Rocking Belle to distract myself, I hum a familiar lullaby. I’m used to singing with kids. Every routine in my classroom has a song, from welcoming the day to cleaning up, from washing hands to saying goodbye. So I have zero self-consciousness with the under-ten crowd. But singing in front of the Sexiest Man Alive? That’s different.
Despite my nerves, I forge on with the tune as I rock the girl in my arms. Soon enough, she sinks back into a deep sleep. I shift until a mound of tulle supports her head.
“Sorry. I’m aware I’m not Taylor Swift.”
“It’s fine,” he grunts. After a minute, he adds, “Are you sure you want to hold her? She’s heavier than she looks.”
I die a little at just how rich his voice sounds, like sinful chocolate. And I’m a hot-chocoholic.
“I’m afraid if you take her back, she’ll wake. Is she scared of the dark?”
“She likes to sleep with a night-light. Don’t tell me you have a flashlight in there.”
“No…” I drawl. “But…”
I reach into my bag with my free hand, twisting like a pretzel so my movement doesn’t disturb the sleeping girl. I knew yoga would come in handy one day.
“Yes,” I huff in triumph when my fingers feel the familiar shape.
With one hand and my mouth, I rip open a package, pull out a small plastic stick, and bend it until there’s a soft snap and then a green glow.
“You have a glow stick,” Ronan says as if I have a tail or three eyes.
I open another package in the same awkward way. “No. I havetwoglow sticks,” I say, more than a little gleeful. The diffuse light makes the elevator not so scary. I can now make out the details of his darkened form.
“I’m almost afraid to ask why.”
“One of my students had a birthday last week, and a mom brought goody bags. Everyone got one, including the teacher.”
Ronan mutters something under his breath.
I push him with my elbow, then regret it, because now I know just how hard his abs are and,damn. “Don’t knock goody bags till you’ve tried them. They have candy. Games. Glitter glue. Slime. Glow sticks. Bouncy balls. And candy. Did I mention candy? If you’re not nice, I won’t share.”
“I stand corrected.”
Is that amusement in his voice?
I pass him a chocolate. I’m nice like that. The wrapper rustles as he opens it.
“Smart man.” I suck on my own sweet treat.
I should try to yell for help again. Or pound the useless buttons on the elevator panel above me. But it’s peaceful sitting in the dark with Ronan Masters. This is a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity, and I’m not fool enough to hurry it along. They’ll discover the elevator is stuck eventually. Someone will come looking for us. Or not. There isn’t much else we can do until then.
Plus, I’m withRonan Masters. Even if he weren’t world-famous, I’d still be crushing on him for the eye candy. I’m going to enjoy this.
“So…” he says, crossing his arms over that broad chest.
I wait for him to continue.
“Nice dress. Is there a story behind it, or is this your usual outfit choice?”
I laugh. “Thanks.” I pluck at a tuft of tulle. “This thing could launch a thousand ballet recitals. The bachelorette party I was at had a prom theme. The bride thought it would be fun to show up at the bar in bad prom dresses. We had a contest for the ugliest one. News flash—I won.”
“It somehow works on you.”
I blush. Blushing easily is one downfall of being a freckle-faced redhead.
As sad as it sounds, his half compliment is more than I’ve gotten from anyone in a long while. And I’m not sure if it’s Ronan’s presence, the dark, or that it’s the first time in this shitty whirlwind of the last few months that I’ve got nothing to do, but the adrenaline I’ve been running on leaves me, and I’m wrung out. Normally, I’m an optimist, a doer. The one who everyone relies on. But right now, all I want is to stretch out and fall asleep, just like Belle has, trusting that everything will work out.
