“The emergency button didn’t work,” she said, enjoying the tension in his body as he wrapped himself around her. “I was trapped in there for hours.”
“Er . . . I don’t think it was hours.”
“One hour, then,” she corrected.
“Danika, it’s been twelve minutes since the alarm started.”
“Oh.” Well, it had felt rather long. “Perhaps my grip on time wobbled a bit because of the strain.”
His growl came back. “I’m going to kill someone.”
“I think we’re going to be killed.”
“What?” Zaf pulled back a little, looking down at her, and she tried not to whine at the loss of contact. At least his hands were gripping her upper arms now, his thumbs sliding back and forth over her skin in a shower of sparkles. He’d never touched her before.
He really should touch her again, if possible. Soon.
“We’re being poisoned,” she told him sadly. “By gas. But at least my last sight on this earth will be your wonderful beard.”
His response was slow, as if he doubted her cognitive function. “Dani, this is a drill. There is no gas.”
It took her a moment to process those words, but once it happened, she blushed hard enough to combust. “Right. Erm. Sorry about the beard thing. My mind’s all over the place. It’s the gas.”
His gorgeous mouth kicked up at one corner. “The . . . nonexistent gas?”
“Placebo effect,” she told him firmly, and stepped back, breaking the contact between them. If there really was no gas, then it must be touching Zaf that was making her dizzy. And silly. And mushy. That needed to stop. She had nothing to feel mushy about, since he hadn’t actually risked death by cyanide to come to her rescue, and anyway, mushiness was strictly prohibited.
“What’s wrong with your hand?” he frowned, thankfully oblivious to Dani’s mental ramblings. He caught her right wrist and studied what she hadn’t noticed: her nails, torn and slightly bloodied from the force she’d used trying to open the doors.
“Oh, I attempted your method of escape,” she told him airily. “Apparently, I don’t have the biceps for it.”
He didn’t laugh. His frown deepening, he grabbed her other hand for inspection, then dropped it like a hot potato when she let out a hiss of pain. “What—?”
“Sorry. I, er, pulled too hard, I suppose. That wrist aches a little bit. Perhaps I wrenched it.”
“Right,” Zaf said, his eyes burning something awful. He looked mutinous, but evidently not with her, because he stepped forward and slid her rucksack gently off her shoulders. “I’ll take this,” he murmured.
“Oh, no, it’s okay, I—”
“Danika,” he said, iron in his tone. “I. Will take. This.”
“I knew you were bossy, but I had no idea you were this bossy.”
“Yeah, well,” he muttered, “now you know. Just like I know you have a dodgy grasp on time. We’re even.”
She shot him a glare. “Why do I put up with you?”
“I think it has something to do with my wonderful beard.”
“Shut up, you awful man.”
He sighed. “No gratitude. That’s the problem with posh girls.” Before she could formulate a response to that outrageous comment—which she absolutely was not tempted to laugh at—he said, “Come here.” Her rucksack now safely on his back, he scooped her up in his arms like a bride.
Her stomach swooped, and she let out a mortifying little shriek—but really, it couldn’t be helped. Because Zaf’s grip on her waist and her thigh sparked electricity, and her mouth was just inches from his bare, brown throat, and who could blame her for making undignified noises under circumstances like that? It was all very irregular and unreasonably good. Perhaps she should stop doubting the universe and accept this man as her goddess-chosen fuck buddy, after all. He looked down at her with a tiny smirk, a quirk of the lips that seemed to say, Bet you didn’t know I could do that, and she almost melted into a puddle pussy-first.
Of course, she couldn’t let him know she was melting, since he was a handsome man, and handsome men must never be allowed to know the full extent of their sexual appeal. They couldn’t be trusted with the knowledge. So she tried her best to look outraged and demanded, “What on earth are you doing?”
“You hurt yourself,” he said calmly as he carried her toward the stairs.
“I hurt my hands!”
He grunted. “You were trapped in here during a gas leak. Probably aren’t steady on your feet.”
“I thought it was a drill?”
“Emotional trauma,” he said without missing a beat. “You should really check your emails, by the way. Everyone got one. About the drill, I mean.”
“I had other concerns,” she said ominously.
“You always do. Someone should keep an eye on you.”
“I beg your pardon?”
He fought back a smile as they crossed the foyer. “What? Is that not allowed?”
“It’s not necessary. Smirk at me all you like, but I doubt you’d let anyone keep an eye on you.”
“Depends on the eye,” he said dryly, and kicked open the building’s front door, which swung far more easily than usual. The students milling around in front of Echo seemed thrilled by Dani and Zaf’s sudden appearance, pointing and whispering among themselves like she was someone exciting rather than an ordinary and extremely tired Ph.D. student with a throbbing wrist. Perhaps they thought she’d been poisoned by amatoxin and were eagerly awaiting her gruesome death. That would certainly explain why they started aiming their camera phones at her.
She gave them a sunny smile—as her bonkers grandmother Gigi would say, Always put your best foot forward—and Zaf looked down at her with obvious bafflement. “What are you doing, Danika?”
“Being beautiful for my people.”
He let out a burst of laughter. “I wish I could carry you around all the time. You do wonders for my mood.”
Silly, to glow at such an obvious joke, and yet Dani did. There was something in the warmth of his eyes as he studied her through lowered lashes, in the tender curve of his smile, all fond exasperation. Like lemonade and vodka, the sweetness contrasted so sharply with the way he held her—tight—and the way he’d dragged her from the lift upstairs, with that feral note in his voice that said . . .
She didn’t know what it said. But she did know they were now staring at each other like mooning teenagers, which was the sort of ridiculous behavior she should put a stop to.
As if he’d read her mind, Zaf looked away and cleared his throat. “I should . . . I really need to talk to someone about that lift. And—”
“And I have things to do,” Dani said firmly. “Cupcakes to eat, research to continue.”
“First aiders to visit,” he added, “about that wrist.”
“Yes,” she lied through her teeth. Professors didn’t knock off work after twinging a wrist, so Dani certainly wouldn’t. She didn’t have the time to waste, anyway. Symposiums to prepare for, and all that. Inez Holly waited for no sprain!
Zaf stared at her, dark eyes narrowed.
“Yes,” she repeated, attempting to look trustworthy. “Absolutely. First aid. Medical professionals. Et cetera.” As Gigi always said, Men are much less time-consuming when you lie.
Except, apparently, for this man. “If I find out you haven’t had that looked at, you’ll be in deep shit.”
“Duly noted,” she said dryly, which was impressive, considering she was in fact extremely wet.
Zaf sighed and took her over to the little wall surrounding the building’s flowerbed, setting her gently down as if she really was injured. “I mean it, Danika,” he said, propping her rucksack by her feet. “I’m watching you.”
But when he turned to find his supervisor, she was the one watching him. Specifically, his arse.
She had to take some pleasures, after such a stressful day.
* * *
Dani did as she’d been told. Sort of.
> Her wrist was aching quite a bit, and if it got any worse it might slow down her typing speed. So she popped some painkillers and went to her older sister Chloe’s house at the end of the day.
Their youngest sister, Eve, answered the door, a smile on her face and a single AirPod in her ear. “Dan! I didn’t know you were coming over.”
“Yes, well, here I am.”
“You changed your hair again. We match!” Eve flicked one of her own pastel-pink braids and shut the door behind them.
“Wonderful,” Dani murmured, slightly distracted. Memories of being held tight against Zaf’s chest had haunted her all day, and after failing for hours to escape the bastards, she’d decided to let them simply wash over her.
Now she was all hot and shuddering inside like her battered old laptop, so distracted she almost missed Redford, Chloe’s boyfriend, calling, “Hey, Dani,” as they passed the room where he painted.
“Hi, Red,” she called weakly, and walked on into the living room.
“Dani!” Chloe, the eldest Brown sister, perched on a throne of cushions and blankets formerly known as the sofa. Chloe would tell Dani to buy a new laptop, because she didn’t understand that old technology could hold character and luck. “Thank goodness you’re here,” she said now. “Eve’s been boring me to death—”
“Hey!”
“With Pinterest boards and Instagram hashtags and all sorts of rubbish.”
“You are both jealous,” Eve sniffed as she sat down, “because I am the youngest, but neither of you have ever been wedding planner of honor before.”
Dani briefly considered investigating that baffling statement, then decided it was better left ignored. Holding up her wrist and attempting to look forlorn, she said, “I hurt myself.”
“Darling! What happened?”
“I got trapped in a lift.”
“What?” Chloe stood so abruptly that her cat, Smudge, almost fell off his seat on the arm of the sofa. “Do we need to sue someone? Mum’s been quite bored lately, I’m sure she’d enjoy it.” She bustled off to the kitchen without waiting for an answer and returned with a mammoth first-aid kit.
Chloe had seen so many doctors over the course of her life, she was practically one herself. Sort of. Years of rigorous study and training aside. So, five minutes later, Dani’s wrist was wrapped up in some sort of gauze, her bag was filled with borrowed ibuprofen, and she was sharing her thrilling tale of lift extraction.
“My,” Chloe murmured, her eyes wide behind the blue frames of her glasses. “Well. This Zaf fellow sounds wonderful.”
“And handsome,” Eve piped up, although her focus was on her phone.
“He is,” Dani agreed, settling down on the sofa. “I think—”
“And strong,” Eve went on.
“Well, yes. He’s very—”
“He looks a lot like that hockey player, don’t you think? The Canadian one everyone was thirsting over last month.”
Dani, who knew nothing about Canadian hockey players or sportsball-type people in general, glared at her little sister. “And how would you know what Zaf looks like?”
Eve held up her phone. “I’m watching the video of him rescuing you from the building on Twitter.”
Dani opened her mouth, then closed it. Took a breath to speak, then expelled it. Ran through a thousand different interpretations of that relatively simple sentence, then rejected them all. “I’m sorry,” she said, quite calmly, under the circumstances. “You’re watching the what?”
“I,” Eve said slowly, “am watching the viral video that just popped up on my Trending page, which is tagged #DrRugbae, and features a very huge and handsome security guard identified as ex–Titans star Zafir Ansari, carrying a pink-haired woman who looks rather like you, Danika, out of that ugly building where you work.” Eve looked up and batted her lashes, the mischievous little cow. “Haven’t you seen it?”
“Give me that!” Dani snapped, and lunged for the phone.
“It’s my phone!” Eve grunted, trying to hold it out of reach. “Get your own!”
“You know I don’t have Pinterest or Instagram or whatever the hell you’re—oof.” They both toppled off the sofa, and Eve’s AirPod fell out. While she looked around for it in the mess of pink braids and tangled limbs, Dani snatched the phone and crawled across the rug.
“I’m so glad,” Chloe said, “that we have all grown into such mature adults.”
Dani didn’t bother to answer. She was too busy scrolling up and down Eve’s phone, trying to find the trending topic she’d caught a glimpse of before— Ah. Here it was.
Shit. Here it was. An honest-to-God video of Dani cradled in Zaf’s arms, staring at him like she wanted to eat him for lunch. Which was certainly accurate, but not exactly something she’d expected to find splashed across the internet.
“Oh my God,” she breathed. “I thought you were joking.”
“Nope!” Eve said cheerfully.
“This has over thirty thousand views!”
“Yep!” Eve sounded delighted.
Dani checked the comments, feeling as if she’d stumbled into some sort of alternate dimension.
YOUVEBEENZIZESED: This vid is cute af regardless, but apparently he’s an ex-rugby player???
BASICJELLYBABY: IDK, but she teaches at my uni . . .
TITANSFOREVERNTC: That’s Zaf Ansari 100% he played 6 for the Titans until 2012
ITSELLIEEEE: #DrRugbae #couplegoals
Dani stared. “Dr. Rugbae? I have never heard anything so inane or inaccurate in my life.”
“You have a hashtag!” Eve crowed.
“I’m not even a doctor.”
“Let me see!” Chloe demanded.
“Rugbae? Zaf is going to die.”
Eve snatched the phone and took it to Chloe while Dani sprawled out on the floor and filed through a sudden influx of new thoughts. Zaf was a famous sports-type person? Famous enough that people recognized him in viral videos? He did talk about rugby a lot, but she tended to zone out during those conversations, so she’d never given it much thought. And, speaking of viral videos—was this ludicrous happening another sign that she should abandon her doubts and introduce Zaf to the wonders of her bedroom, her boobs, and her three-speed vibrator? Perhaps, but she was struggling to move past the disturbing fact that people seemed to think he and Dani were dating.
Of course, that assumption didn’t mean anything. It was just heteronormative bullshit, a societal compulsion to thrust independent and perfectly happy individuals together in a socially accepted way, so they could become vulnerable before ultimately growing too familiar with each other’s flaws and engaging in destructive behavior that would result in the heart of at least one party being crushed. Behavior such as, for example, shagging their neighbor and blaming it on their girlfriend’s supposed inattentiveness.
Or something.
“This is incredibly impressive,” Chloe murmured, her eyes glued to the video. “Please tell me you’re sleeping with this man.”
Dani sighed, pressing her cheek against the carpet. “Not yet, but the universe seems to think I should be.” She considered something awful. “If he wants to, that is. Which I suppose he might not.”
“Oh, he definitely wants to.” Chloe was clearly thrilled.
“He looks like Superman flying Lewis Lane to safety,” Eve piped up. “Only, you know, he’s not flying.”
“Lois Lane,” Dani corrected.
“No,” Eve said serenely. “I’m quite sure it’s Lewis.”
“I still can’t believe he rescued you from a lift,” Chloe was saying, one hand pressed to her cardigan-covered chest, her lashes fluttering rapidly. “Gosh, look at his face. Look at your face! You two are electric.”
“Chemistry,” Eve said wisely. “Or is it physics?”
“No, you were right the first time. Oh, Danika, look at this. No, don’t be awkward, look. His hand is on your thigh.”
“I’m not looking.” Dani didn’t need to; she remembered t
he feeling perfectly well. If she watched and remembered at the same time, she’d probably come over all . . . silly. And then she, like her sisters, might lose the ability to speak in anything other than italics.
“He’s very sturdy, isn’t he?” Eve asked.
“He’s massive,” Chloe agreed. “And strong.”
Chloe’s boyfriend, Red, appeared in the doorway with an indignant frown on his handsome face. “Hey. I feel like you’re forgetting that time I rescued you from a tree.”
“You didn’t carry me out of the tree in your arms,” Chloe said, her eyes still pinned to the phone in her hand, that damned video on a loop.
“And how the hell was I meant to do that? You were up a tree.”
“Don’t be jealous, darling.”
“Now, why would I be jealous?” Red walked behind the sofa and slid his hands over Chloe’s shoulders. Dani watched with no little awe as her hyperfocused older sister dropped the phone and giggled—giggled!—while Red whispered in her ear.
What an absolutely sickening display. Romance clearly melted the brains of sensible women. Dani was horribly glad she had nothing to do with it.
“All right,” Red announced. “I’m going to Vik’s. I filled Smudge’s bowl. See you later.” He grinned at Dani and Eve, then looked at his girlfriend again. His voice took on a low, steady warmth that made even Dani feel slightly wobbly inside. “Behave yourself, Button.”
Lord.
When he was gone, Eve gave a little shriek. “That man is so—”
“Never mind Redford,” Chloe said briskly. “Danika has a lot to tell us about her soon-to-be-husband.”
Dani’s stomach lurched. “Ugh. No. Relax. I just want to sleep with him.” The word husband gave her hives. As if romantic relationships weren’t impossible enough without the extra pressure of a bloody legal contract.
“Well, make sure he wraps it up, because people are already naming your children. And their suggestions are atrocious.” Chloe gave a delicate shudder. “Blitz, indeed.”
Dani gaped. “You can’t be serious.”
“I’m not surprised they’re getting overexcited,” Eve said. “It’s the way he looks at you.”
Take a Hint, Dani Brown Page 4
