“Just a glitch,” I reassured. “We’ll be moving any second.”
But my reassurance bounced off her panic. Her chest rose and fell in rapid succession, the swell of her breasts something I absolutely should not be fixating on right now.
“Faith.” I moved my hand to cup her cheek again, thumb stroking the delicate skin in an attempt to anchor her back to safety. “It’s okay. We’re safe.”
She tore her gaze from the elevator doors and locked on to mine.
God, I loved it a little too much. Being the one to hold her in the only time she’d ever shown vulnerability. Being her sanctuary in the storm of fear. And being the one who could protect her from her own terror.
“It’s okay,” I repeated, my thumb still stroking her cheek. When she nibbled on her bottom lip, I had no business fixating on the movement. But, God, those lips. She had no idea how many times I’d been staring at them, wondering what gloriouswords would tumble out next. Wondering what they would feel like, pressed against my own.
I searched her gaze for any sign that what I was about to do wasn’t okay.
Stop this,my rational brain commanded.She’s your best friend’s sister. Plus, what if this was taking advantage of her, being trapped in an elevator while she’s having a panic attack?
But what if it takes her mind off of it?I countered.
That’s when I caught it: hunger flickering in those stunning eyes, raw and unmistakable. And damn if my chest didn’t burn with satisfaction. She stared at my mouth like it held answers to questions she hadn’t known she was asking. The slight tilt of her head toward me, lips parted just barely, breath coming shallow and quick. Every signal screamedyes.
I had no business pulling her face closer to mine. No business threading my fingers through her hair, angling her jaw just so.
But she was in my arms, looking at me like I was everything.
I closed the distance and pressed my lips against hers. The first touch was gentle. Testing.
Then she made this sound that was half gasp, half moan, and I lost my mind. Her fingers tangled in my hair, pulling me down while she pushed up on her toes. I could taste cinnamon, could feel her heart hammering against my chest.
I had never kissed a woman like this before. The intensity was overwhelming, like fireworks and coming home and every fantasy rolled into one. Heat shot from my mouth straight down, and for just a brief moment, I wondered if we’d be trapped long enough to take this further. To give me time to kiss her neck, taste the salt of her skin, explore every inch of her.
She nibbled my bottom lip.
Holy shit.I backed her up and pressed her against the wall, the cool metal of the elevator contrasting with the heat radiating from her body.
Maybe she was just terrified of closed spaces, and this affordeddistraction. But something told me it meant more. There’d been a pull between us since we first met, like magnetic poles drawn together. I slid my hand down her throat and cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her shirt.
She gasped and bit my lower lip harder this time.
“You’re going to kill me,” I growled against her mouth.
“Good,” she shot back.
Feisty.I smiled against her mouth, claiming her tongue with my own. I reached for the hem of her shirt, fingers trailing up the smooth skin of her stomach. Another scar there, raised and circular.Cigarette burn,my brain supplied. Old. Childhood.
The list of people I wanted to destroy on her behalf grew longer.
I wanted to ask her about it, wondering if she’d confess any more of it to me, but before I had the chance, the elevator suddenly jerked again. And hummed to life.
No. No, no, no, no, no.
We had seconds, maybe.
I held her, and one question screamed louder than anything else: What did this mean to her?
“Faith …”
The doors opened with a cheerful ding that deserved death.
She straightened her clothes. Finger-combed her hair. Meanwhile, I stood there like an idiot, still tasting cinnamon, unwilling and unable to let this moment pass without saying something more.
