I clear my throat and press the button for the fifth floor. Nothing.
I press it again, harder, then pound all the buttons in desperation.
The grinding starts again, and I freeze, afraid to move, afraid to breathe. I don’t dare touch another button for fear of plunging us to our deaths.
My panicked gaze takes in the mountain man next to me. When I say mountain, I don’t mean a glorified hill. He’s of an epic variety: Mount Everest or the Himalayas. Perhaps the elevator couldn’t handle his heft. Or the weight of my tulle.
“Sooo… Ha-ha… This is freaky. I’ve never been stuck in an elevator before.” I bite my lip to stop babbling. I don’t want to seem more unhinged than I already am, what with the ogling and the grabbing. And now the fear of imminent death.
“It’s a first for me, too,” he says. The depth of his voice echoes through me.
“Unless you countThe Escape,” I whisper, so as not to wake the sleeping child.The Escapeis one of his most popular blockbusters.
“Except that wasn’t real. You do realize I didn’t climb thirty-nine floors through an elevator shaft?”
“You didn’t do the stunts yourself?” I eye the way his navy-blue Henley hugs rock-hard biceps.
“I did all the stunts myself. But we were on set, not in an actual elevator.”
“Still,” I say. I can’t let this go. Hollywood led me to believe he can fix any situation with just his muscles and a quip. But in real life, he has no quips, and he’s exchanged his famous grin for a grimace.
Why be stuck in an elevator with the most famous action hero on the planet if he won’t do anything to get us out?
“Are you sure you can’t force open the doors? Fix it with duct tape?” I stare pointedly at his powerful forearms.
He rolls his eyes. I’d be offended, but I suspect he’s only pretending to be annoyed. The questions I’m asking are valid.
“I could try to force the door open, but it might trigger us falling again.”
I shake my head. “Oh no. That would be bad.”
“And I’m all out of duct tape.”
“You really should plan better. Ronan Masters in the movies always has duct tape,” I grumble.
“Noted,” he says, as dry as the Sahara.
I crane my neck to admire his strong jaw. If we don’t sit down soon, I’ll have a neck cramp.
“Perhaps, and this is just a wild idea here,” he says, “but we could press the emergency button and call for help? Disappointing as that may be—”
I’m already on it. Before he can finish his sentence, I break eye contact with the sexy beast and leap toward the elevator’s control panel. Perhaps I should be the action star. I’m hitting the call button, the emergency button, and every button that’s there. But…nothing.
“Why are none of these working?” I whisper-cry.
My actions anger the Elevator Gods. There’s a splintering sound full of evil and malice. I’m not stupid. I throw myself back onto the star, trying to avoid the sleeping girl, while burrowing myself into his side. It doesn’t take much to be encased in his arms, what with the space being so tiny.
I resist the urge to grope his granite abs. Even without duct tape, his presence is comforting.
I’m not sure if it’s my banging, the groaning elevator, or me jumping Ronan, but the little girl in his arms opens big blue eyes and, with a wide yawn, looks around.
She doesn’t seem alarmed about the stranger-danger situation.
“Hello,” she says shyly. She turns away, burying her face in Ronan’s shoulder, but then curiosity seems to get the best of her, and she turns back to me. “Who are you?” she asks with a slight English accent.
Given that we’re both clinging to the same man, it’s a fair question.
“Pleased to meet you,” I say. “I’m Poppy.”
