by Faye Avalon
Evernight Publishing
www.evernightpublishing.com
Copyright© 2012 Faye Avalon
ISBN: 978-1-77130-163-3
Cover Artist: Sour Cherry Designs
Editor: Melissa Hosack
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in reviews.
This is a work of fiction. All names, characters, and places are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
DEDICATION
For AJ, as always.
I'd also like to thank my lovely critique partners, Lace Daltyn and Sadie Sinclair, who have made this journey a whole lot of fun.
BAD IN BED
Brighton Heat, 1
Faye Avalon
Copyright © 2012
Chapter One
“If it’s all the same to you, I’d just as soon not plunge fifty feet to my death.”
Up until the moment the elevator lurched to an abrupt halt, Amber Green hadn’t realized quite how much she valued her life and how, despite the events of the past few weeks, she desperately desired to carry on living it.
The handsome occupant she’d been stuck in the elevator with, who had promptly hoisted himself up through the roof hatch seconds after they stalled, obviously didn’t share her aspirations.
“Have a little faith,” he called down cheerily. “And it’s more like ninety feet.”
Amber’s stomach threatened to revolt. “You’re not making me feel better.”
A chuckle echoed from somewhere in the lofty heights, replaced by whistling and some banging. “Take off your stockings.”
Amber’s eyes rolled along with her stomach. “Don’t you have better things to do right now?”
An amused pair of eyes stared down at her from the hole in the ceiling. “You’re stockings, gorgeous. As much as I'm admiring your legs, I need the stockings to secure this bolt.”
Her blood ran cold. “Secure? It’s loose?”
“Not for long.” He reached down his hand, wiggling his fingers when she just stared up at him. “Give them up.”
The gleam of his eyes cut through the elevator’s dim lighting and there was no mistaking the way his mouth turned up at the corners. In other circumstances, Amber thought, in another life, maybe she might…bloody hell, what was she thinking? They were about to plummet God knew how far down the shaft and she was thinking about some man’s eyes and smile as a possible antidote to the disaster that was her love life.
“Turn away.” She started to lift her skirt, but noticed he made no attempt to avert his gaze.
Instead, he folded his arms along the ledge and popped his chin on his hands.
The way his gaze fixed on her made her pulse skip. “Do you mind?”
“Not in the least. Go ahead.”
Sensing he wasn’t about to budge, and feeling at a distinct disadvantage seeing as she knew diddly squat about repairing elevators, Amber admitted defeat and turned away. She raised her skirt hem only as far as she needed to roll one stocking quickly down her leg. Knowing he’d watched her, she was unable to stop the heat rising to her cheeks as she turned back. Trying for nonchalance, she scrunched the stocking into a ball and threw it up to him.
He caught it one handed, but continued his unsettling perusal. “I’ll need the other one.”
She glared at him for a moment, then huffed as she repeated the process. “Anything else?” Her voice was thick with sarcasm as she threw up the second stocking.
This time he ran his fingers lightly along the silk. “This’ll do for now.” Another drop-dead sexy grin and he was gone. Then came more bangs, more whistling.
In the way people do when faced with impending disaster, Amber offered up a silent prayer and promised to mend her ways if she survived. She would call her mother every day and endure Sunday lunch with her parents every week. And she would try and put the past behind her.
A vision of Trevor floated across her mind. Treacherous Trevor and the Bimbo from Brighton. Childish, she knew, to succumb to name calling, but damn, it helped.
Before she could indulge in another depression-yielding float down memory lane, another ear-splitting bang above her head brought her whizzing back headlong into her present dilemma and the imminent threat of plunging into oblivion.
For God's sake, why didn't someone do something? Other than Lord Fix-It up there. Okay, he'd told her he was an engineer, but did that make him an expert on stalled elevators? Bloody hell. She should have taken the stairs. She always took the stairs. But this morning she'd been suffering the effects of a rather raucous night out with the girls. It was to cheer her up, they’d said. Well, maybe it had, but seeing as she didn’t remember much of it, she couldn’t be sure. All she had now was a big, fat headache and a stomach that threatened to relieve itself on the elevator floor at any minute.
Anxious and frustrated, she pressed the emergency call button again before remembering Sir Galahad was on top of the car. She grimaced, pulled her hand away from the panel, and looked up at the empty hole in the ceiling. “Do you think you should come down from there? God knows what will happen to you if the elevator starts moving again.”
“When the elevator starts moving I'll be back inside. A few more tweaks and I'm done.” Silence followed, punctuated by a few discordant bangs as he thumped something. Then more silence. “Maybe you could give me an incentive,” he finally called down, as another bang followed. “Something to keep me positive.”
“Staying alive doesn't do it for you?”
Another sexy chuckle, followed by a thump. “Dinner would be better.”
Off went her stomach again at the very thought of eating. “How can you think about food at a time like this?”
“It's not food I'm thinking about. By the way, you've got nice legs.”
Something warmed inside her, but she ignored the compliment. Most virile men, driven by testosterone, would say anything to get in a woman’s pants. And from the look in his eyes and that cocky grin, relieving her of her underwear was likely high on his agenda.
Memories nudged again, but she pushed them back. Hadn’t she just promised herself that she’d put the past behind her if she survived? Well, baby steps and all that. “You owe me for the stockings. They were designer.”
“I'm saving your life. In my book that says you owe me. I'll settle for that dinner.”
He wouldn’t want dinner, or anything else for that matter, if he knew about Trevor’s accusations. She tried to forget what her ex had said, but her mind kept drifting back to the circumstances of their break up. Four years. Jeez. You’d think she would have known, had some inkling.
“So when are you free?”
Not in this lifetime. “Look. Do you really think you should be messing around with stuff you don't know about? What if you twist the wrong wire, or bang the wrong nail? Won't you make things worse?”
Two feet appeared, suspended in the hatchway, followed by a muscled specimen of prime male dropping back through the hatch. He landed in a surprisingly graceful, two-legged hop right in front of her. Treating her to one of his sexy, lopsided grins, he held out her stockings and dangled them in the air. They were now no more than a network of holes and runs.
She grabbed them and inspected the damage. “You've ruined a perfectly fine pair of stockings and we've nothing to show for it?”
“Sure we do, or at least I do.” His eyes, deliciously dark blue, glittered back at her. “I got to see your legs.”
She narrowed her own eyes, ignoring the little jump in
her belly that had nothing to do with overindulgence of alcohol the night before and everything to do with sexual attraction, interest. She ignored that, too. “I'm starting to think I've got something more to worry about than being stuck in an elevator. I'm stuck in an elevator with a voyeur.”
He moved slowly toward her, backing her up against the far wall. She hadn’t realized he was quite so tall, so dauntingly masculine, but then she hadn’t really looked at him when he’d stepped in the elevator after her. She looked at him now and her blood heated off the scale as her pulse kicked like crazy in her veins.
“A voyeur, eh? That’s not necessarily a bad thing.” He placed his hands against the elevator wall on either side of her shoulders. “Could be fun.”
“Could be.” Unconsciously, she tugged the front seams of her navy suit jacket together. “If I wasn’t about to die.”
He laughed, leaned in, and then lowered his mouth a few centimeters from hers. “Who says you’re going to die?”
His breath brushed lightly, potently across her mouth, and while she knew he was playing games, enjoying a little flirtation, something light and lovely whispered through her. It was good, if only for a few moments, to enjoy a man’s attention and to feel wanted, desired again.
“Well, we’re not moving, are we? And God knows what damage you’ve done banging around up there.”
He rewarded her with another lopsided grin.
Vaguely, Amber thought it the sexiest thing.
He bent one elbow, leaning closer so that his chest brushed her breasts.
He felt so warm, hard, and powerful that all her hormones, asleep for months, burst to joyous life with a celebratory beam on their little faces. Damn. This was ridiculous. But there was no denying the heat pooling deep in her belly and trickling down to her core.
Without taking his gaze from hers, he reached down and grasped her hand. “You haven’t tried pressing the button yet.” He wrapped his fingers around her wrist, holding her lightly as he stretched her arm out toward the wall panel.
As much as she wanted the damn elevator to move, she wanted to stay right there. She wanted to be here with his body pressed to hers, his mouth full and lush and within biting distance, those eyes twinkling down at her full of sexual desire and lusty innuendo, his touch light but determined. She had to swallow before she could respond. “Will it work?”
“Go ahead and try. But before you do—” He stayed her hand as she reached out her fingers toward the button. “Don’t I deserve a little reward?”
With bells on, her happy hormones screamed, but she gave him a haughty look. “I’ve only got a couple of quid on me.”
He laughed and tapped her chin. “Funny. I had something better in mind.”
She huffed, for form, because dampness spread between her legs and made her aware that this had probably gone far enough. “Something better? Now let me take a wild guess as to what that could possibly be.”
He leaned in a little more. “You’ve got a dirty mind, gorgeous. Not that I’m complaining.”
Before she could protest that if anyone had a dirty mind it damn well wasn’t her, he tapped her chin again. “Dinner. There’s a nice Italian place on the corner of
Dortman Street
. You can shout me a pizza. Tonight. Seven?”
“Can’t make tonight.” Or any other night.
“Tomorrow works out even better as it happens. It’s a date.”
“Not going to happen. I’m off men.”
One of his eyebrows quirked as a dangerous, predatory gleam flashed in his blue eyes. “Interesting.”
She cocked her hip. “That wasn’t a challenge.”
“Didn’t take it as one. But how about I make a deal with you? You press that button and the lift moves, you meet me tomorrow. Agreed?”
“You’re pushy, I’ll give you that.”
“Pushy and hungry.”
The way his gaze moved over her left no doubt about the hungry part. Her insides skipped and her face heated, the warmth between her legs now flooding her panties. It was a heady feeling to have a man, a virile, exceptionally attractive man, come on to her. Maybe, as the girls had tried to convince her last night, it was time to get back in the saddle and bury Trevor’s cruel accusations forever.
And then there was that promise she’d made to herself mere moments ago. She took a deep breath. “Okay. If the elevator moves I’ll meet you tomorrow. Seven.”
“Good. You know the place?”
She nodded.
He regarded her for long moments. “Let me tell you something.” His gaze dropped to her mouth. “If you bite your lower lip that way one more time, I’m going to need a down payment.”
“On what?”
“On dinner. I’m hungry for pizza tonight, yet here you are making me wait a full twenty-four hours.”
“You can have pizza whenever you like. Don’t wait on me.” His close proximity and the way his gaze swept the contours of her mouth had her nerves dancing a fiery tango. Hell. She would have to find some way to avoid seeing him. The way he made her feel when he looked at her meant there was only one way the evening would end. She couldn’t chance that. It was okay to indulge in little flirtations, dalliances that were fun at the time but didn’t lead anywhere. She maybe wasn’t ready for anything else. Yet.
She angled her chin into the air. “To be honest, I’m not into Italian and like I said, I’m off men. You should go find someone else to share your pizza.”
He was still too close for her comfort levels and that damn mouth was altogether too tempting for any woman, let alone one sworn off men.
“So what happened? With the guy who screwed up, and in the process did untold damage to the rest of us?”
“Like I’m going to blurt out the disaster that is my personal life to a complete stranger.” Or anyone else outside her three closest friends. “Just let me say that right now I’m not your best bet for what you have in mind.”
Hell and damnation. If only she was. As one side of his mouth slid higher than the other when he grinned back at her, she wished with everything she had that she could take this where it could so easily go. But she couldn’t chance another rejection right now, not when her fragile confidence was teetering on the brink of extinction.
“Okay, let’s take care of the complete stranger part.” He held up his hand, offering it to her. “Ethan Monroe. And as far as what I have in mind goes, gorgeous, all I did was invite you for pizza.”
She dragged her gaze from his mouth and into an equally compelling hot, cobalt gaze. “Pizza, as a euphemism?”
“Now, I’m not about to share that sort of information with a complete stranger,” Ethan parodied.
Her lips twitched. God. There was something about him. She brought her hand up between them to meet his. “Amber Green.”
He didn’t step back as she’d hoped, but curled his fingers around hers and squeezed. “Amber Green. Appropriate,” he murmured. “Surname, same color as your eyes.”
Amber swallowed. It didn’t help that he looked into her same-color-as-her-surname eyes the way he was doing. The dampness between her legs was in danger of thoroughly soaking her panties.
As if he sensed her growing arousal, he moved in so that his chest brushed her breasts. “Now we’ve gotten the formalities out the way, how about that down payment?”
She swallowed again, endured another of those sexy, cocky grins that transformed her nipples into tight, hard buds. What the hell, she thought as the heat from his chest burned into her skin. She had to start making good on that promise she’d made to herself at some stage. Why not now?
Tentatively, she reached up and wrapped her fingers around his upper arms. The muscles beneath his tee shirt were hard, as was the bulge that pressed into her stomach. Shit. What was she doing? Was she a glutton for punishment? Maybe, because she loved the way he looked at her, the way his eyes darkened and the lids grew heavy. She loved the way his gaze kept straying to her mouth as if it was the
most delectable mouth known to man.
She didn’t protest as he dipped his head the last few centimeters and their mouths fused into the kiss.
He wasn’t gentle, but he wasn’t rough either. The kiss was somewhere gloriously in between. He made her knees weaken as he ran his tongue around her slightly parted lips before pushing full into her mouth.
Holy hell, she thought, and kissed him back.
His arms banded around her waist, tugging her into him. His erection pressed lustily against her lower abdomen. Big, she thought. Big hands, big shoulders, big dick. She lost all ability to think about anything else when he groaned into her mouth and his hands cupped her backside. As he lifted her forward, his rigid length pressed hard against her. His fingers dug into her flesh, and she felt her skirt rising up beyond her thighs.
She should put an end to this. Now. But hell, sex in a broken down lift with a complete stranger? God. The thrill of it. And, according to the girls, wasn’t it exactly what she needed right now? Something to build her confidence? Make her believe in her own sexual power again? Maybe Ethan Monroe was exactly the type of man capable of helping her do that.
Except those damn memories swiftly elbowed aside her growing abandon in Ethan’s arms, her ex’s cruel accusations echoing in her head like an unwanted mantra.
Panicked, she dragged her mouth from his, noting that his breathing was as erratic and heavy as hers. “I think that pretty much takes care of payment in full.”
He sucked in a huge breath and shook his head. “Uh, uh. Deposit only. We’re definitely having dinner. And before you try and protest that you’re not into me, I can guarantee that if I put my hand up your skirt right now, I’d find you hot and slick and ready for me to finish what we just started.”
That little observation did nothing to settle her still raging hormones or calm her overheated blood. “So pizza really is a euphemism.” She tried to sound haughty, to be affronted by what he’d said, but she was still so turned on she almost begged him to do what he’d threatened.