“My domain.”
He grinned at her. “Ominous.”
Her sly glance from the corners of her eyes up at him seemed like she was beginning to relax. “Maybe.”
He was chuckling as the elevator doors slid open.
As they walked inside, Kingston assumed the standard elevator-riding position: facing the doors, feet shoulder-width with weight evenly distributed, hands clasped in front, and silent. If the elevator had been crowded, he would have sorted himself into a staggered row.
The elevator lurched and jiggled, then began laboriously dragging itself upward, hand over hand, swaying as it jerked.
The stairs would’ve been faster.
Nicole leaned against the side wall, facing him. “So, where are you from?”
Unease washed through him, but he was in the West. Even complete strangers lounged in the elevator, looked straight into each other’s eyeballs, and held entire conversations within the enclosed, forced intimate space.
Shocking, really.
Kingston softened his face with a small smile and turned to look at her. “I live in Connecticut now, near Bridgeport.”
“You sound like you’re from England.”
“I’ve spent a lot of time overseas as a child.”
“I was born and raised here in SoCal, in Oceanside,” she said. “I live in an apartment complex just a short drive from work. My landlord is being rude about a few plants I’m growing on my balcony.”
All right, so they were talking in this closed coffin of an elevator.
He softened his stance and angled toward her. “I’m sorry to hear your landlord is being a dick.”
“Yeah, but I pay my rent on time. He can’t do anything about it.”
“That’s good.”
Nicole had stuffed her hands in the front pockets of her jeans, and her lush body bent at the waist as she gazed up at him. The air conditioner blowing even in the elevator brushed the curling tendrils of her hair around her face.
Her face was sweet, Kingston noted. Her cheeks were soft, rounded, and her dark eyes seemed luminous, glowing with the light of a dark sun. Her blinks made him think of shyness.
He could crowd her back against the wall of the elevator, pull that elastic loop thing out of her hair and let it tumble over her shoulders, and kiss the daylights out of her right there.
His lips warmed with the mental image of being pressed against her mouth, her throat.
She asked him, “Where have you lived other than Connecticut?”
He forgot his role as a nondescript salesman. “I attended boarding school in Switzerland from the time I was eleven through high school. I’ve lived in Paris, Zurich, and London, among shorter stints elsewhere.”
Her eyes widened as she stared at him in wonder.“Wow.”
Had he phrased it quite like that just to elicit that response? Did he want to pique her interest in him?
He shouldn’t. He was lying to her about too much. A smart woman with significant computer acumen, which Nicole Lamb most assuredly was, would discover that he was an owner of Last Chance, Inc. far too quickly. His social media profiles weren’t hidden.
“I’ve never been to any of those places,” she said.
I’ll take you,was on the tip of his tongue.I’ll show you the world.
He swiveled back to stare at the elevator doors and watched the number3finally light up. “You should go. They’re nice.”
