Page 33 of Billion Dollar Mistake

“And you're handsome so I need a photo too.”

He smirks. “You think?”

I roll my eyes but my cheeks heat. “Stop fishing for more compliments. You’re not getting them.”

“Was worth a shot.” His voice drops low and the way he's staring at me sends tingles down my spine.

After a moment, I reach inside the bag and grab the box. The elevator is obviously stuck, and we need to wait for help. He rang the emergency alarm, so I may as well distract myself. I try to open it, but it’s too hard to do it standing up so I lower myself to the floor. I open the box and begin setting it up.

He stands next to me, but must get sick of waiting because he crouches down to sit beside me. “This is a first,” he mutters, diverting my attention.

I’m waiting for the phone to be set up. I see his thin lips and deep frown between his brows and a giggle slips out of me. He’s a good distraction, making me feel calmer than I did when we initially found ourselves stuck.

“Never been on the floor before?” I tease.

He looks over at me. His dark gaze becomes narrowed and glazed. “Oh, I love being on the floor, specifically on my knees.”

“Then what's the problem?”

Is he insinuating what I think he is?

How often has he done that? Why do I want that right now? Sex was fine with my previous two partners––enjoyable even. But a guy going down on me has never been something I’ve enjoyed; it was way too awkward and clumsy. But with Jeremy, he’s a man. He’d be strong yet reassuring. I bet sex with him would be amazing because I’m attracted to him. He’s devastatingly handsome and kind and Jesus…Now that I think about it. When the hell did I last have sex? It’s been a damn long dry spell if I’m thinking of him doing unspeakable things to me right here in this damn elevator.

“I’m in my suit.”

“Can’t ruin the suit.” I snort.

“I don’t care about the suit. I have plenty more,” he argues.

I roll my eyes. “Of course you do.”

“Nova, suits aren't comfortable.”

I’ll tell him what’s not comfortable. How hot it is inside this stupid elevator. I know I should be freaking out, but part of me is hoping we get stuck here together all night long.

I blink at him. Then a smile splits my face. “Glad I don’t have to wear one.”

“No?” His eyes run over my navy skirt and jacket. I know he thinks I’m wearing a suit but I’m not. The scrutiny of his gaze intensifies the unease settling within me.

“They’re not pants,” I argue, shuffling to sit up, as the tension in the confined space of the elevator grows palpable.

“Same thing. Are you comfortable right now?” he asks, his gaze unyielding, and I resist the urge to fidget.

He knows I’m not.

“No. Are you happy?” I challenge him as I look into his eyes. Still needing to tilt slightly to hold his gaze. “No.”

“No?” I repeat baffled, the air growing heavier with each passing moment.

“I want you comfortable.”

I’m trembling as I peer around the elevator. “It’s not going to happen in here.” Panic continues to pulse through me. “Aren’t you afraid of dying?”

“Seriously? You want to talk about that while we’re stuck in an elevator?”

“I need to talk before I have a panic attack in here.”

Without warning, his hand reaches out to grab my waist and he gently pulls me to sit between his legs. “Lean back on me,” he instructs, and I cautiously follow suit.

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