by Nina Lindsey
“Come on.” She glowered at the elevator, as if irritation would make it move. If she’d taken the stairs, she’d be at the check-out desk by now.
“Can I help you?”
A deep male voice rolled over her skin. She turned, her gaze colliding with thick-lashed eyes so blue that looking into them was like diving into a pool of pristine, tropical water.
Her breath caught. A hot shiver ran down her spine. “Um…excuse me?”
“Those look heavy.” He stopped beside her and reached for the books.
Reflexively, Callie clutched the dusty stack tighter against her chest. Words dissolved in her throat. If a Greek hero statue came to life, this man would be the result.
He was big, well over six feet, with strong, classical features—high cheekbones sloped down to a square jaw and beautifully shaped mouth, and he studied her with penetrating intensity from behind a pair of black-framed glasses. His longish hair, a strikingly uniform and heavy shade of dirty blond, brushed the collar of his jacket, and his wide shoulders looked as if they could bear any weight in the world. A black strap cut across his chest, holding a camera at his side.
Callie struggled to take a breath. Though her arm muscles ached from holding the books, she shook her head. “I…I’m fine. Thank you.”
She turned and stabbed the elevator button again. Why was it taking so long?
He angled his body toward the elevator, tucking a thick paperback under his arm. Just standing beside him was an exercise in awareness, as Callie couldn’t help but notice the breadth of his muscular chest beneath a navy T-shirt, or the way his worn jeans hugged his long legs…
The elevator pinged. He stepped forward to pull open the gate, extending his hand to hold the door for her. Callie’s appreciation of the chivalrous gesture faded as she moved past him, the close quarters causing her arm to brush against his abdomen. The half-second contact elicited a ridiculously disproportionate surge of heat in her veins.
Stop it!
Stiffening her shoulders, she strode with purpose into the elevator. Halfway in, her heel stuck in the gap between the elevator and the floor. With a squeak of alarm, she pitched forward.
Her books crashed to the ground. Before she could put her hands out to break an inevitable fall, he darted in front of her, grabbed her arms, and hauled her upright.
“Careful.” Concern laced his voice. He tightened his grip on her. Heavens, he was strong.
Callie’s heart raced. She nodded, struggling to control her erratic breathing. He was right in front of her, so close that she caught his scent—something earthy and masculine, like autumn leaves and salt. She stared at the tanned column of his throat, the hollow where his pulse beat visibly beneath his taut skin.
God. Was he as affected by their contact as she was?
“You okay?” He flexed his hands and peeled his grip from her arms.
Not trusting herself to speak, Callie nodded. He bent to retrieve her books. She started forward to help him, then stopped. She couldn’t move. Her narrow heel was still stuck in the elevator door gap.
“Hold on.” He stacked her books in a neat pile on the floor and stepped to her side, putting up an arm to keep the doors from closing on her.
Before she could issue a protest—and really, at this point, she was in no position to reject his help—he closed one strong hand around her shoe and the other around her stocking-clad ankle.
Callie almost jumped out of her skin. Her pulse skyrocketed, and warmth flooded her. She couldn’t help imagining what his big hand would feel like sliding up her calf, around to her knee, then clear up to her thigh and…
“Pull,” he ordered, his tone brisk and business-like.
“Um…what?”
“Pull your foot. I’ve got your heel.”
A flush scorched Callie’s neck. She silently prayed that one of her students, or worse, a fellow professor, didn’t decide to wander by at that very second. Bracing one hand on the wall, she tugged her foot. He pulled at the same time, and her heel jolted free from the gap.
“Success!” He straightened and flashed her a smile so white and engaging that pleasure constricted her chest—and then familiarity struck her.
Wait a second. Did she know him?
No. Shaking her head, she rid herself of the preposterous idea. She wouldn’t have forgotten a man like him.
“Thank you.”
“No problem.” He picked up her books. “Wouldn’t want you falling head over heels.”
Callie laughed, her tension relaxing. He grinned and shot her a wink before turning to press the first-floor button. Why did he suddenly seem so familiar?
The elevator doors closed. He studied the book titles and covers. “Greek mythology, huh?”
“Yes, I teach in the Classics department at Skyline.”
He glanced over at her, a crease appearing between his eyebrows. Callie realized she was still staring at him. Maybe he was a new resident or another professor—though of what, she couldn’t imagine. Love 101?
Her cheeks warmed. “I’m sorry.” She smiled weakly. “It’s just…I’ve never seen you here before, but you look familiar. Do we know each other?”
His shoulders stiffened. A shield appeared to descend over his features, closing off all traces of warmth and humor.
“No.” He faced forward again. “We don’t.”
Before Callie could respond to his sudden change in tone, the elevator bumped and rattled to a stop. She extended her arms to take the books from him.
“Thanks for the…” Her voice trailed off.
Why weren’t the doors opening? Didn’t the bump indicate they’d reached the first floor?
Since she didn’t usually take this elevator, she wouldn’t know. Maybe it was just slow.
Blowing her breath out impatiently, she hit the Open Doors button. Nothing.
“Maybe we need to say ‘Open Sesame’?” Though his tone was light, he frowned slightly.
For some reason, a spark of anxiety lit in Callie’s belly. She shifted her weight and pushed the button again. “I knew I should have taken the stairs.”
After setting the books down, he punched the other buttons on the panel. Nothing happened. The overhead lights flickered.
“Could be the ghost of Captain Marcus.” He glanced up at the ceiling.
Callie shot him a narrow look. If he knew the library was rumored to be haunted by the ship captain who’d built the mansion, then he was either from around here or he’d read up on the history of Bliss Cove. It had to be the former. But why couldn’t she place him?
His frown deepened as he studied the panel and pressed the alarm button. A buzzing noise echoed in the small space. “So at least we know that works.”
Callie clucked her tongue with irritation and checked her watch. Half an hour until her meeting. “Bee knows I went to get those books, so even if she didn’t hear the alarm, she’ll wonder where I went.”
“What if she thinks you’re just browsing the stacks?”
“I don’t have time to browse the stacks.” She started to pace to the other side of the elevator before remembering they were in an enclosed space that was about fifteen square feet. And he took up a lot of room. His presence radiated beyond his considerable physical form, warming her from the inside out.
Her heartbeat increased. She stepped back, trying to put as much distance between them as possible. “I…um, I just mean I’m busy. I have an important meeting in half an hour. I always know exactly what books I want. No need to browse.”
Oh my god, stop babbling, Callie.
“I figured that’s what you meant.” Amusement gleamed in his blue eyes. He pressed the alarm button again and leaned toward the intercom. “Hello? Bee?”
Silence. Callie pulled her phone out of her satchel and swiped the screen.
“No signal.” Her heart sank. “Big surprise.”
She dropped her phone back into the side pocket and walked one step forward and two steps back. “I can’t mi
ss this meeting. Do you think we can climb out the top?”
She half expected him to laugh at her. Instead he shrugged and stretched his arm toward the ceiling. The movement caused his T-shirt to ride up, revealing a stunning washboard abdomen with a light trail of hair leading straight down into his jeans.
Though Callie had always prided herself on her self-control and discipline, she was helpless against the hypnotic pull of this man’s abdomen. Until now, she’d only seen an actual six-pack in underwear ads, and his very real muscles—which were right in front of her—had her fingers twitching with the urge to explore that expanse of smooth, taut skin.
“Close.” He brushed his hand across the panels, but they were too high for him to get a grip. He muttered a noise of frustration. “I once did a…I mean, I can lift you up and you can try to get those light panels off to see if there’s an escape hatch.”
“Well, let’s give it a shot.” Callie forced her attention from his abs back up to his face. She tried to ignore a surge of awareness at the thought of him touching her again. “I really can’t miss this meeting.”
“So you’ve said.” A grin tugged at his mouth.
Another bolt of familiarity shot through her. Shaking it off, she looked at the ceiling. “So go ahead. Lift me.”
He positioned himself behind her. Even with several inches separating them, she could feel his body heat. She’d never in her life been so close to a man who exuded such…power. She was seized with the urge to shift backward just a little to feel the breadth of his solid chest against her back. What if he closed his strong arms around her, and she—
“Ready?” His deep voice rumbled against her ear.
Not trusting herself to speak, Callie nodded. He settled his big hands around her waist and lifted her as if she were as light as a feather. She swallowed a gasp as her feet left the floor, but she didn’t experience even a twinge of nervousness. Some innate instinct told her that nothing in the world could make him let go of her. She hooked her fingers into the light panels and pulled.
“They’re screwed on pretty tight.”
“See if they’re latched at the edges.” He moved her over a couple of feet.
Callie fumbled to try and find a way to remove the panels. She became even more sharply aware of him—his tight grip on her waist, the fact that her rear was positioned close to his face. If she let her mind get really out of control, which she refused to do, she might have imagined she felt his breath clear through her skirt.
The ancient intercom crackled, and Bee’s muffled voice came through.
“Cal…(crackle crackle)…alarm…(crackle)…seems to be…(crackle)…called and…”
“Oh, good.” Callie unhooked her fingers from the light panel. “She knows we’re here.”
He lowered her to the floor slower than he could have—at least, that was how it felt—and set her back on her feet. Her heart thumping, Callie broke away from him and patted a loose strand of hair back into place. Distanced from his warmth, a strange emptiness filled her.
How long had it been since a man had touched her with desire?
Not that he’d been doing that. Claustrophobia must be affecting her brain.
“Bee?” He pushed the intercom button again. “How long’s it going to take before we’re out of here?”
“Sending…(crackle)…coming over…”
The connection went dead.
Callie tried her phone again to no avail. “Well, she used some helpful words. Called, sending, coming over. Given the general lack of emergencies in Bliss Cove, I’m going to assume that means the police or fire department will be here any minute. We’ll just have to wait.”
He leaned his shoulder against the wall, surveying her with those penetrating blue eyes. “What’s so important about this meeting?”
His mention of the damned meeting dispelled whatever warm, fuzzy feelings she’d been experiencing.
“It involves my promotion to tenure.” She brushed ineffectually at her dirty sweater again. “Getting stuck in an elevator was not on my schedule.”
He chuckled, a deep, resounding laugh that echoed inside her. “Mishaps and unforeseen circumstances aren’t usually on anyone’s schedule.”
“The point of a schedule is to avoid mishaps.” She shot him a narrow look, the effect of which was probably ruined by the fact that her stomach chose that second to rumble loudly.
She flushed. He dug into his pocket.
“Was lunch on your schedule?” He extended a granola bar.
Callie almost refused but figured it would be more embarrassing if her stomach growled again. Thanking him, she opened the package containing two bars. She handed him one, and they crunched in silence for a few minutes.
“Classics, huh?” he asked. “That’s Greek and Roman literature, right?”
“And history. I specialize in mythology.”
“Ah. Like Wonder Woman.”
“Actually, I study and teach the original myths, from the oral tradition to the written literature of the archaic and classical periods.”
He studied her, faint curiosity mixed with amusement rising to his eyes. Callie battled back another flush at the thought that he might be laughing at her seriousness.
Well, that was his problem. She hadn’t gotten to where she was by being cute and frivolous. That was her younger sister Aria’s job—although Aria was finally buckling down too.
“Everyone okay down there?” A male voice boomed from above them, echoing through the elevator shaft.
“We’re fine, Scott!” Callie called up to the firefighter. “There’s just two of us here.”
“Give me a sec, and I’ll bring the car down manually, then get the doors open for you.”
After a few loud creaks, rumbles, and grinding gears, the elevator car jerked to a start and rolled slowly downward. It settled with a bump, and the stranger shot out his hand to steady her by the arm. Though Callie prided herself on being a woman who didn’t need anyone’s help, she couldn’t deny the sheer pleasure of his touch.
“Just a couple minutes now,” Scott called through the door.
Callie checked her watch again as he pried open the doors, with her stranger-who-looked-familiar pushing from the other side.
“I am so sorry about this.” Bee hurried toward them, her eyes crinkling with worry behind her glasses. “Are you both all right? The elevator is scheduled for inspection this fall, but I would have—”
“Everything’s fine, but I have to run back to campus for a meeting.” Callie turned. The man picked up her books and exited behind her.
“I don’t have time to check those out right now,” she told Bee. “Can you please hold them for me?”
“Of course.” The librarian extended her arms for the books. “Again, I’m so—”
“Thanks, Bee.” Callie hurried toward the front doors.
As she pushed them open, she couldn’t resist glancing over her shoulder. The stranger stood by the elevator, watching her go. An odd disappointment stabbed her because she hadn’t said goodbye or asked for his name.
Even worse, she’d have a hard time forgetting about him.
Chapter 2
“The appointment was at four.” Callie frowned at the calendar on her phone. First, an elevator mishap earlier that day, and now a plumbing snafu. She glanced up at her mother. “What was his excuse?”
“He had to deal with an emergency, something about a burst pipe.” Eleanor Prescott set napkins beside the plates at the kitchen table. “We rescheduled.”
“Why didn’t the plumbing company send a replacement?”
“Honey, it’s not a big deal.” Eleanor straightened and eyed her daughter with exasperated affection. “I can live with a leaky faucet for another week. I promise you there are more pressing issues to worry about.”
“Sure. Today a leaking faucet, tomorrow a flooded basement.” Callie made a mental note to lodge a complaint with the plumbing company.
“Believe it or not, I hav
e handled multiple leaky faucets and plumbing appointments in my time.” Eleanor ran a hand over her short, blond hair and reached back to unfasten her apron. “I promise you I’m an adult capable of taking care of my house repairs.”
“So when is the plumber coming now?”
“Friday at nine.”
Callie inputted the appointment into her phone. “Oh, I meant to tell you, I switched phone companies and have a much better deal. We can also do a family sharing plan and get you a better phone.”
She picked up her mother’s cell to check the stats. Before she could unlock the screen, Eleanor grabbed the phone from her hands.
“Callie, my phone is just fine.”
“Okay, but let me know when you’re ready for an upgrade.”
Callie picked up a bottle of wine she’d brought and started opening it. She had formally established Wednesday as the designated “dinner night” at her mother’s house, but she’d gotten into the habit of bringing over meals several times during the week. A few months ago, when her mother had been going through a diagnosis and eventual surgery for a precancerous lump in her breast, Callie had thought meal planning was at least one of the things she could do to keep their lives predictable.
Though Eleanor had received a relatively clean bill of health—that she had a low-grade condition with little chance of reoccurrence—the frightening ordeal had stirred up the pain of Gordon Prescott’s death all over again. Callie had since made a point of stopping by more often. Aside from wanting to check on her mother, returning to the little house where she grew up, with its cozy kitchen, flowered curtains, and worn, comfortable furniture, always allowed her to take a deep breath during a stressful work week.
“How was your meeting with the stuffy old tribunal of your department?” Eleanor took three wineglasses from the oak cupboard.
Speaking of stressful…
“It was okay.” Callie pulled the cork out with unnecessary force and tossed it aside.
After she had left the library that afternoon, she’d texted the Classics department chairman about the elevator incident and explained that she was on her way. She’d also had to stop at the restroom to tidy up, the further delay making her half an hour late.