The night manager wrings his hands. “I’m so sorry, Mr. Masters. This has never happened before! We didn’t know the elevator was stuck.” The manager grovels to Ronan and ignores me.
“I wasn’t the only person trapped,” Ronan says, looking meaningfully at me.
The manager glances my way. “Yes! Of course. I’m sorry, miss.”
I nod, pleased that Ronan spoke up for me, even in this small capacity.
“No harm done,” I say. “It was an accident. These things happen.”
“Is the elevator fixed now?” the older gentleman asks. “My wife’s hip can’t handle the stairs.”
We turn to the repairman, who fiddles with his tool belt. “It might take a while.”
“I think we’ll take the stairs,” Ronan says quickly, as if another stint in the elevator would be one of Dante’s circles of hell.
Meanwhile, for me, our elevator time had been a top-tier life experience. Marriage. Firstborn child. Trapped in an elevator with Ronan Masters. It might rank even higher on the list if I count the almost-kiss, which I totally do.
“Are you sure I can’t do anything else for you, Mr. Masters?” the night manager asks.
“No. Thank you.” Ronan turns to me. “Are you waiting for the elevator?”
“No. I hear stairs are great for the thighs.”
Ronan glances at my voluminous skirt, which hides any evidence of how toned my thighs are—or, more truthfully, are not.
“I’ll have to take your word for it.”
We walk to the staircase. He tries to let me go first, but there’s no way I’m going to have him watch me as I huff and puff and wheeze up the stairs, so I insist he go ahead. By the time we hit the fourth floor, I’m regretting my lack of fitness. I knew I should have joined my mom’s Zumba class more often. Ronan, even carrying Belle, isn’t winded.
When we make it to level five, I blow the hair out of my eyes. “This is my floor,” I say.
“Ours also.” He opens the stairwell door for me like a gentleman.
I blush and murmur a breathless, “Thank you.” We walk in silence until he stops in front of a room.
“Here, let me take her,” I say as he attempts to reach into his pocket while carrying the groggy child.
With a nod, he passes Belle to me. “Shh, little one. You’re almost to bed,” I say when she stirs.
He opens the door, and I follow him in. Instead of taking Belle back, he clicks on the lights as he makes his way through the spacious suite. It’s got enormous windows overlooking an expansive lawn leading to the lake.
“Wow. This is way nicer than my room,” I remark, looking around the entryway and living area decorated with an elegant mix of modern and vintage furnishings.
He considers the room as if noticing his surroundings for the first time. “We haven’t been here much. But Belle loves it.”
I follow him into a rose-pink room. A four-poster bed, too large for a small girl, takes up most of the space. I can see why a princess enthusiast like Belle digs it.
“It’s very…” I struggle with the right words. “Floral. And pink.”
His mouth quirks. “It’s enough to give me nightmares, but Belle likes it.”
“Well, I’m not surprised. She likes my dress.”
He pretends his laugh is a cough, but I know it’s not.
“She especially likes the miniature pink Christmas tree in the corner,” he says.
“And what girl wouldn’t?”
