by Misty Malloy
The waitress cleared their plates. Now that Daphne’s resentment had faded, the dinner almost felt like a date. When was the last time he’d had one of those? He’d been divorced for two years and hadn’t gotten involved with anyone else beyond cocktails. He hadn’t even done that in over a year.
“Meals are included here, but pretend I bought you dinner,” he said.
Her expressive lips quirked up at the corners. “Okay, thanks.”
He’d missed watching her mouth at work. She must have given up wearing the usual red lipstick, but it still broadcast her every mood.
Getting a full view of her red sundress as she stood made him realize it had been an eternity since he’d taken a woman to bed. She’d worn the dress to a business party once, and he’d itched to slide the straps off her shoulders. Although she’d been out of work for a while, she looked ready to waltz into a boardroom and wow everyone in it.
He stood, too. “Are you staying upstairs?”
“Yes.” She lifted an eyebrow. “You can’t be serious.”
He extended a hand. “I simply planned to escort you to the elevator. With three of them going who knows where, it’s easy to get mixed up.”
“I guess there’s no harm in that,” she said, preceding him down the aisle of talkative diners.
“Third floor, right?” he asked when they reached the bank of elevators.
“Yes.”
They walked inside one, and the doors closed with a chiming sound. He stared at the painted ceiling—a tableau of moon and stars—and sniffed the trace of incense in the air. Not exactly like the elevators at work. As the thing ascended, he wished he and Daphne could forget the bad blood between them and spend the rest of the evening together. Sex with a beautiful woman would probably heal him better than anything else.
She gasped when the elevator stopped with a sickening jerk.
“What the hell?” He stepped toward the control panel and jabbed different buttons.
The lights went out.
“Oh my God,” she muttered, nearby in the darkness. “I think I’m going to freak out.”
He reached toward her, hoping he wouldn’t grab her breast by accident, which would make her even more pissed at him than she was already. Luckily, his fingertips landed on the smooth, bare skin of her arm. With his vision out of commission, the soft sensation overwhelmed him, igniting every vein in his body.
“Relax,” he told her. “You know how weird this place is. It’s probably a trick.”
“It could be.” Her sharp intake of breath filled his senses. “Hey, maybe our being seated together at dinner was no accident either.”
He stepped closer, inhaling the fragrance of her hair, which reminded him of freshly squeezed lemons. In the dark, every rule felt suspended. They weren’t Daphne and Giovanni, ex-employee and ex-boss. They were man and woman.
“Do you have any idea how much I want to kiss you right now?” he whispered in her ear.
“Gio….” Her breathy reply came out as half-plea, half-argument.
It was all the invitation he needed.