Chapter One
"Going down?" the man in the elevator said, holding the door open with one hand.
Out of the three elevators in Sarah Hartman's office building, why did this one have to open? It was dark. It was late, and all she wanted to do was go home to her apartment, open a bottle of wine, and take a hot bath. Instead, she had to share an elevator with Ian Shane.
Oh, yeah, he was handsome enough: tall and broad-shouldered, with rich brown hair threaded with golden highlights only surfers and rock climbers seemed to get. Problem was, he knew he was gorgeous. Pompous ass.
Ian frowned. "Are you getting in or not?"
Sarah hugged her tote bag, and tried to cover the small amount of cleavage peeping through her conservative business attire. The red silk wraparound blouse had seemed the perfect choice this morning to brighten the rainy day, but now she wasn't so sure. Ian was known for being a flirt with anyone having two breasts and a pair of legs. He might be hot, but he wasn't all that discriminating. At least, that's what she'd heard from Laura, the receptionist.
"Fine," he said crisply, letting go of the door.
As it started to slide shut, the lights in the hallway shut off. She shivered. Waiting for another elevator in a dark, empty office building was not something she relished, so she slipped into the elevator at the last possible moment.
Ian had a bemused expression on his face.
"Parking Garage Level Two, please," she said in a brusque tone. She moved to the corner of the car farthest from Ian and stared up at the floor indicator above the doors. Most of the time she was glad she worked on the fifty-fifth floor, because of the spectacular view from her office window. But now, she suddenly wished she worked for the insurance company on the second floor.
"Great minds think alike." He pressed the button on the panel in front of him, and leaned against the wall of the elevator to give her a friendly smile.
"Excuse me?" she asked.
"Well, I suppose I should say, 'great minds park alike."
"Everyone in our office has a parking space on Level Two."
He cleared his throat and loosened his tie. "So ... you work for Harris & Baker?"
"For three years now." The guy wasn't only a sleaze ball, he was also an idiot. She was head of the Human Resources department. How could he not have noticed her leading every sexual harassment seminar, the annual review of the company's 401(k) plan, and the mandatory meeting just a few months ago when they switched health plans?
His brow crinkled as if he were confused.
"Sarah Hartman?" she prompted. "Human Resources?"
"Oh, yeah. That's right. I thought you looked familiar." He rubbed his hand across his brow, and his face turned red. "Don't you usually have your hair up?"
He gestured at her long, dark-brown hair, which now spilled over the shoulders of her suit jacket.
She tucked her hair behind one ear in a self-conscious motion. "I went for a swim this morning at the Y. I was late, so I..." Why was she explaining herself to this guy? Next, she'd be telling him why she'd chosen to wear her sling back heels versus her sturdier, low-heeled pumps. Or why she had on no stockings, instead of her usual nude hose. "Never mind." She crossed her arms over her chest, and looked up at the floor indicator again.
Forty-nine. Forty-eight. Forty-seven.
The awkward silence grew inside the elevator. Sarah shifted from one foot to the other, hoping it would stop at the next floor and pick up someone else. Anyone. But who else in the building would be here at ten o'clock on a Monday night? For that matter, what was Ian Shane doing here this late? With those damn blue eyes and that sexy, sideways smile, he seemed like the type who would never miss happy hour at the bar down the block. Why had God wasted all that male beauty on a jerk?
He cleared his throat. "I do some swimming myself. Gotta have a strong stroke to keep out of the undertow."
"Excuse me?"
"I surf."
"Of course you do."
"Did I say something wrong?"
"Look, I know what you're trying to do, and it's not going to work." She tried to keep her focus on the numbers above the door.
He raised a quizzical brow. "What am I trying to do?"
"Hit on me."
"Oh. Is that what I'm doing?" Ian's throaty laughter filled the elevator's small confines. "Thought I was just trying to make pleasant conversation."
Sarah's cheeks flamed at his words. She was such an idiot. Of course he wasn't flirting with her. He might try to fuck every other woman in the office, or so Laura said, but he wasn't trying his moves on her. Men like him usually didn't. She pulled at the edges of her red silk blouse. It was a bit racier than her usual office attire. Now she'd wished she'd worn the mock turtleneck sweater instead.
She caught his eyes on her. He was staring at her cleavage. So he wasn't hitting on her, huh? Yeah, right.
With deliberate precision, she buttoned the next button on her suit jacket. His eyes flicked away from her breasts, and he ran his fingers through his sun-bleached hair in a nervous gesture.
Thirty-five. Thirty-four.
Clunk!
The elevator jolted to a stop and the bright lights inside it snapped off, plunging them into complete darkness.
Oh, God. We're stuck!
In the elevator, in the dark. At night. With no one else in the building.
For a few seconds, the absolute blackness inside the small car made terror rise in Sarah's throat. She couldn't see her hand in front of her eyes, and her familiar childhood panic gripped her. She hated dark places.
"Get me out of here," she begged in a strained whisper. She braced herself against the wall of the elevator, grabbed the handrail, and slid to the floor. She wanted to curl into a ball and die.
"Give it a second," Ian's rumbling voice cut through the blackness. "The emergency lights should kick in--"
As he said the words, the dim secondary lighting system snapped on.
"--any second."
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