Page 8 of Some Like It Hot

There was no way in hell I was going to text Dani given the hour and the fact that she literally just gave birth, but I wasn’t about to give up either. Not after spending an hour and a half doing my hair and makeup and looking this damn hot. I was going to text Luna and every Racketeers player whose number is in my phone until someone came down and vouched I’m not a spy or a stalker seeking entrance to their private party.

Fortunately none of that was necessary because Wade, who wears the team mascot costume at the hockey games and is obsessed with my boobs, strolled into the lobby stoned right then and told the security guard I’m his girlfriend. For a guy who looks like he’s spinning out on the astral plane half of the time, he has his sharp moments.

Unlike Blake right now, who seems to be deliberately misunderstanding me.

“What’s the rush? We’ve got all night.” His eyes narrow. “Unless you have plans?”

“Yes, they involve the free food and booze at the party I was about to walk into when you accosted me and forced me to stay in the elevator with you.” That’s a gross exaggeration, but now he’s just annoying me.

“I did not accost you.”

“What would you call it?” I demand. “We need to talk,” I say slowly, in a poor attempt at Blake’s demanding and rough voice.

He actually starts laughing.

Not the reaction I was expecting.

Grumpy Blake is sexy.

Laughing Blake is deadly.

As in the murder of all my inhibitions and hopefully my pussy. He may be annoying and we may die of suffocation or dehydration in this elevator, but after we’re safe, I wouldn’t mind having sex with him. I haven’t hooked up with anyone since that prick hockey player Justin Travers, who had a tiny dick and somehow blamed that genetic shortcoming on me. It left a bad taste in my mouth, literally, and I feel confident Blake has more than a Vienna sausage in his pants.

“What’s so damn funny?” I ask.

“Is that really what I sound like?”

I turn my flashlight on him. He’s smiling and rubbing his jaw. His eyes narrow at the light, but he holds my gaze. “I think I sound more like this—we need to talk.”

He says it the same way he did earlier. Demanding. Confident. Growly.

I’m momentarily and blissfully distracted.

“What do we need to talk about anyway?” The only thing I want to discuss is our escape plan.

He doesn’t address that. “Are you scared that we’re stuck in an elevator?” he asks. “Don’t lie.”

“I’m not scared,” I lie.

He clearly doesn’t believe me. He cocks his head and studies me for a second before nodding. “It’s going to be fine, Elise. Here, I’ll call the front desk. I’m sure there are maintenance personnel on site.”

I sigh in relief. “Thank you. That’s a great idea.”

“Come here.” Blake pulls me up against his chest with one hand and rubs my back comfortingly as he pulls his phone out of his pocket with the other. “I’ll call the front desk.”

Dropping my hand holding my purse, I press the other one against him so that the flashlight on my phone is facing his chest, dimming its brightness.

Blake is talking to someone. “Yes, this is Blake Wilder, with the Racketeers’ private party in your lounge. My guest and I are on the elevator and it’s stopped moving.”

Relieved that he sounds confident and calm, I lean forward, just a little bit, wanting to feel the strength of his muscles and how good it feels to have his arm wrapped around me. He’s built like a lumberjack and instead of lifting logs, he could be lifting me up against the wall later tonight. The thought makes me shiver in anticipation, heat swirling down low between my thighs. I love big, strong men.

His hand is drifting down from the small of my back onto the curve of my ass. His fingers flex and I give a soft moan of approval. Blake glances down at me, his eyes darkening with desire. “Yes, thank you, we appreciate it. Happy New Year.”

He ends the call and gives my ass just the smallest of squeezes before he lets it fall away. “The hotel already knew we’re stuck in here. The fire department should be here in ten minutes.”

Now I’m fully reassured. Firefighters always save the day. “It was me pushing the button, wasn’t it?” I ask. “That’s how they know.”

Blake gives a grunt. “Maybe.”

---