Page 6 of Emerald Malice

“H-how long do you think it’s been?” she asks tentatively. The flush on her cheeks has traveled down to her chest.

“Thirty seconds, give or take.”

A whoosh of terror escapes through her parted lips. For a moment, it sounds like she’s about to hack up a hairball. “Th-thirty seconds…” She turns her back on me and claws the wall padding a little tighter. “Oh, God, I’m not gonna make it.”

The silk of her dress hugs her ass to perfection. If I squint, I can just make out the subtle line of her panties pressing through the fabric.

“Counting down the minutes isn’t going to help.”

“What will help?” she demands. “And don’t you dare tell me to stay calm. Don’t tell me to breathe, either.”

I suppress a smile as she whirls back around. “Pretend we’re outside. Somewhere pleasant. A sunny, open-air café, maybe, and we’re waiting for the barista to call out our orders.”

“Open air,” she echoes as her eyelashes flutter wildly. “Um, okay. I’m… I’m waiting for my order…”

“Describe it to me.”

“Chocolate frappe with an extra shot of chocolate and whipped cream,” she blurts immediately. “And cherries. Lots of cherries.”

I grimace. “Jesus.”

She smiles self-consciously, revealing a faint dimple in her cheek. “It’s my comfort drink, okay? It’s what I order any time I’m sad or nervous or freaked out.”

“You’re missing the point. It’s sunny and breezy and nice. You’re not freaking out. You’re perfectly calm.”

“Right. Calm.” She gulps and her eyelids stop their frantic fluttering. For the first time since the elevator ground to a halt, she draws in something resembling a full breath. “My aunt had a cherry tree in the back of her house when I was growing up. We had cherry pies on Friday, cherry sundaes on Saturday, and plain ol’ cherries on Sundays, ‘just the way God intended them.’” She blushes. “That’s how my Aunt Annie would say it.”

She’s clutching the little gold locket around her neck so hard that the chain is embedding itself in the skin of her neck.

Then her eyes blink open and the tension comes roaring back. “Sorry. I’m rambling. We’re at the café. It’s nice, it’s sunny, it tastes like cherries. What did you order?”

“Whiskey. Neat.” Devil knows I deserve something strong after this clusterfuck of a day.

“What kind of café is this?” she laughs deliriously.

“My kind.”

“Fair enough.” She lowers her attention to picking at her fingernails. “How many minutes do you think we have now?”

“Thirteen, give or take.”

“Fuck me!”

The moment the words leave her mouth, she goes bright pink. A gentleman would pretend as though she hadn’t said anything.

Unfortunately for her, I’ve never been accused of being a gentleman.

“I’d consider it, but I’m not sure thirteen minutes will be anywhere near enough.”

Her jaw drops.

The flush on her cheeks and chest continues to spread. Where would it go if I followed it? I wonder. If I peeled that dress apart and worked my way down the valley of her breasts, and lower, and lower…

Easy there, Andrey. You have a wedding to attend.

Not to mention the situation I was on my way to handle when this fucking elevator decided to hold us hostage.

She seems to be working up the courage to say something. I wait patiently.

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