Stars Over Castle Hill (On Dublin Street 6.6)

Yes, I was afraid of turning thirty and being alone, something I never thought I’d feel. But wasn’t another one-night stand the exact opposite of what my heart was telling me I wanted?

You don’t know what you want.

Shit.

Feeling suddenly cold—and yes, I admit it, scared—I wrapped my arms around my waist and backed away from the door. I couldn’t go in there. Maybe I was finally growing up because the idea of having sex with a stranger didn’t appeal to me. My body wouldn’t react. At least not in a sexy way.

Decision made, I hurried down the hotel corridor on light feet, breathing a sigh of relief when I stepped into the elevator.

I was exhausted, and ready to sleep away my worries.

To my irritation, the elevator stopped on a ballroom floor. Oh God, please don’t let there be a function going on that involves the soccer team.

That would be just my luck.

Holding my breath, I waited as the elevator dinged as the doors opened. Only one man stood on the other side. A very tall, rugged-as-hell man staring wearily at the floor.

As he stepped inside the elevator, a strange current of electricity zipped down my spine, and all of a sudden I wasn’t exhausted anymore. He was so big, his powerful shoulders stretched the beautiful fabric of his expensive tuxedo as he moved. I felt overwhelmed by him as he filled the space.

I peeked over at him where he leaned against the side of the elevator and ran a hand through his hair. He had a sharp jawline, a cleft chin, wide cheekbones, and a roman nose. Dark stubble shadowed his cheeks and his hair was kind of messy, even before he put his fingers through it. Altogether, his rugged unkemptness seemed at odds with the stylish tuxedo.

And then he lifted his gaze to me; as I froze, he seemed to also.

He had startling pale blue eyes framed by long dark lashes.

He wasn’t classically handsome, but those eyes … gorgeous.

Eyes that instantly sharpened with interest as they moved down my body, lingered over my breasts and legs, before traveling back up to my face.

I felt like all the air had been sucked out of me, and the only way to get the oxygen back was via this man.

Oh boy.

The Elevator

I couldn’t ignore the sudden increased speed of my heart, of the tightening in my breasts, or the delicious flip in my lower belly as The Tux stared at me.

What was perhaps only seconds felt like hours as my whole body seemed to come alive under his pale gaze.

I liked blonds.

Always preferred them.

And yet … here I was … wildly physically attracted to this stranger who had little flecks of gray in his dark hair. His lips curled up at the corner at my blatant inspection as I responded in kind to his own inspection of me. The action caused laughter lines to appear around his eyes, and damn if that didn’t make him more attractive.

I put him in his late thirties, maybe forty, and by the way his tux fitted his broad shoulders and smoothed down his flat stomach, I deduced The Tux worked out.

The tingling between my legs grew more insistent as I pictured him naked.

As if he suspected where my wayward thoughts had gone, The Tux’s eyes darkened with unmistakable heat.

As his lips parted to speak, the elevator juddered sharply, knocking me off balance. I gripped the handrail behind me for support as my heart tried to jump out of my chest. There was a creaking noise, and then nothing.

The elevator had stopped.

Stuck.

I looked over at The Tux and he threw me a smile, his white teeth slightly crooked. That imperfect smile sent a bolt of longing straight through my chest, and I momentarily forgot the elevator situation.

“Do you think we broke it?” The Tux asked with a lazy drawl.

He had a lovely Scottish accent, soft and sharp at the same time.

“And how did we manage that?”

His grin deepened but he didn’t answer me.

Did he mean we broke it with our sexual chemistry? Because that would mean he was feeling the heat?

Had I walked away from a one-night-stand to encounter the possibility of another? Because … I wasn’t sure I could say no to this guy, no matter how much of a bad idea it was.

Of course you can say no.

You’re not an animal, not a slave to your own lust.

My eyes ran down his back as he turned to pick up the emergency phone.

I imagined what it would be like to dig my fingers into that strong back as he thrust inside of me.

“Jesus Christ,” I bit out.

He glanced over his shoulder at me. “Everything okay? You’re not claustrophobic, are you?”

Nope. Just fantasizing about fucking your brains out. “A little.”

He frowned. “We shouldn’t be here long. Aye,” he said into the phone, “that’s right, we’re stuck … how long … Can’t you move faster than that? … What good is that? … Fine.” He hung up and turned to me with “bad news face.”

“The company that does their lift maintenance is from East Lothian. So we have to wait for them to come out.”

“Why wouldn’t they use a city company?” I huffed.

“Because that would be too easy.”

I laughed humorlessly at his sarcasm. Shrugging out of my raincoat, I slumped down onto the floor. “Might as well get comfy, then.”

The Tux seemed to see the sense in that and unbuttoned his tux jacket before lowering himself to the floor. His legs were so long, even with bent knee the tips of our shoes touched. For some reason that made me smirk and when I looked up at him, he was smirking right back at me.

“So you’re American?”

“Once upon a time. I’ve lived here a while. Dual citizenship.”

“American Scottish,” he mused, as if he found the concept interesting. And then he leaned over to hold out his large hand to me. “Braden Carmichael.”

I stared at his hand a moment too long, finding myself studying every minute detail, from his long, elegant fingers to his big knuckles and tan skin.

He cleared his throat and I shook myself out of my stupor long enough to reach for his hand.

As skin glided against skin, I sucked in a breath. The calloused roughness of his palm against the softness of mine caused the hair on my arm to rise. Our eyes locked and I noted the slight flare of his nostrils, like he was surprised too by the literal electricity passing between us.

“Jocelyn Butler,” I managed as he tightened his grip on the shake. We stared at one another, and I wondered if he was ever going to

give me my hand back. “Joss,” I found myself saying, “everyone calls me Joss.” I tugged gently on my hand and he let go with an obvious reluctance.

“What brings you to the hotel?” he asked.

I made a sexual assignation with a complete stranger and chickened out. “Hanging out with a friend who was visiting. You?”

He gestured to his tuxedo. “Young Scots Award Ceremony. I presented the business entrepreneur award. I’ve come from the after-party.”

“Oh? Carmichael … I know that name. You own businesses here in the city, right?”

“I own a few local businesses, yes.”

Now I remembered. I’d passed his estate agency, and I’d read about more of his businesses in the paper. “You own more than a few. You’ve practically got a mini-empire.”

He scrutinized me. “And what do you do, Jocelyn?”

An involuntary shiver ran through me at the way his deep voice curled around my name. “It’s Joss,” I said. No one had called me Jocelyn in a long time. That name was a part of a different life. “And I’m a writer.”

Interest arrested his features. “Published?”

I nodded.

“Anything I might have heard of?”

“Do you read paranormal and fantasy?” I said, doubting it very much.

“No.” He gave me a small smile. “I’m more of a thriller and military fiction kind of guy.”

“I would never have guessed,” I said, letting my eyes drift over his strong biceps.

Braden shot me an arrogant smolder. The man knew exactly how sexy he was. “If you keep checking me out, I may have to return the favor, Jocelyn.”

Amusement prodded at my mouth but I managed to keep a straight face. “You’ve already checked me out.”

“I meant more. I’ll check you out more.” He smiled, a teasing, deliciously crooked smile that made my lower belly do that little flip again.

“We’re in much too close confinement for that kind of behavior.”

I was joking but Braden frowned. “You sure you’re going to be all right?”

“Huh?”

“Your claustrophobia.”

Oh right. I’d said that, didn’t I? “It’s a very mild case.”