Page 2 of Kissing Chaos
“Anyone in there?” the deep, gruff voice asks.
“Yep,” I squeak, a hand clinging to my chest in an attempt to keep my pounding heart from taking a leap.
“Anyone injured or need medical assistance?”
I blink a few times, still trying to fight off the uneasy feeling of being trapped in this tube of death. “Um, no. I’m the only one in here. Scared shitless and could use a shot of whiskey, but I’m not injured.”
It sounds like the guy chokes back a laugh. I’m glad someone finds me funny, because I sure as hell don’t.
“Lucky for you, I was a few floors above you working on a different issue. Same elevator bank, so I heard the chime as soon as you triggered the alarm.”
“Lucky isn’t the word I’d use,” I say breathlessly as the singular thought of being trapped continues swirling around my brain. Trapped. In a metal box. Hundreds of feet up. “If you were close, why’d it take you so long to get over here?”
A solid thunk above me triggers the most undignified squeal—I don’t have anyone or anything to blame it on except that my nerves are shot.
“No reason for panic, ma’am. Storm just knocked out the power, and the generator didn’t transfer. Besides, ten minutes is better than the two hours it’d take the fire department, yeah? I’m going to drop onto the roof of the cab so that I can open the doors and help you step out, okay? The elevator may shake some, but you’re safe.”
I hum a response but still jump a little when I hear and feel him land on the roof above me.
“Still with me, ma’am?”
“Mmm, yep.”
“Want me to walk you through what I’m doing?”
“Sure. Why not?” Mumbling more to myself than to him, I add, “Nothing else to do.”
He chuckles, his voice trickling down to me. “Are you always this spicy? Or just today? You’re stuck between floors, so I’m going to disable the door restrictor and then manually roll open the car doors. You’re only a few inches above a floor, so you’ll be able to just step out.”
Moments later, the doors to this stupid contraption open to the most ruggedly handsome man I have ever seen.
“Holy fireballs.”
The words slip out before I can stop them. He looks at me somewhat perplexed, like there’s no way he heard me correctly. But hot damn, this guy is worth looking at. If he were a book boyfriend, his defined, scruff-covered jaw and dark, chocolate eyes would melt the panties right off the female lead in any less-freakishly terrifying moment. Even covered in what looks like soot, this guy is love-interest quality. Dark-brown hair peaks out from the ball cap he’s sporting, and his cotton uniform shirt clings to mile-wide shoulders. I wonder what they’d be like between—
No, Jett. Do not go there.
He’s not insanely tall—maybe five-foot-ten—but the space he consumes makes me feel minuscule in comparison. I swear I am trying to keep my eyes on his face, but they apparently have a mind of their own as they roam my rescuer’s fine form. When I finally force them up north, I nearly choke on an embarrassed laugh as I realize he is staring at me with a mix of what I think is amusement and bewilderment.
Damn it, Jett. Quit staring.
I clear my throat before finding my voice. “Thanks for, you know”—I motion behind me at the still-open elevator—“that, and all. Though I guess it’s probably part of your job. Otherwise, how would you know that stuff, right?” I groan,darting my eyes all around us, terrified of landing them on the scrumptious man who just saved me. “Sorry, I ramble when I’m nervous. Or stressed. Or really any time.”
Shut. Up. Jett.
“Noah.” The tin can hero holds out his hand as he introduces himself. “And it is in my job description, but you are very welcome.”
I slip my hand into his much larger, much rougher hand for only a moment before I pull back and begin fidgeting with the hem of my shirt.
So late. So, so late.
Shit. McKenna is going to kill me. Not really—she loves me too much—but we made a deal last night that I would make it to this appointment today and she would ask the single dad of one of her preschoolers out for coffee. I want my best friend to find her person even if I can’t find mine.
I need to get upstairs. And far away from this hunk of a man before my brain turns to mush and I make a fool of myself by drooling.
“I need to get up to the twenty-seventh floor. Where is the staircase?” I rush, looking around.
He points to the door at the end of the elevator bay. “Through that door. Each flight is numbered, so you shouldn’t have any issue finding twenty-seven.”
