by Jill Shalvis
“But—”
“Look, getting stuck in the elevator because they’ve cut the electricity doesn’t appeal much.”
No. No, it didn’t.
“Nor does the idea of the doors opening to surprise goons, if they somehow beat us up there. Come on.” He opened the stairwell door and looked back at her.
She sighed, then entered. The first flight wasn’t so bad, and she began to think maybe she could do this without even breaking a sweat.
Then halfway up the second flight, she began to huff and puff. Oddly enough, she remained cold, so cold she still shivered hard enough to rattle her teeth together.
“Shh,” he murmured.
Shh? Shh? She’d like to shh him! But then he went still, and she plowed into his back.
He reached back to steady her, his arm wrapping around her hips. This action glued her to his side, which in turn left her feeling extremely clumsy, and yet…
Utterly female.
She couldn’t help it, pressed against him as hard as she was, inhaling his warm scent. Absorbing his body heat, she felt distinctly protected. Worried about.
And for the first time all night, just a little bit heated. But even all the body heat in the world couldn’t fuel her engine. They kept moving.
On the third-floor landing, she was breathing so hard, she thought she might die. On the fifth floor, she came to a gasping halt, knowing it. “Can’t.”
“Only four more flights.”
She would have laughed if she’d had the breath. Four more flights? She’d have better luck at Mt. Everest. “I definitely need…to get back to…those yoga classes.”
He let out a soft laugh, and she felt his gaze run up her body. “I thought you were a model.”
“Yes, but my metabolism is hereditary. I’m in terrible aerobic shape.”
“You look like you do all right.”
As before, her body tingled with an awareness that felt a little bit shocking given she was in the middle of the most terror-filled night of her life.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s do this.” And taking her hand, he tugged her up another flight.
She did her best, but she was definitely lagging. He simply pulled her along, practically carrying her. “What’s up here?” he asked.
“A penthouse suite.”
“No, what’s up here that we can’t leave until we get it?”
We.
For so long she’d been an I, all alone in this. But he’d said we. He wasn’t going to abandon her, no matter what she deserved, and she put a hand to her pounding heart. She’d swear she could feel it trying to leap out of her chest. She couldn’t even answer. She could barely keep air in her lungs. Instead, she went to follow him as closely as she could, which since he still had a grip on her, was pretty damn close.
“Bailey?”
She had no idea what to say, so she said nothing.
Finally, at the ninth floor just outside the penthouse door, he stopped.
Pressed her back to the wall.
Then held her there.
Waiting.
The only light came from the windows at either end of the hallway, where the snow’s glow lit up the black night with a bluish tint. Adding to the odd lighting, the hallway was lined in mirrors, and shadows cast from them, reflecting the fancy brass trim all around, and the look of concentration on Noah’s face.
“Talk to me,” he demanded very quietly. “In ten seconds or less.”
“I’m not exactly sure what I’m getting,” she admitted.
He just looked at her.
“Okay, it’s…complicated.”
“No shit, Princess. Eight seconds.”
She had to tell him something. “It’s not only complicated; it’s a long story. Much longer than eight seconds.”
He didn’t look happy at that answer, but honestly, she didn’t know how to explain the situation quickly. Hell, she didn’t know how to explain the situation with all the time in the world. She had no idea exactly where to look, or even if the money was here. “I’m sorry, I—”
Noah slid a hand to her mouth.
And that was when she heard it.
The ping of the elevators.
Someone was in one of them, maybe several someones, coming up.
Chapter 8
Bailey felt as if she’d swallowed her tongue. Or maybe that was just her heart, which had landed in her throat.
They were coming.
The day had just been one long Mr. Toad’s Wild Ride.
Still holding her immobile and silent, Noah flicked his light over the penthouse door and found the keypad. Reaching out, he hit 6–9-6–9.
The door clicked open.
“At least he was consistent,” he murmured, and pulled her inside. “Listen to me,” he instructed over his shoulder as he kept guard at the door. “Hide. Don’t come out until I come for you.”
Through the dark she looked at him making a stand at the front door, shoulders broad, body braced.
He was going to try to protect her.
But he had no idea what he was up against. Hell, she barely knew. She was too exhausted to think. She was cold and tired, and truthfully, just about ready to give up. “No,” she whispered, shaking her head. This wasn’t going to happen. “No way. You can’t do this for me; you have to—”
“Hide, Bailey.”
She grabbed his hand to try to turn him to face her, desperate to make him understand. He had to hide, too. “Noah—”
“And stay hidden.” He shoved something into her hand. His cell phone. “If I don’t come for you in ten minutes, call for help.”
“Where are you—”
The door shut in her face.
“Going. Ohmigod.” If he got hurt, or worse…With a half sob, she whipped around and used the penlight to view the penthouse condo.
She couldn’t see much with the narrow beam of light, but it appeared the place was still overly done in wealth: cool tiles, warm woods, expensive art on the walls, and a ridiculous amount of silk pillows on the overstuffed furniture.
Stay hidden.
Noah wanted her to stay hidden while he, an innocent in all this—never mind that there didn’t seem to be an innocent bone in his very fine body—dealt with her mess.
Hopefully while staying alive, very alive.
Please, Noah. Please stay alive.
She moved down the hallway toward the master suite, which she’d never actually slept in. Alan had never invited her, other than the time she’d toured the place at the inspection phase.
Now she wondered why. Had he stashed his hidden fortune here? If so, she’d know soon enough because Alan enjoyed keeping his safes behind his pieces of art.
It’d amused him to keep his private things in plain view.
The master bedroom was so big she couldn’t span it all within the small beam of light. She took in the artwork on the walls, then began pulling out the pictures to peek behind each.
At least two minutes had gone by. She knew Noah had said to hide, but she had to finish looking.
She moved back down the hallway into the living room and checked beneath the art there as well. Nothing. She went to the front door, put her eye to the peep hole, and saw…
Nothing, just an inky blackness.
A third minute had gone by, possibly a fourth.
Oh, God.
Where was he? The thought of something happening to him because of her made her feel sick.
And where were the people on the elevator? Was it possible they didn’t know what floor she and Noah had gone to?
Or maybe they’d sent up an empty elevator to trick them, and they were taking the stairs, too, in which case Noah had walked right into a trap.
She put her hand to the handle and nearly wrenched open the door, but managed to get a rein on her panic. Running out into the dark hallway wasn’t going to help anyone.
Think.
Alan had spent some time here. He’d probably had meals…
/> Using the light to find her way into the gaping huge kitchen, she eyed the walls. No pictures. No safe—
Wait. Had she just heard something?
Heart in her throat, she eased open a drawer. And then another, and another, until she found what she’d been looking for—a steak knife. Fisting it, she whirled around, ears straining.
The sound came again, so slight she couldn’t be sure she’d really heard anything. She gripped that knife like a lifeline. There. There it was again, but she couldn’t pinpoint the location. Hide. Trying not to hyperventilate, she hunkered down, her back to a cabinet, trying to make herself as small as possible. Plus she wasn’t sure her legs could support her weight. She clicked off the penlight. Reaching behind her, she opened the cabinet doors. Please don’t let there be spiders in here, she thought, turning to crawl in. It smelled musty, and—
And she nearly jumped right out of her skin when from behind her, fingers wrapped around her ankle, then tugged her back against a hard chest. In one motion, she was unceremoniously relieved of her knife. She braced for a stabbing pain as she opened her mouth to scream, but a hand clamped over it. An arm came around her hips, holding her immobile.
She’d seen all the horror movies, she knew what came next, so she bit his hand.
“Ow, goddamnit!”
Noah.
He hauled her back up against him. “Goddamnit, I told you to hide.”
Adrenaline whipped through her. He’d scared her half to death—a real feat tonight. “I was hiding! Are you okay? Are you hurt? Did they get you? Oh, my God, you’re in one piece, right? Where are they—”
Again his fingers covered her mouth. “Momentarily stuck in the elevator. The keyword here being momentarily. Now, can you please stop moving?”
Got it. Don’t move. Not a problem, he had her back to his chest, her butt to his—
Um.
Oh, boy. And now that she knew it was him, she became aware of his hands, one across her front, just above her breasts, the other low on her belly, which she sucked in as she tried not to wonder what he could feel through her sweater.
“What part of don’t move didn’t you get?” he asked, tightening his arm, making her realize she was wriggling all over the place.
And that her wriggling had…affected him.
Now neither of them moved. In fact, she barely breathed.
He was hard.
He was hard, and if she turned her head, she could kiss him—
“We’re going to get what you came here for,” he said in her ear, his voice a mere whisper. “Then we’re going to go back down the stairs. Silently.”
How could he concentrate on their situation with an erection pressing into her bottom? She couldn’t. She couldn’t think of anything but what it would be like to go for it, right here in the dark, just two strangers in the night. She had a feeling he could show her all that had been missing from her life, that he could relieve this odd and building pressure within her, or at least try.
“No noise,” he reminded her. Taking the penlight back, he gave the kitchen one quick glance-over. Outside the kitchen window, the night was utterly black. No moon, just a foggy layer that blanketed most of the stars from view. Inside, things felt uncomfortably close and intimate.
Having circled the room, he came close again. She could feel the heat of his body, and given how chilled she felt, she almost wished he’d come in even closer.
“Your move,” he said.
She wet her suddenly dry lips and watched his gaze dip down to take in the movement. “I…don’t have a move.”
He stared at her, his tension making him look pretty damn scary. If he hadn’t taken such good care of her, she’d be shaking in her boots because he now appeared incredibly intimidating. But he had taken care of her. He’d done everything he could to keep her safe, and also…he’d kissed her. “I can’t find…what I’m looking for.”
“Bailey—”
But just then, from the other room, the front door opened with a shockingly loud click.
Hell, Noah thought. More trouble. Why was he not surprised?
Bailey was shaking, and not just a few little tremors, but full body shudders that were knocking her pretty teeth together. He ran a hand down her arm, which felt way too cold through her sweater and made him frown. Yeah, she was soft in his grip, her hips nicely curved, her breasts mashing into his side, the sweet scent of her skin teasing his nostrils, but it also appeared she might be in shock. Not good. “Don’t move,” he said in her ear. “I’ll be right back.”
She clutched at him. “No—” But then she purposely clamped her lips shut and shook her head, her hair flying into his face, the silky strands clinging to his jaw. “Nothing.”
Nothing, his ass. She was holding on by a string, and desperately trying to be strong while doing it. Good. They were going to need her strength and all of their wits put together to get out of this, and he still had no idea what “this” even was. Noah squeezed her arm gently, trying to signify that he really would be right back. She nodded, but didn’t let go. He stroked a finger over hers, which were currently embedded in his shirt.
“Right,” she whispered, but it was another second before she let go.
He told himself this was her own doing and shifted silently to the double kitchen doors. What they needed was time, but that wasn’t going to happen.
The handles were western-style brass pulls. Pretentious, not to mention ugly as hell, but perfect for slipping the knife through and barricading the door closed. It wouldn’t hold against brute force, but it would gain them the few seconds they needed.
Hopefully.
Because for whatever reason, gorgeous Mrs. Sinclair had four extremely goon-sized kneecap breakers on her tail, and while they weren’t exactly fast on their feet, they were as persistent as bulldogs.
Two of them were downstairs watching the exits. The other two had made their way out of the elevator and were now inside the penthouse. Armed to the teeth.
Apparently Bailey’s “something” was something extremely valuable, and he’d bank on the fact that it involved money. Bags of it.
That Bailey wanted it so badly bothered him.
Distance, he reminded himself. You need distance. Like miles and miles of it…
Okay, things were far too tight in here for him to risk leaving her. Backing to the cabinets, he pulled her to his side and once again put his mouth to her ear. “Another exit?”
“Patio deck,” she breathed. “But—”
They didn’t have time for buts, and he dragged her out of the kitchen, wincing at the sound of her heels click, click, clicking across the fancy tiles. He was all for a woman’s high-heeled fuck-me boots, especially hers because they made him hot. Probably,
