9½ Days. Mia Zachary
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Those cups really runneth over.”
“I’d love to cuddle up on her pillows tonight.”
She blushed, both embarrassed and yet a little flattered by the attention. It was always like this, a mixture of shame and pride that left her confused, wishing men wouldn’t stare at her chest. Mercifully, the doors slid shut as she selected the button for the twelfth floor. With a bump and a groan, the elevator began its reluctant ascent. The hotel manager must have made good on his promise to have the problem fixed. No one else got on at the subsequent floors, so she was left alone with her thoughts.
Ever since buying Fifty Fast Fantasies, she felt as though her nerve endings had been electrified. Jordan closed her eyes and dared to stroke her hands over the silk covering her sides and down to her hips. The smooth material skimmed her bare flesh, setting off sparks that told her she was in sore need of physical affection. Her whole being seemed to be in a heightened state of awareness. The slightest stimulation made her tingle all the way to her thighs…
She opened her eyes and sighed. Her body was crying out for attention. Her seduction plan just had to work. She and David saw each other at the law firm, of course, and he was warm and caring and friendly. However, friendship and time apart was definitely not what she needed.
Suddenly the elevator jerked to a stop and Jordan fell off her open-backed sandals, bumping her shoulder against the wood-paneled wall. She looked up at the display to find both the number seven and number eight lit. Damn.
She pushed the button for the twelfth floor and waited, but nothing happened. She pressed it again, this time holding it for few seconds. Still nothing. Damn, damn, damn. She started jabbing the buttons for every other floor, one at a time, but they didn’t even light up. Next, she tried pushing them two at a time—whoa.
The whole panel was now glowing like a Christmas tree, but the elevator still didn’t move. Irritation gave way to alarm so she slapped one palm against the knob with the bell symbol printed on it. The shrill clanging echoed in the small space, not a good thing when she already had a headache.
The sound faded to a metallic ringing in her ears as the air conditioner suddenly shut off. Not a bad thing. At least now she wouldn’t freeze to death. She would just plunge to the basement, trapped inside a cold metal box with her boobs hanging out of her sister’s red silk nightgown.
Frantic now, she punched all of the buttons over and over again, searching for a pattern that would get this damned thing moving! The elevator jerked again and her shoulders sagged in relief. Then everything went still and silent once more.
Omigod. Omigod. She was alone. Completely alone. In a stalled elevator. With no way out and no way to call for help…
“Help! Somebody. Anybody. Help!”
The phone! Didn’t these things come with phones? Shaking her head for not thinking of it sooner, she fumbled with the small handle until she felt the compartment door release. Jordan lifted the receiver with a shaking hand. She listened for a dial tone, or better yet, another voice.
“Hello?”
“Yes! I’m here.” She ignored the break in her voice and gave a nervous laugh. “I mean, I’m stuck. I’m in the elevator near the Atrium, somewhere around the seventh floor.”
“Are you hurt?”
She clenched the phone a little tighter. “No, just a little uneasy.”
“Okay, hon. Fire department’s on the way, but it could take ’em a while to get to you.”
“How long is a while?” she yelped.
“Dunno. Couple of power grids have gone down already and—”
Jordan looked up as the lights overhead flickered once. Twice.
“Looks like we’re next. Just sit tight and relax. Somebody’ll get to you soon as they can.”
Her knees buckled and her legs gave out at the same time the lights did. Relax? Relax? Her fingers went numb, dropping the receiver to dangle from its plastic cord, as reality slapped her in the face. She was alone. Completely alone. In a stalled elevator. With no way out. In the dark.
Don’t panic. There’s no need to panic. She forced a deep, calming breath in through her nose. The elevator would start moving any second now. At any moment. Really soon. Jordan hissed the breath she’d been holding through her clenched teeth.
So much for not panicking.
She gulped, even though her mouth had gone desert-dry. Her heart stammered in her chest as the blood from her head drained into it. Sitting on the floor, the hard marble tiles icy against her almost bare bottom, she gasped for air. What had happened to the air? Suddenly it was stuffy. Warm and stuffy and hard to breathe.
Omigod. Omigod. She was going to suffocate before she plunged to the basement. The more she panicked, the more she hyperventilated. And the more she hyperventilated, the more she feared she would suck all of the remaining oxygen out of the elevator.
She couldn’t see her hands in front of her face as she dropped her head into her palms. Jordan had heard the term “total darkness” before, but never fully understood it until now. Squeezing her eyes shut, the first tears slipped from beneath her lashes.
Fear like she’d never known before—hot, black, airless fear—evaporated her common sense and her crying became hysterical. If she had to die, she didn’t want her twisted broken body to be found wearing a red nightgown and bikini panties.
Jordan considered her last thought. Even terrified and miserable, the irony wasn’t lost on her. She was dressed in intimate wear but had never actually been intimate. Oh, sure, she’d had sex, but it hadn’t been worth repeating. And now she was going to die a semivirgin without ever having a real orgasm.
Omigod, she was going to die.
She cried harder, gulping in hot, stagnant air between sobs. If by some miracle she lived through this, she wasn’t going to waste any more time. She’d have sex and lots of it. She would try every conceivable position. She’d play sex games and buy toys…
Well, maybe not toys. After insisting the bedroom lights stay off the one time she was with David, she probably wasn’t ready for toys.
First, though, she had to get out of here. Wrapping her arms around her knees, she tipped her head back and took a deep, deep breath. “Hellllp!”
“Hang on, ma’am! We’re coming to get you out.”
A voice in the darkness! It sounded like salvation. It sounded like hope. It sounded like a man.
2
DANNY NAVARRO HATED the dark.
Hated it, not feared it. No, he couldn’t afford to fear it. He just hated it. The way it made his breathing shallow and his pulse race. He tightened his grip on the heavy aluminum flashlight he carried. Even with the intermittent glow of the emergency-exit lights, the eighth-floor hallway was still too damned obscure for his comfort.
His boots sank into the plush carpeting as he strode past the paler darkness of the hotel-room doors. Danny shifted the weight of the toolbox in his other hand, wishing he could reach up to wipe the sweat from under his helmet. At least he wasn’t in full turnout gear, wearing the heavy Nomex coat and pants. It was hot enough without the hotel’s cooling ventilation.
Beside him, firefighter Mike Cornwall huffed out a breath. “Phew. Weatherman said it’s one hundred five degrees with the heat index. You can’t tell me there’s nothing to this global-warming thing.”
Danny chuckled. “Don’t blame me, I stopped using aerosol years ago. The problem is all those satellites cluttering the skies.”
“Uh-huh. Seems to me you were right there enjoying my digital TV dish last Super Bowl Sunday.”
“Yeah, and you still owe me twenty bucks, Stonewall.” He called