At first she registered only confusion as her fingers touched something soft, wet and cold. Then the spring-fresh scent hit her and she giggled. “That’s not a condom. It’s a travel wipe.”
A pause. Even in the dark she felt him staring at her.
“You’re kidding me.”
She stifled another giggle. He sounded amazed and put out at the same time. “I keep them in the same bag. I like to be prepared.”
“You got cigarettes and brandy in there for afterward?”
“You’ll have to wait and see,” she teased, digging in to the silk pouch and identifying a packet that definitely contained a condom. “Here.”
This time the ripping sound was much slower, and she could tell he was examining the condom before withdrawing it from its package.
He must have been satisfied, for she felt a movement beside her that suggested he was putting it on.
It was so dark, and he felt so good, she wouldn’t think about tomorrow—or even tonight, after they were rescued.
There was only now. Her body yearned for him, open and wanting, their isolation only increasing the sense of intimacy and mystery.
Because there was no light, she learned his body by touch, as he learned hers.
Darkness, she discovered, was a potent aphrodisiac.
CHAPTER THREE
PATRICK KNEW that as long as he lived, he’d never forget this night.
The dream that had haunted him for two months since Briana walked into his office was turning into a reality. She was so warm and soft, womanly and exciting, so exactly as he’d imagined.
She smelled like fresh rain, felt like soft velvet, and her skin tasted like warm, willing woman. With a rush of potent longing he wanted to taste all of her. But right at this moment he needed to bury himself deep inside her body more than he needed to breathe.
And she was begging him to do exactly that.
“Please…” Her voice was trembling with excitement. “Come inside me. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Whatever the lady wants,” he said softly, settling between her thighs.
He kissed her deeply. He wanted her to know what this meant to him, what she meant to him.
“Briana, I—”
“Now, please.” She grasped his shaft and placed him at the hot slick entrance to her body.
Raw need took hold of him and he thrust hard and deep into heaven.
Her wordless cry of pleasure filled his ears, her warmth surrounded him, her scent delighted him as he thrust, wishing he could prolong this sensual buildup forever, knowing he’d be done in an embarrassingly short time.
It had been so long.
As her body arched to meet him, as she thrashed mindlessly against him, he slipped a hand between their bodies and touched her. The timbre of her cries changed, becoming deeper, more guttural. Knowing she was close, he let himself go a little more, riding her hard, loving the way she hooked her legs around him and stayed with him all the way.
He felt the moment she surrendered, felt her body clench around his shaft, and he lost his own control, feeling the surge of powerful pleasure as he emptied himself into her.
Then he collapsed, damp and spent against her, and she wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair.
Finally, he thought dimly, after two months of torment. Finally.
He kissed her softly, thinking he’d never ride this elevator again without remembering….
Along with an awkwardness that his knees felt bruised from rubbing on the hard floor of the elevator came a reminder of his responsibilities. His first thought was for his kids. Had they been scared? He wished he’d been there when the ground started to shake. At least he had a reliable housekeeper. Then he turned his mind to the emergency crews. What was going on in his city while he was stuck in this dangling box?
PATRICK GLANCED at his watch. Even in the dark, Briana knew what he was doing. She could see the pale green numbers glowing in the dark. Did he want to be rid of her already?
An hour or so ago, when they’d rebuttoned themselves, he’d tried the emergency phone installed in the elevator, but it wasn’t working. He’d cursed, frustration coming off him in waves, and she’d thought to herself, Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.
Since then, they’d sat side by side on the hard floor. He’d become fidgety and morose. He checked his watch again. She felt his impatience, heard it echo around in the dark elevator as his feet tapped the floor.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Hmm?” For the third time he turned his wrist to stare at his watch.
“Ten-fifteen.” His breath exploded out of him. “The baby-sitter is expecting me home. What’s she going to do when I don’t show up?”
Since that was obviously a rhetorical question, she didn’t answer directly. Instead, she reached out, touching his arm in a comforting gesture.
He wasn’t acting this way because he wanted to be rid of her now they’d had sex. Patrick was a single dad. A fact that she’d allowed herself to forget. He had responsibilities, children who needed him home.
She hung her head, knowing he couldn’t see her guilty face in the dark. Inside her bag was her cell phone—a fact she hadn’t bothered sharing with him because she’d been so busy trying to lure him into indiscretion.
She had a choice.
She could continue to pretend there was no phone in her bag.
Or she could admit to the phone, hoping her acting abilities were good enough that he’d believe she’d forgotten the stupid thing or simply assumed it wouldn’t work.
A long, silent minute ensued. She felt his urgency and her own conflicted feelings.
But most of all, she found herself remembering how it felt to be parentless. That sense of utter desolation—that you didn’t belong to anyone anymore. That the place where you were safest and most special was gone forever, along with those who’d loved you best.
Patrick’s son, Dylan, was nine, little Fiona five. She’d met them a couple of times at the office and she’d liked them. They were quiet, well-behaved kids. Both times they’d come with their Aunt Shannon, Patrick’s firefighter sister, and the four of them had gone out for lunch. She could see that lunch with Dad was a big treat.
They must have been so young when their mother died.
She took a deep breath. He was never going to believe she’d forgotten she had her phone. She’d have to go with the brainless angle, which irked her.
“Is there a chance my cell phone
