“Tease.” The set-down is made in a gruff baritone I haven’t heard directed at me in a long time.
My response is instantaneous and clipped. “Not true.”
Our bitter anger at each other is over a sordid interlude that never happened. I stiffen, always unsettled when I think of that time.
His long finger hits the button for the top floor.
Just fantastic.He’s headed for theGranthorpe Daily Dispatchoffices, too. Why is this happening? We avoided getting this close to each other for the entire football season while riding buses, performing in stadiums, and celebrating at parties. We were so good for so long.
“Move,” I say, my skin prickling at the charge in the air. Being near him is like standing under dark storm clouds before the first lightning strike. “I’ll get out.”
He doesn’t move.
Yeah, as stated,asshole.
I circle the edge of the elevator, but the door closes too quickly. Huffing out an impatient breath, I back into the corner, folding my arms across my chest.
The car rises a couple of floors and then jerks to a halt, causing me to bang against the wall.
The lights go out.Oh, God.
My breath catches at our sudden plunge into darkness, and my voice comes out agitated. “Shit. What the hell?”
Sorensen, the Viking action figure, must be as still as a goddamned statue because I hear nothing from him, not even breathing.
“There’s a phone in here, right?” I demand. “Make use of it please.”
As far as I can tell, he doesn’t move. There’s no rustling of clothes or shuffling of feet to suggest he’s gotten closer to the panel.
“If you’ve used up your allotted ten words for the day, move aside. I’ll find the phone.”
Silence.
I want to screech and attack like a vicious wendigo. I wish I was one. Then, if I were trapped here for a prolonged period, at least I wouldn’t starve. There’s enough muscle on his body to get me through at least March.
The thought of eating him makes me recall the source of our feud, and I chuckle softly at the irony of that twisted thought.
As I move forward, his monolithic stone impression thwarts my attempt to reach the control panel.
“Hey, Thing, can you move?”
“Thing?” The low disembodied voice strikes me as sinister and slightly sexy.
Do not go there, Arya. He is off-limits. Forever.
“Marvel? Fantastic Four? Former football star whose flesh turns to stone.” I push against his hard body with my hands, not even sure where they land.
His hand grabs my right forearm and closes around it. All the way, despite my puffy coat. He’s monstrous, and for some sick reason, I wonder how those fingers would feel inside me.
“Look,” I say, trying to pull my arm free of his grasp. “I just—”
“Behave yourself.”
What the fuck?
When I speak, my tone drips acid. “Excuse me?”
I slap my palm against his chest, giving him a shove with enough force to throw anyone off balance. The Viking should have to catch himself, but his bulk doesn’t shift. It’s as though his goddamned tree trunk legs have grown roots into the elevator’s steel frame.
