in the elevator seemed to have been sucked out, leaving a smokin’ atmosphere.

“You mad with me?”

Oh he was that arrogant. “Why would I be mad?” She quickly touched her tongue to her lips. It really was because her mouth was parched, not a come-on move.

“For leaving like that.”

She blinked as the elevator began to ascend. Someone on another floor must have summoned it.

“Not at all.” She eased her stiff lips into a smile. “I didn’t mind missing the awkward goodbye.”

“No?” His eyes widened slightly, so did his smile. “Maybe it wouldn’t have been that awkward.”

She laughed lightly—irresistibly—at the wry humor that always warmed his words. “You were worried it would be.” It was so obvious he’d not wanted some clingy scene.

“Maybe.” Now his eyes narrowed. “But you know, I’ve been trying to be a hero.”

“Again?” Her brows arched. “How so?”

“I’ve been trying to be good and stay away from you.”

“How is that being good?”

“I didn’t think it would be in yo—our—best interests to…” he trailed off.

Now why wouldn’t it be in her best interests? That was what he’d meant despite that last second correction. What did he think might happen to her?

She couldn’t help a small chuckle of amusement. Definitely arrogant. But the expression in his eyes gave her ego a boost—he still wanted her. He absolutely still wanted her. Well he’d probably get what he wanted. But she kind of liked the idea of taking him down a peg while she could.

“Well,” she slowly mused. “You said it yourself. Superheroes aren’t perfect. They usually have some kind of fatal flaw.”

“Fatal flaw?” He looked both unbelieving and unimpressed.

She nodded, refusing to laugh again. “Usually something’s happened in their past—something that then drives them on to try to help others. To defeat the bad guys, to protect the innocent or something. But back in that past, they got damaged somehow. Or maybe they did some kind of damage. There’s always a weakness.” She angled her head and watched him closely but his eyes gave nothing away. “So I’m wondering what it is that’s happened in your past, Superman? What are you running from? What is it that drives you to play the one who saves?”

His expression remained blank but he stepped nearer, bracing his hands on the wall either side of her so he hemmed her in. “I’m not sure. I must have repressed the bad memories.”

She lifted her brows at his attempt to distract her and deflect the query. Although admittedly his efforts were working. His smile turned wicked as he caught her taking a split-second to reacquaint her mind with the breadth of his shoulders.

“So, you’re not mad at me.” He was all confidence.

“Nope.” She was all bravado.

“Yet you’re looking flushed. Why would that be?”

“It’s a hot evening.” Her voice petered out as he leaned in even closer.

“We’re in an air-conditioned elevator,” he whispered.

Oh there was no air in here at all. “And we can’t go up and down in it all night.”

“Why not?” He glanced down at her breasts.

Yeah, they were there and obvious in her thin button-through blouse and at just that look her sensitive nipples tightened.

His confident smile widened as she breathed faster, shorter.

She fought to retain control of the situation. “Xander—”

“Code for yes.”

She didn’t answer as the lift doors opened and another resident got in the lift. Xander didn’t move, didn’t say anything. Just kept watching her reaction. She got hotter, restless, breathless—fully embarrassed, yet wickedly excited at being held in such an intimate pose in the presence of someone else.

She didn’t breathe until the doors slid open again.

“What are you thinking about, Chelsea?” he murmured the second that resident exited the lift and the doors closed.

He was teasing. He knew exactly what was going on in her mind.

“You wouldn’t be thinking about sex, would you?” he added. “Because I sure as hell am.”

She swallowed. He leaned closer.

“But we have a problem,” he whispered.

“Oh?” She finally found the ability to make a noise.

“I don’t want anything more than what we shared the other day,” he said, shaking his head slowly. “Just sex. Lots and lots. Fantasy sex. But that’s all.”

“What makes you think I’d want anything more than that either?” she asked blandly.

He frowned. “Can you really handle it?” He clenched his jaw and slowly shook his head. “Come on Chelsea, you’re too ‘buttoned up good girl’ to even say yes. You’re repressed.”

Was she? What she was, was recovering. She’d been hurt and was a bit scared but wanted some kind of normal fun—twenty-something, city girl normal fun.

“Just because I find it difficult to express what I want, d-doesn’t mean I don’t want.” She stumbled through the sentence.

He stared at her—his eyes promising so much heat, yet coolly appraising too.

“Don’t be afraid you’re going to hurt me.” She pulled away from the wall, taking her weight on her own feet, bringing herself within a millimeter of him. “I’m a big girl. I can handle much more than you could ever imagine.”

“I hate to

break it to you but you’re really not that big,” he said, still thoughtful. Still assessing, as if he wasn’t sure she was truly up to it. “What is it you want from me?”

Wasn’t it obvious? She cleared her throat. “You already know.”

“So say it.” He frowned. “You need to learn to communicate your needs better. I can take a good guess but I’m not a mind reader.” He wrapped his hands around her wrists. “What do you want from me?”

Her chutzpah had got her only so far and now it deserted her. He was right—she had been ‘good’—not that experienced. Not in the art of the casual fling. She swallowed. She couldn’t say it. Yet she knew he wasn’t going to stand for silence. He’d walk and she’d lose her opportunity to progress on her new path—no to serious relationships, but yes to occasional sex, to lightness. “More of the same. But nothing more.”

“Act out a few fantasies?” He watched. Waited.

She said nothing, but she knew he could feel her pulse speeding.

“You want me to call the shots,” he said.

She nodded, though again they both knew it hadn’t really been a question.

His hands tightened. “There’s only so far I’ll go. If you want pain you’ve come to the wrong guy.”

“I don’t want pain,” she said quickly, frowning. She’d had enough real pain in her life. “Just fun. Play.” Just sex. Pleasure in passion.

“Hot, hard fun?”

Wild, energetic, frenetic. She wanted it all. But she remained wordless, just looking at him. Desire ran like quicksilver in her veins as she watched that assessing look fade under the edgier, heated flare in his expression.

Excitement, anticipation put her senses on high alert. She wanted him to take what he wanted.

He swore under his breath and lifted a hand to her chin, tilting her face up to his—bringing her close enough to kiss. She couldn’t help licking her lips at the thoughts running through her head—at the excitement of what he might be thinking of.

“Fuck yeah,” he muttered, bringing his mouth down on hers.

The desire that had been building in her belly burst out in an unstoppable flood. Heat and need overtook as she opened and tasted. She drank him in, relishing the forcefulness with which he kissed her. He pulled her closer, slamming her body against his, as if he too felt desperate to be in complete contact. She rocked to meet him and pleasure tremored through her as his hand clamped to her butt to hold her close. Mentally she screamed.