by Nancy Warren
She wasn’t claustrophobic, but she knew that Patrick was keeping her thoughts and feelings more pleasantly engaged. As it was, the reality of being trapped in a warm black box tickled the edges of her mind. And that box was hanging from a cable that had sustained a major earthquake and some hefty aftershocks in the past month. Who knew how long it would hold?
No. She needed a distraction. And sex with Patrick was about the best damn distraction she could imagine.
“Briana?”
“Yes?”
“You’re fired.”
A great rush of pent-up breath left her chest, and the next second she wished she’d saved a little, for Patrick was kissing the life out of her.
Somehow she was on her back, the elevator tile hard beneath her spine, but as for the rest of her…oh my. Now that Patrick had let himself go, he was all over her.
He kissed her hungrily while his hands roamed everywhere. She heard a small tear and then the bounce of a plastic button on the tile.
“Sorry,” he said, his voice so husky with passion she barely recognized it.
“It’s okay,” she murmured, loving his eagerness, finding the clumsiness endearing. He was so gorgeous and confident it hadn’t occurred to her that his technique would be less than smooth.
Then his mouth found her breast again and she put all rational thought away.
“Oh, yes.” Her body arched beneath him.
His hand was warm, slightly leathery as it slid beneath her skirt and trailed up, up to where she was so very hot.
Even as he cupped her through her panties, she felt everything tighten, all those wonderfully concentrated sensation centers started tuning up ready to sing.
Her blouse was open, her bra gaping, but he was still dressed. She attacked his buttons with barely more finesse than he’d shown. She wanted to feel his naked skin against hers. Wanted the warm roughness against her sensitive skin.
She got the buttons out of the way and parted his shirt, running her hands over the strong muscular planes of his stomach, the bulge of his pecs, lightly fuzzed with hair.
She pulled him to her, rubbing against him like a cat against a favorite couch. He was fuzzy, warm, strong and so very alive.
His fingers slipped inside her panties and she jerked her hips up against him, begging wordlessly and shamelessly to be touched.
As his fingers played over her, she began to sigh, her breath coming in panting gasps.
“I want you inside me,” she cried.
His fingers slowed and he kissed her softly. “I don’t have anything with me.”
“Hmm?” she murmured, feeling slightly muzzy.
“Protection. Condoms. I don’t-”
“Oh. Right.” She was on the pill, but still, a condom was sensible. That’s why she always carried a few. “I think I have some in my purse.” Once again she dug around in her bag.
Briana wasn’t a promiscuous woman, but she believed in being prepared. She had a discreet little zip-up bag in blue Chinese silk in there somewhere.
Trouble was, a woman as prepared as she was tended to have a lot of other junk filling her bag, as well. Cell phone…she paused with her hand on it. She could at least try to phone out, maybe get them rescued sooner. But then she’d miss her chance to make love with Patrick, and right now her body’s urges were overpowering her common sense ten to one.
She dug deeper, fingertips searching for the touch of silk. She felt the tape recorder. Once again her hand stilled. Oh, lord. She’d forgotten all about the tape. She bit her lip in the dark. She should turn it off. After all, Patrick had fired her temporarily so they could avoid any hint of scandal.
But…
She’d think about that later. She could always erase the tape.
She kept digging, feeling Patrick’s breath on her belly, his hands roving with growing confidence, warm and sure as they drove her slowly, but inevitably higher.
He put his mouth on her nipple and she drew in a sharp breath. Longing rippled through her. She couldn’t hang on much longer.
Silk. Purse. There it was, right at the bottom. She pulled it out, along with a travel pack of tissues, and handed it to him.
She heard the zip as he opened the silk pouch. Then she heard the rustle of plastic tearing.
“What the-”
“What is it?” Briana asked.
“I know I’m out of practice, but have condoms changed?” He sounded not only puzzled but mildly grossed out.
“What are you-”
He shoved the small package in her hand and she felt inside. At first she registered only confusion as her fingers touched something soft, wet and cold. Then the spring-fresh scent hit her and she giggled. “That’s not a condom. It’s a travel wipe.”
A pause. Even in the dark she felt him staring at her.
“You’re kidding me.”
She stifled another giggle. He sounded amazed and put out at the same time. “I keep them in the same bag. I like to be prepared.”
“You got cigarettes and brandy in there for afterward?”
“You’ll have to wait and see,” she teased, digging in to the silk pouch and identifying a packet that definitely contained a condom. “Here.”
This time the ripping sound was much slower, and she could tell he was examining the condom before withdrawing it from its package.
He must have been satisfied, for she felt a movement beside her that suggested he was putting it on.
It was so dark, and he felt so good, she wouldn’t think about tomorrow-or even tonight, after they were rescued.
There was only now. Her body yearned for him, open and wanting, their isolation only increasing the sense of intimacy and mystery.
Because there was no light, she learned his body by touch, as he learned hers.
Darkness, she discovered, was a potent aphrodisiac.
CHAPTER THREE
PATRICK KNEW that as long as he lived, he’d never forget this night.
The dream that had haunted him for two months since Briana walked into his office was turning into a reality. She was so warm and soft, womanly and exciting, so exactly as he’d imagined.
She smelled like fresh rain, felt like soft velvet, and her skin tasted like warm, willing woman. With a rush of potent longing he wanted to taste all of her. But right at this moment he needed to bury himself deep inside her body more than he needed to breathe.
And she was begging him to do exactly that.
“Please…” Her voice was trembling with excitement. “Come inside me. I can’t wait any longer.”
“Whatever the lady wants,” he said softly, settling between her thighs.
He kissed her deeply. He wanted her to know what this meant to him, what she meant to him.
“Briana, I-”
“Now, please.” She grasped his shaft and placed him at the hot slick entrance to her body.
Raw need took hold of him and he thrust hard and deep into heaven.
Her wordless cry of pleasure filled his ears, her warmth surrounded him, her scent delighted him as he thrust, wishing he could prolong this sensual buildup forever, knowing he’d be done in an embarrassingly short time.
It had been so long.
As her body arched to meet him, as she thrashed mindlessly against him, he slipped a hand between their bodies and touched her. The timbre of her cries changed, becoming deeper, more guttural. Knowing she was close, he let himself go a little more, riding her hard, loving the way she hooked her legs around him and stayed with him all the way.
He felt the moment she surrendered, felt her body clench around his shaft, and he lost his own control, feeling the surge of powerful pleasure as he emptied himself into her.
Then he collapsed, damp and spent against her, and she wrapped her arms around him and stroked his hair.
Finally, he thought dimly, after two months of torment. Finally.
He kissed her softly, thinking he’d never ride this elevator again without remembering…
; Along with an awkwardness that his knees felt bruised from rubbing on the hard floor of the elevator came a reminder of his responsibilities. His first thought was for his kids. Had they been scared? He wished he’d been there when the ground started to shake. At least he had a reliable housekeeper. Then he turned his mind to the emergency crews. What was going on in his city while he was stuck in this dangling box?
PATRICK GLANCED at his watch. Even in the dark, Briana knew what he was doing. She could see the pale green numbers glowing in the dark. Did he want to be rid of her already?
An hour or so ago, when they’d rebuttoned themselves, he’d tried the emergency phone installed in the elevator, but it wasn’t working. He’d cursed, frustration coming off him in waves, and she’d thought to herself, Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am.
Since then, they’d sat side by side on the hard floor. He’d become fidgety and morose. He checked his watch again. She felt his impatience, heard it echo around in the dark elevator as his feet tapped the floor.
“What time is it?” she asked.
“Hmm?” For the third time he turned his wrist to stare at his watch.
“Ten-fifteen.” His breath exploded out of him. “The baby-sitter is expecting me home. What’s she going to do when I don’t show up?”
Since that was obviously a rhetorical question, she didn’t answer directly. Instead, she reached out, touching his arm in a comforting gesture.
He wasn’t acting this way because he wanted to be rid of her now they’d had sex. Patrick was a single dad. A fact that she’d allowed herself to forget. He had responsibilities, children who needed him home.
She hung her head, knowing he couldn’t see her guilty face in the dark. Inside her bag was her cell phone-a fact she hadn’t bothered sharing with him because she’d been so busy trying to lure him into indiscretion.
She had a choice.
She could continue to pretend there was no phone in her bag.
Or she could admit to the phone, hoping her acting abilities were good enough that he’d believe she’d forgotten the stupid thing or simply assumed it wouldn’t work.
A long, silent minute ensued. She felt his urgency and her own conflicted feelings.
But most of all, she found herself remembering how it felt to be parentless. That sense of utter desolation-that you didn’t belong to anyone anymore. That the place where you were safest and most special was gone forever, along with those who’d loved you best.
Patrick’s son, Dylan, was nine, little Fiona five. She’d met them a couple of times at the office and she’d liked them. They were quiet, well-behaved kids. Both times they’d come with their Aunt Shannon, Patrick’s firefighter sister, and the four of them had gone out for lunch. She could see that lunch with Dad was a big treat.
They must have been so young when their mother died.
She took a deep breath. He was never going to believe she’d forgotten she had her phone. She’d have to go with the brainless angle, which irked her.
“Is there a chance my cell phone would work?” she asked simply.
The silence thickened. “You have a cell phone on you?”
“In my bag. Yes.”
“Why didn’t you say so earlier?”
Because I wanted you to seduce me so I could ruin your political career. She couldn’t say that, so she stuck with dumb. “But surely all the phone lines will be affected by the aftershock.”
“Briana, cell phones work by satellite. It might not work in an elevator, but let’s give it a try.”
She dug into her bag, pulled out her cell and handed it to him.
She felt his haste and then saw the eerie green glow as he flipped open the phone.
As he punched numbers and the call went through, she felt more and more like an evil woman keeping a single father from the children who needed him.
“Mrs. Simpson? It’s Patrick. How’s everyone? Are the kids safe? Did the earthquake scare them?”
He must have liked the answers he was getting because she felt him relax, and his tone became less urgent.
“Look, I’m going to be late. I’m stuck in an elevator at work. That’s right. No. I’m fine. Can you stay? It could be morning before we get out of here. Depends what the damage is like.”
She heard him give a sigh of relief. “Are Fiona and Dylan asleep? Good. Please go ahead and sleep in the guest room. I’m sorry about this. Right. I’ll see you then.”
He hung up and blew out a long breath. “The baby-sitter can stay,” he said, handing her back the phone. “Thank God everyone’s all right.”
Then he sank back against the elevator wall.
She chuckled. She couldn’t stop herself.
“What’s funny?”
“I’m thinking, since the cell phone works, maybe we should make a second call. Like to 911, to get us out of here.”
He laughed right along with her, a deep, rich sound, as though she’d made the funniest joke he’d ever heard. “Sorry, I got so caught up in my kids I wasn’t thinking straight.” And that, she thought, ought to let her off the hook for not telling him about her cell phone earlier. After an earthquake, not thinking straight seemed a perfectly acceptable excuse. For a lot of things.
Thank goodness it was dark, so Patrick couldn’t see her smile. Once he knew his kids were fine, he was obviously so happy to stay stuck here with her that it didn’t matter to him when they were rescued. Truth was, she was just as happy.
Right now, her body still pulsing with its own aftershocks of remembered pleasure, she could simply enjoy her new lover’s closeness, reach out and touch him if she liked, lean into him and inhale the all male scent of his skin.
She heard Patrick’s voice on the phone to the 911 operator. He called her by name. Dorothy. Of course, he probably knew all the 911 operators from his days as fire chief. Whatever he’d done to get the job, he was a good mayor. He asked about the damage elsewhere in the city.
She heard his tone change, and he uttered a sharp-edged curse.
“No, Dorothy,” he said. “We’re fine. Put us on lowest priority. I don’t care. I want the full crew on that basement suite fire. Any idea how many people are inside?”
Briana’s warm and fuzzy postcoital glow faded fast. She’d been so caught up with her own predicament, she hadn’t considered that there were other people in town who hadn’t fared as well as she had.
“What else is going on, Dorothy? Come on. No BS. I need to know.”
She didn’t even think, but reached out to grab his free hand, knowing he was hearing bad news and was powerless to do anything to help.
“Oh, no,” he said. “I take my kids to that corner store for Saturday afternoon treats after Dylan’s baseball games. Is the fatality confirmed?”
He sighed deeply and she knew the answer. “Just the one?”
Here she and Patrick had been celebrating their own escape from disaster, and someone had been killed.
“No…just a minute.” He turned to Briana. “There are some fires and a collapsed building in town. Okay with you if we go to the bottom of the list? We’ll be rescued by morning, but I’m not sure exactly when.”
Well, her bladder would start complaining at some point, and she could use a meal, but she wasn’t all that uncomfortable, and it was tough to ask for priority treatment when people were in a lot more desperate straits than she was. So Briana squeezed his hand as a thank-you for asking. “Of course, I’m fine.”
He squeezed back. “You’re one in a million,” he said, then turned back to the phone. “We’re fine, Dorothy. I’ll give you the cell phone number here. We’ll call again if anything changes, but so far we’re stable.”
He ended the call and handed Briana her phone. She felt as though a huge weight had been lifted off her chest. Even if she’d owned up to her phone earlier, nothing would have changed. She knew Patrick would have made the same decision then that he’d made now. The people of Courage Bay came first.
She sighed, and leaned into h
im. “How bad is it?”
“One confirmed fatality. The convenience store near my house collapsed tonight. A woman died when a falling beam hit her. She’s unidentified so far. Probably the cashier.”
She touched his shoulder in comfort. If the convenience store was near his home, chances were that Patrick knew the woman.
“And you said something about a fire?”
“Yes. House fire. Looks to be contained in a basement suite over on Eighth. The fire crew’s still working on it. No idea yet if there was anyone inside.” He cursed, softly and viciously. “If council hadn’t vetoed my motions to add to the emergency forces, maybe we could have responded quicker.”
Briana swallowed an unpleasant lump in her throat. She knew as well as anyone that it was her uncle Cecil who was leading the pack that kept vetoing Patrick’s proposals. Uncle Cecil referred to the new mayor as a hothead, and Patrick was just young enough, and passionate enough, that the notion took with the primarily older, established members of council. They had voted with her uncle against Patrick.
“None of the councilors have ever gone through anything like this before,” she said hesitantly, instinctively defending her uncle’s actions, even though Patrick had no notion of her close relationship to his bitter enemy.
“Well, it’s time they dragged their heads out of their asses and took a look around. People have died needlessly because we couldn’t respond effectively when they needed help.”
She noticed he said “we” when he referred to the rescue teams, and Briana realized that even though he was mayor now, Patrick still identified with the emergency personnel.
Following her train of thought, she asked, “Why did you give up being fire chief to go for the mayor’s job?” Even to her own ears, she sounded wistful. For a moment she daydreamed that he hadn’t ever done such a thing. Then her uncle would be mayor and she would undoubtedly have come to Courage Bay for a visit, or to work for Uncle Cecil, as he’d planned.
In a city of eighty-five thousand, she might easily have met Patrick O’Shea the fire chief, and how different everything would have been. She was single; he was single. There would have been no reason for them to deny the instant and powerful attraction that had sprung up between them.
