Wear My Ring: The Secret Wedding Dress / The Millionaire's Marriage Claim. Элли Блейк
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and Paige blanched, realising she must have said it out loud. It seemed years of living on her own had made her a little too used to talking to herself.
Feeling only the slightest twinge of guilt, she jabbed at the ‘close door’ button. Repeatedly.
But the long brown male fingers had other ideas. They prised that stubborn door open with what was a pretty impressive display of pure brute strength. And then he loomed into view, a stranger, a great big broad one, his bulk blocking her view of the foyer entirely. Head down, brow pinched into a frown, he stared intently at the shiny smartphone in his spare hand.
Something about him had Paige pressing herself deeper into the small lift. Something else entirely had her eyes flickering rapidly over a well-worn chocolate-brown leather jacket with thick dark hair curling over the wool-lined collar. Over soft denim, lovingly hugging masses of long hard muscle, the perfect lines broken only by a neat rectangular bulge where his wallet sat against his backside. Down to huge scuffed boots. Huge.
Any calm and soothing thoughts the view of mother-of-pearl chandeliers and silver sun-bursts had inspired were swept away by the raw and unadulterated impact of the man. The sweet curl of heat she’d been thinking about earlier rushed into Paige’s stomach like a tidal wave and colour rushed into her skin with a whoosh she could practically hear.
Then, before she even had a chance to collect herself, a husky voice inside her head sent the stranger a silent plea: Smile.
Paige all but coughed on her own shock. He was not what she’d meant when she’d decided to get herself a man. A comfortable re-entry was just the ticket. Honestly, who needed such a breathtaking expanse of male shoulders, or such thick dark hair that looked as if no amount of product could completely ever tame it? Or fingers strong enough to open a lift door? As for the hint of hooded dark eyes she could make out in profile and stubble long past designer? That kind of intensity wasn’t comfortable. It was overkill.
She was staring so hard at the man’s lips—thinking that they were too ridiculously perfect to be hidden amongst all that rough stubble—there was no missing it when they twitched, as if they might be about to actually smile.
Oh, God, Paige thought as the man slid his phone into the inner pocket of his jacket. She’d been caught staring. And the pink warmth turned into a red hot inferno beneath her skin.
‘Thanks for holding,’ the stranger said in a voice that was deep and rich, like how the devil ought to sound if he hoped to be any good at tempting people to the dark side.
‘My pleasure,’ said Paige, eyes flickering up to his, which was why she didn’t miss a millimetre of his eyebrow raise, reminding her he was perfectly aware of her attempt to sabotage his ride.
Quitting while she was behind, Paige shut her mouth and made room, plastering herself as far to one side of the small lift as possible. The sooner he got to wherever he was visiting, the better.
Naturally the lift was narrow, complementing the dinky design of the boutique apartment building, and the sizeable stranger seemed to fill every spare inch of space all by himself. Even the bits he didn’t physically invade seemed to pulse with his energy. Every time he breathed in the hairs on Paige’s arms stood on end.
‘What floor?’ he asked.
‘Eighth,’ she said, her voice gravelly as she waggled a finger at the number-eight light that was lit up all hopefully.
The stranger ran a hand across the back of his neck and then the corner of his mouth lifted.
Paige held her breath while her hormones whooped up a series of cat-calls deep in her belly. But it wasn’t a smile. Not officially. Even though it sure hinted at the kinds of eye crinkles that had a habit of turning her knees to water.
‘Long flight,’ he said, his deep voice rumbling through the floor of the lift and all the way up her legs. He lifted one ridiculously broad shoulder over which a leather satchel and a laptop bag hung. ‘Not all here.’
Not all here? Any more of him and Paige would be one with the wall.
When the stranger leaned across to press the button to shut the doors Paige’s skin tingled and tiny pinpricks of sweat tickled down her neck and spine. She breathed in and caught the scent of leather. Of spice. Of fresh chopped wood. Of sea air. Sweat that wasn’t her own.
Outside it was the depth of winter, yet she yanked her scarf away from her neck and thought about ice cream and snowball fights to counteract the certainty that she was about to overheat. Yet something about him, something dark and dangerous dancing in his eyes, in the way her skin hadn’t stopped thrumming from the moment she’d laid eyes on him, made her quite sure, no matter how many snowballs she imagined, it would never be enough.
He pulled back and grunted when the lift didn’t move, and finally Paige’s brain caught up with her hormones. ‘Oh, no, no, no,’ she said, ‘there’s really no need to press that button. Or any button. This lift is completely contrary. It rises and falls as it pleases, with no care at all for—’
With its usual impeccably bad timing, the lift doors slid neatly closed, the box juddered and after an infinitesimal drop it took off. Paige glared in disbelief at the indicator light above the doors, which lit up in actual sequential order as it rose smoothly towards the sky.
Rotten, stinking, little—
‘You were saying?’ the stranger said.
Paige’s eyes cut to his to find humour now well and truly lighting them, creating fiery glints in the dark depths. As if he was about to smile at any second.
Okay, so that deal she’d made earlier to herself, it had been more like a set of guidelines than a promise. What if some pimply sixteen-year-old on a skateboard had smiled first? Or if it had been the guy with the scraggly beard and the rat on his shoulder who walked up and down the Docklands promenade yelling at seagulls? Clearly her deal needed tweaking before it went into official effect.
She lifted a shoulder, trying for nonchalance as she said, ‘This lift has it in for me, clearly. While you, on the other hand, have the touch. Want a job as a lift operator? I’d pay you myself.’
The stranger’s expression warmed. No, burned. As if the temperature of the glint in his eye had turned up a notch.
‘Thanks for the offer,’ he said, ‘but I’m set.’
And had he moved closer? Or merely shifted his weight? Either way the lift suddenly felt smaller. The hairs on the back of Paige’s neck now joining the party as they stood to attention.
‘Oh, well. It was worth a shot.’
When the beautiful bow of his top lip began to soften sideways, Paige smartly turned to watch the display as the floor numbers rolled over all too slowly.
‘You live in the building?’ the stranger asked.
Paige nodded, biting her lip so as not to shiver as that dark velvety voice rolled over her skin in delicious waves.
‘That explains your … relationship with the lift.’
Before she could help herself, her eyes slid back to the stranger, fully expecting to find him looking at her as if she might wig out at any second, as Sam the Super always did when she made a complaint. But the stranger’s gaze was making its way over her hair, the curve of her neck, pausing a beat on her mouth, before coming back to connect, hard, with her eyes.
Her next breath in was long and deep, and once again filled with the scents of spice, and all things deeply masculine. Maybe she wasn’t hallucinating. Perhaps he was a fighter pilot/lumberjack/yachtsman by trade. It could happen.
‘It started out slow,’ she said, sounding as if she’d run a mile in a minute flat, ‘a missed floor here and there. But now it’s all the time. I keep pressing the button knowing it’ll make not a lick of difference, as I refuse to stop hoping it will one day simply start acting like a normal lift. While it won’t stop refusing to be