Boys Next Door. Sommer Marsden
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think so,’ I said before I could think better of it. I pulled my hand from his and cleared my throat. ‘Well, I’d better go,’ I said and waited for him to move away.
It took Coop a moment, what with all the staring at me, but finally he shot me one more grin and then started down my wooden steps. My. Wooden. Steps. It made me feel a flash of pride and excitement.
‘Good luck getting your key. I’m the middle house across the road should you need anything. At all,’ he said.
The tone, the words, the accent on the anything. Oh God, he was one of those men. Men who had tons of self-assurance and sexual prowess and total faith in their bedroom abilities. Those men were dangerous.
‘They also happen to be man-sirens to the likes of you,’ I said to myself in the safety of my car. It came out on a shaky sigh and I noticed a light tremble in my hand as I turned the key and the engine caught.
I looked up as I started to back out of my driveway. Coop was just standing there. Waiting. Watching me. That half-smile on his face. I bet he had that half-smile after he fucked a girl, too.
‘Stop,’ I said to myself. But I doubted I would.
* * *
It was a red building. Very, very red. Like blood. I was pretty sure my blood pressure was rising as I entered. It was the tallest building on the street but having a thing about elevators I tried to find the steps. When I opened the door I was met with caution tape and orange cones.
Great. It’s like an obstacle course. What will I have to power through to get my fucking keys?
‘Elevator it is,’ I whispered. ‘It’ll be fine.’
I pushed the button and nervously tapped my foot while I waited. The lobby was pretty much deserted barring the smiling, bleached-blonde woman who’d greeted me and informed me that Pann Realty was on the fourth floor. At least I wouldn’t have to worry about getting on the elevator with a crush of other folks.
The doors popped open and I stepped in. Just me, myself and I. I took a deep breath. It would be fine. The doors were almost shut when a man nearly dove through. All six-foot-four (at least) of lanky man. Dark hair that curled wildly around his forehead, dark-brown eyes that were the epitome of that clichéd description: piercing. He smiled at me and I saw a flash of white teeth in a dark goatee.
He’s very Satan-ish …
The wild thought bloomed in my head just as he pushed the button for the third floor. ‘Sorry to startle you. I’m running late … as usual.’
The doors took their sweet time closing and when the elevator started going up it was a sluggish ascent at best. My nerves jangled.
‘I … it’s fine,’ I said. I could handle one more person in the carriage, right? Even if it was slow as shit. I mean it was just me and him. So why did the elevator feel so small? And cramped. And warm.
He stuck his hand out and for the second time in thirty minutes, I grabbed a big warm man-hand. ‘Deke. Deke Wells. And you … you, I’d remember.’ His gaze swept over me and I felt a flex deep inside as if he were touching me. ‘So you must be new.’
‘Farrell McGee,’ I almost whispered. Where had my voice gone? ‘I just moved in … well, I’m trying to move in if I can get a key to my door.’
He chuckled and it wormed through me, a sudden buzz of lust and attraction. ‘Well, welcome,’ he said.
I almost asked him why he’d chuckled but then the elevators shivered, banged raucously and froze. Then the lights went out.
‘Shit,’ Deke said.
‘What? What shit?’ I gasped. Already putting a hand out to find the wall and steady myself.
‘It does this sometimes. It’s an old elevator. And the custodian is, well, he’s pretty slow.’
‘What are you saying?’ I asked, my fingers brushing something to my left.
‘We could be here for a while.’ When Deke grabbed my hand, I realised that what my fingers had brushed over wasn’t the wall. It was him. Big, lanky, strong and now that I was closer, smelling of wood smoke and pine and cinnamon … him.
Damn.
‘It’ll be okay,’ he said, pulling me back just enough that I brushed against him which helped me get my bearings.
He was warm against me, but I shivered.
‘Your hands are freezing. Are you claustrophobic?’
‘Not so much that,’ I whispered as if louder noise would make us plummet to our deaths. ‘I just don’t like elevators. How long? How long will we be here?’
‘Do you want the truth or do you want a lie?’
I sighed. ‘The truth, though the smart money is probably on the lie.’
‘Probably half an hour to an hour. George has a good heart but slow hands.’
‘Great.’ I moved my hands around to try and find the railing that ran along the sides of the elevator. I didn’t think this poor man needed to be holding me like some damsel in distress. But what my fingers brushed was most definitely not the wall of the elevator. My hand froze.
‘Um …’ he said. And there was that dark and almost sinister laughter that somehow slid up my spine and under my hair and prickled my scalp like electricity.
‘I’m sorry,’ I whispered.
A moment ticked by and I was afraid to breathe. I felt like I might laugh or cry or scream, or possibly all three at once.
‘But not enough to move it, eh?’ he asked, moving his body just enough that I felt the hard push of his cock to my hand.
My face heated with a blush. I was grateful he couldn’t see.
‘Shit. First I grope you and then I … just keep right on groping you. I don’t even move my hand. Have I mentioned the one thing that freaks me out is elevators? And a dark one that is being worked on by a slow man is the worst case scenario.’
‘Hunh,’ he said and I could hear him smile.
‘And my hand is still on your cock!’ I blurted, finally ripping my hand away.
‘Hey, whatever calms you down, Farrell McGee.’
I couldn’t help but snort, but my hands were shaking and I felt a little light-headed.
‘You’re really scared,’ he said.
‘I’m –’
‘It’s coming off of you in waves. It’s palpable. That’s hard to pull off. Palpable fear.’
‘I am nothing if not talented.’
‘What do you do?’
‘I’m a failed actress. You?’
‘Failed writer. But I am currently the butcher for our small town.’
‘Ah, I love meat.’
Dead silence.
‘Oh my God. I swear I’m not normally this stupid.’ I put my hand up to brush my hair out of my face, in the dark it felt like a million tiny spiders tickling my cheeks. But I brushed over him instead – I was starting to wonder if it really was an accident – and he took my hand and squeezed it between his warm ones.
‘Breathe,’ he said. He put my hands flat on his chest and then placed his over the top of mine. I stood there, trying to calm down and feeling the steady and easy beat-beat-beat of his heart.