Page 14 of Maybe This Time (About Time 0.5)
One of the women sports a diamond tennis bracelet, another a platinum necklace with the name Madison on it.
Rich college girls, I mouth.
He taps his nose. Bingo.
Maybe this is better. Maybe we won’t be alone at this time when I need space.
The elevator arrives, and we pour in.
All of us.
Stone and I squeeze into the corner, and the eight or so women smoosh in after us.
Then a few more call out, waving arms, smiling brightly, commanding the rest of their tribe to wait up.
A dozen women have sardined themselves into the elevator.
They press up against each other, giggling, laughing.
And I’m closer to Stone than I’m used to.
And that’s saying something, because I’m usually pretty damn close to him.
But it’s packed, and his arm is right up against my arm. He’s so close I can smell the scent of his hair. He meets my gaze, looks at the others, then back at me. “Elevator or stairs?” he says in a whisper.
This time, I grin. “You know my preference, and right now, stairs sound good.”
“Stairs sound really good,” he says, his voice low and heated.
Then there’s a shriek as the doors close.
“Stone!” The first woman, the leader of the pack, shouts it.
He smiles. “That’s me.”
“Oh my God, can we take a picture?”
Not like he has much choice.
“Abso-fucking-lutely,” he says, and the women are like cheerleaders getting into formation.
One, two, three.
The dozen of them back up, pressing against us, faces to the screen, Stone in the middle, being the tallest of them, as they snap selfie after selfie.
One of the women jumps up and down. “I love your music sooooo much,” she shrieks.
And the elevator stops.
Grinds to a halt.
The crunch of cables, of metal against metal, clangs in my ears. The lights flicker, then go off.
All my instincts tell me to do one thing.
Protect my client.
I wrap an arm around his shoulders, keeping him close, his hip wedged against mine. His phone is in the front pocket of my shirt, right next my own.
“What’s going to happen?” a woman cries.
“Just stay calm. Everything will be fine,” I say, since no one gets stuck on an elevator forever.
But the woman doesn’t like that answer. She stabs at the service button fifty times. “But what if something has happened?” she wails, grabbing one of her friend’s shoulders, jostling a couple of the women. It pushes them closer to us, and pushes me a little more behind Stone. We’re not hip to hip anymore. More like my crotch is against his ass.
Great. Fucking great.
“I’ll just sing you all a song,” Stone says in that charismatic, winning tone that’s part and parcel of why he’s famous.
“Ohh, do ‘Bedroom Eyes.’”
He launches into an a cappella version of it, peeling off a couple verses.
Verses where I’m still pressed against him.
Where I catch the scent of his hair, so enticing. Where my hand is on his arm, so firm.
Where I’m on alert in the dark, making sure no one tries to hurt him.
Where I once more attempt to fight off the desire.
When he hits the chorus, the lights flicker, the metal clangs, and the elevator goes bright again.
It moves.
“Yay! Stone fixed the elevator,” a woman shouts.
I breathe a sigh of relief, but we’re still crunched together, all of us, and it’s almost too much for me to take.
This closeness. This contact.
Then, the car slows and stops, and the women pour out, waving, blowing kisses, telling him they love him.
“I love you too,” he says, waving to them.
When the doors slide shut again, he lets out a long breath, takes a step closer toward the doors, then locks eyes with me as we shoot up to the penthouse level.
His green eyes are blazing, hotter than I’ve ever seen them, reminding me of the VIP room. “How about now?” His voice is husky, smoky. Is it from the impromptu singing? Or something else? “Elevator or stairs?”
The way I felt earlier in the hotel? It’s nothing compared to now. I am broiling.
I shouldn’t answer him. I know I shouldn’t.
But I do it anyway.
“Elevator,” I rasp out, and it feels like the riskiest thing I’ve ever said. It almost feels like I’m admitting something to him.
But I can’t. And I won’t.
“Yeah, I’m digging the elevator too,” he says, his eyes staying pinned on mine. Just like that night.
The problem is I’m pretty sure I look back at him the same damn way.
I’ve got to get my shit together.
When we reach his floor, I am all business.
I walk him to his room and say good night, vowing to get him out of my mind once and for all.
Trouble is, once I’m back in my room, that’s easier said than done, because he’s all I can think about.
And I decide to give in just one time.10StoneThe door slams shut to my hotel room, and I can breathe.
