Authors: Elle Kennedy
Sometimes she hated the way she looked. And, to this day, she still wondered if her mom had engaged in a torrid affair with some Irish stud in order to produce a daughter like Jane Harrison. Because really, how else could she explain how utterly different she looked compared to everyone else in her family? Her parents, sister, and younger brother were skinny as twigs, with sandy-blond hair and dark brown eyes. Jane, on the other hand, had a head of shocking red hair that nobody ever believed was natural, blue eyes that were far too big for her face, and of course, that centerfold body. Her sister was willowy and graceful, a few inches short of six feet, like everyone else in the family. Jane? She was a paltry five-six, with her huge boobs, small waist, and curvy frame—all guaranteed to make sure most people lumped her in the airhead category without a second’s thought.
Well, she was no airhead. A bit of a wild child, sure. Definitely at one with her sexuality. But stupid? Nope. And she was a damn good journalist, with a big brain in her head to match those big breasts.
Setting her jaw, she fixed Thomas Becker with a steely look and said, “Why not?” He blinked, looking startled that she was in the elevator with him. “Huh?”
“Why aren’t you interested in doing the interview?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I can assure you,
Today’s
World
is a very prestigious magazine, and I’m very good at what I do. I could paint you as an All-American hero, a regular GI Joe.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “It sounds very tempting, Ms. Harrison—”
“Jane,” she cut in.
“Jane,” he amended. “But I’m still not interested in having an article written about me.”
“It won’t be just about you. Look, Mr. Becker—”
“Just Becker, or Beck.”
“Okay,
Becker
. It’ll revolve around Elizabeth, and her experience. I’d just like some quotes from you about the rescue itself, how you planned it, the strategy, maybe a picture.” His features hardened. “No.”
Frustration bubbled in her stomach. “Will you at least give me a reason why you’re so determined not to do it?”
He glanced at the flashing numbers over the doors, his stiff shoulders telling her he couldn’t wait to get out of this elevator. Wonderful. Now he was dying to get away from her.
Glancing at her again, he released a sigh. “I don’t like being in the spotlight, okay? And I definitely don’t like having my picture flashed around.” He rolled his eyes. “For someone who considers herself a good journalist, I’d think you’d understand why that is.”
She bristled. “Why a man who saved a woman’s life doesn’t want some good old praise? No, I don’t understand.”
“I’m a SEAL. My job requires keeping a low profile, getting in and out of places before people even realize I’m there. How well do you think I’d do if everyone knew my face?” Jane paused. Huh. So he made a good point. “Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “I get that. But there are ways around it, you know. We don’t have to print a picture, and we can change your name in the article.
What’s your next argument?”
A flash of amusement filled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re very persistent?”
“Yep. Goes with my line of work.”
The elevator slowly ground to a stop. Jane glanced up and noticed they hadn’t reached the lobby, but had stopped on the third floor. She waited for the doors to open to let in a passenger, but nothing happened.
Wrinkling her forehead, she glanced at Becker. “Why did we stop?”
“I have no idea.” He moved toward the panel and punched in the lobby button again.
A shrill ringing suddenly blared in the elevator, startling her so badly she nearly fell over backwards.
“What the hell?” she shouted over the noise.
Becker studied the panel then jammed his finger against the intercom button. The ringing died immediately, replaced by the sound of static. Becker leaned into the speaker. “Hello, anyone there?” A moment later, a voice responded. “Hi there, folks, what seems to be the problem?”
“The elevator stopped on the third floor. It might be stuck.”
“All right, just stay put. Let me see what the trouble is.”
“Stay put?” Jane echoed as the static crackled and disappeared. “Where the hell else would we go?” Her suit jacket suddenly felt far too tight, her skin super hot.
Becker shrugged. “He’s probably scared we’ll try to climb out the ceiling panel and rappel down the cables.”
His attempt at humor fell flat, mostly because Jane was barely listening to him. She glanced wildly around the car, measuring it in her mind. Five by five, she guessed. Maybe a couple of feet more. Oh God.
“You okay?”
Her head jerked up. “What? Yeah. Sure. I’m great. I’m wonderful.” Her eyes ping-ponged around the tiny space. “Why isn’t he answering us?” she finally burst out.
Becker came to her side, concern in his eyes. “Hey.
Hey
.” He touched her arm. “Don’t worry, okay?
I’m sure they’ll have it up and running in a few minutes. Fifteen, max.” Sweat bloomed on her forehead. “Fifteen minutes? We can’t survive in this teeny little box for that long! What if we run out of air? What if—” She quit talking, her heart pounding so fast she feared it might stop.
“I take it you’re not good with small spaces,” Becker said with a sigh.
She sucked in some oxygen. “It’s a problem,” she admitted.
“How the hell did you get to the eleventh floor then? You didn’t ride the elevator up?” She shook her head, pressing her hands to her sides because they were beginning to sweat. And shake. “I took the stairs.”
“You climbed
ten
flights of stairs to—”
He was interrupted by the sound of static again. Jane’s entire body flooded with relief as a voice filled the car.
“Folks, you still there?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, where else would we go?” she muttered.
Looking like he was smothering a smile, Becker moved back to the intercom. “Still here,” he said.
“It seems we’re experiencing some technical difficulties,” the man said apologetically. “The repairman is on his way over to take a look.”
Jane’s heart took off like a terrified horse in a thunderstorm.
Oh shit.
“Shouldn’t take too long to get you folks out of there,” the man—no, the
devil
—added. “Half hour, hour tops.”
Jane promptly dropped to the ground and stuck her head between her knees. She sucked in shallow breaths, knowing she was making a fool of herself, but unable to stop the terror spiraling inside her.
“Okay, thanks. Keep us updated please,” Becker said into the intercom. And then he was by her side, on his knees beside her. “Jane. Jane, look at me.”
Miserably, she raised her head, ashamed of the tears prickling her eyelids.
“Just breathe, okay? Breathe with me.”
She opened her mouth, but when she tried to inhale, her throat tightened. “There’s no air,” she wheezed. “No. Air.”
She grew light-headed, her cheeks so hot she knew they must look like two enormous apples. And her heart…oh God, she really was going to have a heart attack. In this miniscule elevator car with no air and walls that were closing in on her and—
A pair of strong arms wrapped around her and suddenly she found herself in Thomas Becker’s lap.
His hands cupped her scorching cheeks, those brown eyes blazing with intensity. “Jane,
look at me
.
You’re okay. We’re okay. We’ll get out of here in no time, all right? And there is plenty of air, so you really need to stop hyperventilating before you pass out.”
Pass out? She was more worried about her heart bursting right out of her chest. As panic spiraled through her, she buried her face against Thomas Becker’s sturdy chest and started to cry.
Fucking wonderful. Not only was he going to be late for his appointment with the realtor, but now he had to contend with the panicky, crying sexpot in his arms. With a sigh, Becker awkwardly patted Jane Harrison’s back, attempting to offer reassurance, but all he got in return were a few more muffled sobs and a growing erection. The hard-on couldn’t be helped. The woman in his lap was smoking hot, with high, full tits, shapely legs that were bare beneath that short skirt of hers, and a firm ass that felt pretty damn good against his thighs. And she smelled incredible, like honey and lavender and a flowery perfume that made his groin ache. He couldn’t resist pressing his face to the wild mane of red hair spilling down her back, inhaling her sweet shampoo as the soft tresses tickled his nose. He forced himself to pull back, because one, it was inappropriate to smell a woman’s hair while she was crying in his arms, and two, because he really,
really
didn’t need this headache right now.
His shoulder was fucking throbbing, the bullet wound still in its early healing stages, and he knew he’d overdone it in the physical therapy session today. But hell, he needed to get back in fighting shape, and fast. He was going stir crazy in his hotel room, dying to get back to work, and if it meant pushing himself to his physical limits, so be it.
“Jane,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”
When she didn’t lift her head, he did it for her, grasping her chin with both hands and tilting it. He found himself staring into a pair of big blue eyes awash with tears.
“There’s plenty of air, okay?” he said in the same calm, reassuring voice he used when dealing with hostages he’d rescued. “We’re going to be fine.”
She didn’t respond. He could see her pulse throbbing in her slender neck, a sign that her panic hadn’t diffused, despite his words.
With a sigh, he brushed away her tears with his thumb. “I get you’re scared, but there’s no reason for it, all right? We could survive in here for days. You won’t pass out, you won’t have a heart attack, and you won’t stop breathing.”
She blinked, sending another tear down her unbelievably smooth cheek, which he couldn’t resist caressing. “You promise?” she finally murmured.
“I promise.”
A flicker of relief filled her gaze. “Do you…would you mind holding me a bit longer?” Becker suppressed a groan. Did he mind? Hell, yes, because any moment now, she was going to snap out of her panic-induced haze and notice the massive erection pressing against her thigh. But since he wasn’t an asshole, he couldn’t very well push her out of his arms when she was still so shaken up.
“I don’t mind.” Damn, his voice came out thick, hoarse.
“Thank you.”
They sat there for a few moments in silence, Becker painfully aware of the woman in his arms. She was all curves, a glaring contrast to his ex-wife, who’d been far too thin for his liking. He’d always urged Alice to gain a few pounds, add some curves to her stick-straight figure, but Alice was all about her image. She’d been modeling since she was eighteen years old, the same age Becker had been when he married her. They’d managed to make it work for fourteen years, shocking really, considering their hectic schedules. With Alice working on becoming a supermodel and Becker traveling the world with the Navy, it was a wonder they’d been able to stay married for that long.
Becker resisted a sigh. Shit, he really needed to quit thinking about the divorce. It had been finalized months ago, and yet here he was, constantly thinking about his ex-wife. Maybe he needed to take a page out of his teammates’ books and indulge in some random, no-strings sex.
And double shit, because sex was definitely something he shouldn’t be thinking about either. Not now, anyway.
The woman in his lap shifted, letting out a wobbly breath that broke through the silence. “Okay, this isn’t working,” she choked out. “Maybe you can try to distract me? Talk to me about something.” Becker fought a wave of discomfort. Wonderful. If there was one thing he sucked at, it was talking.
Especially to women.
“Please,” she added, obviously seeing the reluctance in his eyes.
“Talk about what?” he finally asked, caving in.
“Anything. Tell me about the bullet wound in your arm, your favorite movie, your pet peeves. I don’t care.” Another shaky breath.
“Um, okay.” He paused. “Well, bullet wounds fucking hurt.”
Her lips quirked, and Becker was startled by the little spark of pleasure he got from knowing he’d made her smile. “What does it feel like? Is it like a knife wound? Because I know what
that
feels like.”
“When the hell did you get a knife wound?”
“College. I was a reporter for the school paper and I went to interview this meth addict for a piece I was doing. Only he was super high and thought I was a narc.” She offered a small shrug, as if to say
no
biggie
.
Despite himself, Becker grinned. “Remember earlier how I said you were persistent? Well, correction—you’re nuts.”
“It was an important story. Getting knifed added some color to the piece.” Her blue eyes twinkled.
“So, the bullet…?”
“Right. Well, to be honest, I didn’t even feel it at first. Adrenaline running too high, you know. I was too focused on getting your sister into the chop—” He narrowed his eyes. “All this is off the record, right?”
Jane made a face. “Unfortunately. But I still think you should let me interview you.”
“Not interested.”
“Fine.” She gave a little pout, which brought another smile to his lips. “At least finish the story.”
“Yes, ma’am. So, like I said, didn’t feel a thing at first, not until I climbed into the chopper. Then the pain hit me, like a streak of lightning. Arm started throbbing, head spinning from the loss of blood.
Felt like someone stuck a live wire straight into my bone.”
“Is that the first time you’ve been shot?”
“First time I’ve had a bullet in me, yeah. I’ve been grazed a few times, knifed, slashed by a machete once…” His voice drifted, and he smiled at the horror in her eyes. “Part of the job.”