Total pages in book: 91
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 87609 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 438(@200wpm)___ 350(@250wpm)___ 292(@300wpm)
“Hey,” I say, putting my hand on his chest. “I appreciate you trying to help. But, Ali, this might be the sort of situation where we just have to wait and see.”
He stares down at me unhappily. “I don’t like waiting and I don’t like you worrying.”
“You can’t fix everything. You can’t control it either.”
A grunt.
“Everything will be fine,” I say, even though I don’t particularly believe it.
“I hate seeing you upset.”
“I appreciate that. But being with you makes things better.”
“Even though your name and face are splashed over every fucking gossip site in the world again?”
A grinding noise precedes the elevator coming to a stop. Somewhere between the second and third floor. Then the overhead light flickers and dims. His hold on my hand instantly ramps up to bone grinding, and I let out a yelp.
“Shit.” He releases my hand with a panicked face. “I’m so sorry, Leannan. Are you all right?”
I carefully flex my fingers. “It’s okay. All good.”
But the angst doesn’t disappear from his eyes. His harried gaze sweeps the control panel, and he pushes the button to call for help. And he just keeps pressing that sucker as if it’s his job. The accompanying ringing noise is deafening. No one in the building could be unaware of our situation. Which is when I remember what Willow said about him being locked in the cupboard.
“Alistair, look at me,” I say. “Someone will be getting help.”
His hand falls back to his side without comment. Both sets of fingers curl into fists.
“You really don’t like small spaces, huh?”
“No.”
“Guess it goes back to when you were a child. But we’ll be out of here soon,” I say. “An old building like this, they’re probably used to it stopping and starting all the time.”
His nod is more a jerk of the chin than anything else.
“Do breathing exercises work or—”
“No.”
“Okay. Can you tell me what might help?”
He says nothing. Nor does he meet my eyes. There’s a general air of misery about him, and I desperately want to make it all better. Shit. He wouldn’t even be in this situation if it weren’t for me. Though he is also an adult who made his own choices. But yeah.
“You know, plenty of people have phobias,” I say. “It’s not a moral failing. No one is asking you to be perfect.”
His laughter is wholly without humor.
“Let me amend that to no one who matters.”
A muscle jumps in his jaw. “You can just imagine what the fucking media would make of this if they knew. That I lose my mind over something as basic as a fucking elevator. I should have outgrown it by now.”
“Who said our brains made sense and do what we want? Because that is a lie. Big. Huge. Just an enormous fucking fabrication.”
“Is that so?” He gives me a glance. “I don’t like being vulnerable.”
“How can I take your mind off this?”
“It’s fine. I’m fine.”
“Damn right you are. Have you seen your ass?” I ask with a smile. “Because I was watching when you got out of bed this morning and whoa. The thirst is real.”
“Thanks.”
“You’re very welcome.”
The air inside the elevator has warmed some. It is a seriously small space. I don’t even have an issue with being confined, and I am not loving this. Not even a little. I stare up at my hazy reflection in the mirrored ceiling.
“Have you ever thought about putting a mirror above your bed?” I ask. “Just a thought.”
He too looks up, and the rigid set of his shoulders eases at the distraction. “I can almost see down the front of your top.”
“Can you?”
“You really do have the most amazing breasts.”
“Bountiful cleavage is my burden in life.”
“It’s one I’m happy to help you with whenever you like.” A corner of his mouth twitches. Like he almost had a happy thought, but not quite. “Though it’s more of a gift you’ve got, when you think about it. And I do think about your tits often.”
“You say the sweetest things. And you do have decent-sized hands.”
“They’re at your disposal.”
I smile at him, but he hesitates. His gaze returns to the elevator walls and doors. All is still. There’s no sign or sound of our rescue and his fists are opening and closing, opening and closing.
He might be used to handling everything himself. He’s had to from a young age. What with boarding schools and news of his parentage and the general chaos that is his life at times. That he didn’t get to go home at the end of the school day must have sucked. I know it’s life for a lot of children, to be away from their family. But still. He doesn’t have to handle it all alone now, at least.
“Ali, have you ever had sex in an elevator?”
His nervous gaze jumps to me. “They’re not really the kind of place I associate with good things.”