“Yeah, had to work late,” I said and watched the floors begin to count down. I wanted to take a shower at home and change before going to NOX, but I couldn’t be late. Despite myself, I was practically bouncing with excitement about what tonight would bring.
Just as we reached the second floor, the elevator’s lights flickered, and the steel box jerked to a bumpy stop. “No,” I said, when the cable above groaned. “No, no, no!” I started slapping my palm on the door. “Not again! You piece-of-shit elevator! Not again!”
“Miss Parisi?” Harry’s voice said from behind me. “May I?”
For a second I’d forgotten that Harry was behind me. Oh. My. God. I was stuck in this godforsaken elevator. I was going to be late for Maître and, worse, I was trapped here with Harry Sinclair.
I pressed the button for the lobby repeatedly, so fast my wrist was at risk of developing a nasty case of carpal tunnel. When that failed to work, I tucked my things under my arm and ran my palms up and down all the buttons on the grid. No lights. Nothing. It was completely dead.
“Cazzo!” I shouted, the feisty Italian in me taking over.
“Miss Parisi!” Harry said more sternly. “Please move. Although you appear to be an expert in lift maintenance and repair, I’m afraid this time your talents seem to have failed you.”
I closed my eyes and stepped aside, mentally talking myself down from bitch slapping the English asshole. He’s your boss, Faith. Let’s not get fired when you’re finally getting ahead.
“Sinclair House, elevator three,” Harry said into the emergency phone. “Thank you.” He hung up and turned to me.
“That was my next option,” I said, sinking into the wall. The lights above us flickered again then suddenly plunged us into darkness. A shrill, banshee-like sound traitorously fled my mouth, and I launched forward when the elevator jerked again, convincing me that we were about to plummet to our immediate demise.
In seconds the elevator stilled and the dim emergency lights came on, blanketing the small space in musty yellow light. I counted to ten, trying to slow my panicked heart. It wasn’t until my breathing had calmed that I realized I was wrapped around something hard, smelling of mint, sandalwood, and musk.
My eyes widened feeling rippling abdominals flex against my chest and back muscles moving against my palms. As I slowly lifted my head, my gaze passed an open collar, the lightly tanned skin of a corded neck, and an incredibly strong clenched jaw with a hint of dark stubble, and came to a stop at a pair of bright blue eyes that were narrowed and watching my every move.
With awkwardness reigning, I smiled widely and said, “Well, of all the places in all the world, fancy meeting you here.” Realizing I was wrapped tightly around Harry like an overly attached spider monkey, I quickly unlatched my arms from his waist and stepped back.
Flustered, I pushed my hair from my face and moved to the far side of the elevator. “I was just checking you were okay. Some people can be scared of the dark, you know? I was just doing my civic duty in protecting a visitor to our fine country.”
“Is that so?” Harry asked, his face as stoic and unreadable as ever.
“Yep.”
Silence screamed around us, and I realized that I would never complain about the terribly played piano music filtering through elevator speakers again. Silence in general made me twitchy. Marrying that with the high anxiety of being stuck in a premade metal coffin gave me the unstoppable urge to fill it with noise.
“So, you work out?” I asked Harry, who lifted his head. Apparently, the floor had been a more interesting view than the clearly unstable agony aunt across from him, who now knew his clothing measurements intimately.
Harry raised a single eyebrow. I pointed to his body, circling his torso and arm region. “Hard,” I said, instant regret settling within me as the word slipped from my mouth. “Muscles.” I winced. That wasn’t any better. “That I was wrapped around. That I felt. The abs and back and—”
The emergency phone rang and Harry answered it, leaving me free to exhale in embarrassment and lean my head back against the wall. Every time I was around this man my mouth never failed to betray me.
“That is not the best news,” Harry said tightly to whoever was on the other end of the phone. “But thank you. We shall but wait.”
As he hung up the phone, I felt my hopes for a hot and steamy night with Maître plummeting as deeply as the Titanic. Harry sighed. “They had to call for the elevator repair service.”
“Great.” I slid down the cold metal wall to the floor. Harry watched me, opening another of his shirt collar buttons, laid his jacket on the floor, and sat down. I couldn’t help but laugh.