He stared at me for a long moment. It felt as though hewas measuring my worth, as if he could see deep inside of me and was perusing my most personal thoughts.
The tension in the small space was more than palpable—it was a physical force pressing against my skin.
“Luca,” he rumbled as he extended his hand, finally breaking the silence.
He was introducing himself. What did that mean? Was he merely being polite in an awkward situation, or was he taking the opportunity to hit on me?
“Alessia.”
His hand was rough but warm, and he held my much smaller hand for longer than was necessary.
Hitting on me. Okay, Alessia. You can do this. Play it cool.
As he released my fingers, his thumb stroked along the back of my hand, sending tingles across my skin, cascading up my arm and down into the pit of my belly.
“That’s Italian, right?”
“Yes,” I breathed. “You as well?”
“I am.” His head angled to the side. “Are you seeing anyone Alessia?”
My eyes danced from one shiny metal wall to the other. Was this really happening? Was this god-like man asking me out while we were trapped in an elevator together? Had I hit my head and dreamed this entire situation while comatose in a hospital bed? It seemed too fantastical to be real, but I had no other explanation.
Answer the man, Les. Before he thinks you’re crazy.
“Um, no. No, I’m not.”
The first hint of a smile formed on his perfect lips, but before he could respond, the elevator lurched back into motion.
Luca reached forward and pressed the stop button, and the elevator ground to a jarring halt again.
My brows creased in confusion.
“Give me your phone,” he ordered softly, palm outstretched.
Common sense should have screamed at me not to turn over my sole source of communication while this man had me trapped with him, but I’d apparently woken up low on all forms of self-preservation. Something about his commanding tone spoke to deep-seated need within me to comply.
Eyes wide, like a lamb to the slaughter, I placed my phone in his hand.
He arched a brow. “Unlock it, Alessia.”
My name on his tongue was the sweetest nectar I could have imagined—delicious, tempting, and dangerously addictive. The slightest twinge of fear pricked at the back of my neck. Somewhere deep down, I sensed this man had the potential to undo me—take me in, rearrange my insides, and spit me back out after I was unrecognizable.
I chided myself for overreacting. This was a five-minute conversation with a man in an elevator, not an arranged marriage. I needed to get a grip on myself. As soon as he pressed the button again, we would be on our way, and I would likely never see him again.
He tapped at my phone before a buzzing sounded in his breast pocket. He pulled out his own device and began to type, my phone still firmly cradled in his other hand. “I’d like to hear more about you and your family, but it looks like our ride is almost over, so we’ll have to continue the conversation another time.”
He closed the space between us, and instead of handingback my phone, he reached over and slid the device back inside my purse, bringing us within inches of one another. Heat radiated off him, tugging at me to close the gap and press my body against his. My eyes leapt up to his, my mouth softly parted as I struggled to keep my wits.
“It was a pleasure meeting you,” he rasped before stepping back and pressing the button behind him without severing our connection. “I’ll be in touch.” The moment the doors opened, he was gone.
Holy fuck, what just happened?
It was like a scene from a movie—that crap didn’t happen in real life. Yes, I was an attractive woman, but that usually meant I got cat-calls from construction workers and hit on by slimy douchebags. Rarely was the attention wanted, and the feelings were almost never reciprocated on my end.
I only had a matter of seconds to gather my thoughts and collect myself before the elevator doors opened onto my floor. With uneven steps, I entered the Triton lobby, a bemused grin plastered on my face.
What a surreal start to my day!
