“Right.” He seemed skeptical and even more amused.
I shifted uncomfortably under his intense regard, realizing I wanted this stranger to like me. I didn’t even know him but I wanted him to like me. Such a childish, silly thing to want. I hadn’t wanted anyone to like me since I was sixteen.
My entire body locked as I stared across the tiny distance between myself and Braden Carmichael. Call it intuition, call it whatever you liked, but I had a feeling that this man was going to be dangerous to my emotions.
I wanted out of the elevator.
As if he sensed my changed mood, he frowned. “Let’s keep talking. It’ll keep your mind off it.”
Realizing he thought my mood change was to do with panicking about our confinement, I nodded. I wasn’t sure what to say after our flirty banter.
“I got a call tonight from my kid,” Braden said, leaning his head against the elevator wall and staring wearily up at the ceiling. “Her name is Abby. And she had a nightmare and snuck her mum’s phone to call me. I don’t think there’s a worse feeling in the world than not being there when your daughter has had a nightmare.”
Disappointment plunged into my chest as soon as he mentioned “her mum.” Why the hell was he flirty bantering with me if he was married? I surreptitiously checked his ring finger.
Hmm.
No ring.
Maybe they were separated, I thought hopefully.
No.
Not hopefully!
You are not getting involved with this guy. End of.
Instead I thought about what he’d said about his daughter, how forlorn he sounded. “Why didn’t you leave the party?”
His eyes came to me.
Fuckity shit fuck.
I felt that whole oxygen-deprivation thing again because when he looked at me, it was like he was looking into my soul. Wow. Cheesy.
But freaking true.
And I didn’t want him there.
“Her mum, Kiersten, and I aren’t together. She took the phone off Abby and when I said I was coming to see her, she shut me down. I only get Abby every other week. This is not my week, she reminded me,” he said softly, bitterly.
I felt a welling of emotion in my chest for him. “I’m sorry.”
He gave me a small smile. “Me too. Do you have children?”
I shook my head.
“It’ll be the best thing that ever happens to you. Just make sure you do it with the right person.”
“Why didn’t you?” I said, surprising myself with the personal question. I didn’t usually ask personal questions because it invited people to return the inquisition.
Braden studied for me a moment, and I wondered if my question was too nosy. I was about to change the subject when he said, “She trapped me.”
“By getting pregnant?” I was aghast at the thought.
“By getting pregnant.”
“Why?”
He snorted. “For my money, obviously.”
This was another reason I didn’t tell anyone anything about myself. If a guy got wind of my inheritance, there was no way to tell if that was what was motivating him to pursue me.
“But I split up with her instead. Promised to take care of her and our daughter. Which I did. But it doesn’t seem to be enough. Kiersten … she has her problems. And every day I wake up not knowing what she’ll want to barter time with my daughter for.” He dragged his hand down his face, looking so exhausted, so sad, I found I wanted to reach over and comfort him.
Impulsively, I did, placing my hand lightly on his knee. “Hey, are you okay?”
He looked down where my hand was and then up to my face as I pulled away from him. His whole face softened. “I’ll be fine, Jocelyn. I’m merely tired. But thank you.”
I gave an awkward shrug, uncomfortable with my actions and feelings for this stranger.
“I don’t usually tell strange women my business,” he said, dry amusement in his voice.
I returned it with a wry smile. “Maybe it’s my open, fluffy personality.”
Braden grinned, and I felt like I’d achieved something.
Oh boy.
Definitely dangerous.
His eyes dropped to my breasts again and I swore I felt them swell under his stare.
Sexy bastard.
Still staring at my breasts, he murmured, “I can’t help but notice you’re wearing a T-shirt that says Club 39 on it.”
I glanced down at my shirt. The owner had us wearing tight-fitting black T-shirts with Club 39 scrawled across the left breast in white font. The women’s Ts had a deep V-neck and since I was blessed with a generous cup size and a small waist, I knew I made the shirt look good.
My tips told me that.
And both my male and female customers.
“Of course you noticed that,” I said. “You’ve been staring at my boobs since you got in here.”
Braden gave a bark of laughter and I grinned. “In my defense, they are difficult to ignore.”
“I’ll let you off the hook, then.”
His appreciative smile made me tingle all over. “Club 39?”
“I work there part-time.”
“I’ve actually never been in. The club scene lost its appeal for me a while ago.”
“It’s more of a bar really. And … don’t you own a nightclub?”
“I do. Fire on Victoria Street. But my manager Isla runs the place for me.”
“I can’t even imagine what it’s like having all those businesses to take care of. Do you enjoy all that responsibility?”
“Yes. I have a head for it. And achievement is a small kind of contentment.”
“You must have started young.”
“My father was a businessman. When I was in my twenties, he passed away and I inherited what he had and built on it.”
His twenties? “I’m sorry about your dad. But wow about the businesses. By the time you hit thirty, you’d already made a success of yourself. That’s impressive.”
He seemed to sense what I was saying. “As will you, I’m sure.”
I gave a huff of laughter. “Too late for that I’m afraid.” Under his interested, questioning gaze, I found myself wanting to tell someone how I was feeling. I kept everything bottled up all the time. For once, with this man who had shared a little of himself with me, I wanted to share my fears.
And maybe it was safe to with Braden.
We were stuck in an elevator together, but afterwards I probably would never see him again, so would it matter if, for a second, I let myself be vulnerable with him?
“I turned thirty at midnight.”
His eyes warmed. “Happy birthday, Jocelyn.”
“Thank you. And it’s Joss,” I reminded him.
He smiled unrepentantly.
I rolled my eyes at his boyishness and looked up at the ceiling, avoiding his gaze as I confessed, “I wasn’t here meeting a friend.”
“Oh?”
“No. I was working tonight and I was feeling … I was feeling alone,” I whispered, scared to admit it out loud. “I’ve never felt scared to be alone, not until recently. It feels like time has slipped away, you know.” I forced myself to meet his gaze and I found only understanding.
“Believe it or not, I felt the same way when I turned thirty. Actually, it was when I was turning thirty-one.”
“With all you’ve achieved?”
He nodded. “There was still always something missing. Still is. It felt like … it felt like I’d reached thirty-one and I was supposed to have found something by then. I don’t know what. I can’t put my finger on it.”
“Yes.” I nodded, understanding perfectly. “I … my writing career maybe … All I know is I never imagined feeling this way and I’m not sure I even understand. For God’s sake, a few years ago I would
’ve died at the thought of telling a complete stranger any of this. I don’t know what’s going on with me.”
“And tonight? Here?”
“Oh. Yeah,” I gave him a sad, slightly embarrassed smile, “a customer flirted with me at the bar, and I didn’t … I thought I didn’t want to be alone tonight so I arranged to come to his hotel room.”
The air in the elevator thickened with Braden’s reaction. He didn’t say anything but his eyes sharpened and his body seemed to tense.
“I chickened out. I was standing outside his room, trying to make myself knock on his door, and I couldn’t. And then I ended up in here with you.”
His gaze softened, the air between us easier.
Was he … was he bothered by the idea of me being with another man?
How could he be?
“Good,” he said, his gaze drifting down my body again and back up. “You deserve better than a quick, hard fuck.”
Then why did I get the impression he wanted to push me onto the elevator floor and have his wicked way with me? “Oh? You wouldn’t want that from me?” I was skeptical.
Braden’s eyes narrowed at my tone. “If we fuck, it will be hard, but it will definitely not be quick.”
The feeling in my lower belly was like the kind of whooshing dip and flip you get on a roller coaster, and I felt the answering wet between my legs.
Holy …
Shit.
We stared at one another, the sexual tension unbearable. My chest was rising and falling fast as I tried to catch my breath.
“Say something, Jocelyn, change the subject, because if you don’t, I’m going to kiss you, and if I kiss you, I know I’m going to want to touch you, and there’s no way I’m doing that in a lift that has a camera in it.”
I exhaled sharply at the sudden fantasy of him doing all that, of the thought of his mouth on mine as his hand caressed my breast, or his long fingers dipped between my legs, or—
“Don’t. None of that is going to happen,” I decided. “Not in here or ever.”
Instead of asking why, he gave me a cocky smirk that suggested he didn’t believe me.
Arrogant son of a bitch.
“It isn’t,” I insisted.
“Okay.” He shrugged. “Are we to remain just friends, then?”
“Yes. In this elevator. After that we’re strangers again. So while we’re here, you can call me Joss.”
Braden chuckled. “If you were any other woman, I’d say you were playing hard to get, but I think you actually mean it.”
“I do mean it. Is that unusual for you? A woman not throwing herself at your feet?” I teased.
“Actually, yes,” he said. “Women throw themselves at me all the time.”
I guffawed at his cockiness. “You know, you really need to work on that whole modesty thing you have going on.”
“I’ll get right on that.”
Grinning, I shook my head. “You have enough cockiness for five men.”
“It comes with age.”
“Which is?”
“Thirty-eight.”
He looked damn good. “Hmm. Nah, I bet you’ve been cocky since you were a kid.”
He shrugged.
Which meant he had been.
I bet he’d been adorable, too.
Shit fuckity shit fuck.
“So, working on your birthday? That’s awful, Jocelyn. Why didn’t you make other plans with friends?”
Uncomfortable with the sudden change of subject, I looked at my feet. “The only thing I wanted to do was go to the theater. The opera Tosca was in town. I couldn’t get tickets.”
Braden raised an eyebrow. “Tosca. Very tragic.”
“You know of it?” I was surprised.
He nodded. “Why do you like it so much?”
“About five years ago I worked with a girl who wanted to be an opera singer. She used to play it in the staff room. It drove some of our colleagues nuts, but it started to grow on me. Then one night she was playing this track that …” I shrugged. “I … I don’t know. It got to me. She told me it was from Tosca. ‘E Lucevan Le Stelle.’ Pavarotti’s version. I’d never heard anything so painfully beautiful.” My voice dropped at the end of my confession.
We were quiet a moment and I was afraid he was going to ask me why I was so touched by tragedy. I was not going there.
“It’s a wonderful opera,” Braden finally said.
“Yeah,” I forced a grin. “That’s why it sold out already. So I worked instead.”
“You didn’t want to celebrate with your friends?”
“Tell me about Abby.”
He frowned, seeming annoyed by my evasion, but I was grateful when he said, “Abby is almost six and she’s not like me at all. Very shy.” He shot me a teasing smile.
I laughed. “Oh, definitely not a chip off the old block, then.”
“Here.” He reached inside his tux jacket and pulled out his wallet. From inside, he pulled out a small photograph and handed it to me.
I took it and I felt a surge of unexpected jealousy. It was a photo of Braden with a little girl. He was down on his haunches and she was pulled tight in between his knees, their cheeks pressed together as they smiled for the camera—Braden’s big and crooked and much too attractive, and Abby’s sweet and shy. She was a beautiful child with long dark hair and stunning pale blue eyes. And I envied him her. Or I envied her him.
A knot formed in my chest and I quickly handed the photo back. “She’s beautiful. And she looks exactly like you.”
“That’s where the resemblance ends,” he said, staring proudly at the photograph. “She’s an angel.”
“If her mum is such a bitch,” I said bluntly, “then she must take that from you. Are you hiding the soul of an angel, Braden Carmichael?”
He gave me that smoldering look again as he slipped the photo back into his wallet. “Definitely not, Jocelyn Butler.”
Jump me. Jump me and rip my clothes off. Just do it! I swallowed the thought with a breathless laugh. “Then she’s an anomaly.”
“No. She’s exactly like her aunt. My sister Ellie.”
“Oh. That’s sweet.”
“Jocelyn.”
“Joss.
“Jocelyn.”
I narrowed my eyes at the thick hoarseness of my name. There was a whole lot of sex in his voice. “Braden—”
“Give me your number, Jocelyn. Let me take you out on a date.”
I contemplated it. I really did. As I stared into his beautiful eyes, felt the intensity of his attraction, of our attraction, I wanted nothing more than to say yes if only to be able to spend an entire day in bed with him. Because I had never experienced sexual chemistry like this in my life.
It seemed foolish to ignore the promise of great sex.
But there was something more in Braden’s eyes. I felt like he wouldn’t be happy with only sex. I felt like he’d get so deep inside me, he’d see my soul.
And I was ashamed of my soul.
Broken as it was.
“I can’t,” I said. “I’m sorry.”
Apparently, I wasn’t ready to not be alone after all.
Before Braden could reply, the lift juddered to life. As it began its descent, Braden stood up and held out a hand for me.
I knew if I took it, if I let him touch me again, I might change my mind. So I gave him a sad shake of my head and pulled myself up by the handrail.
He sighed. “It’s a mistake, babe.”
A lovely flutter flittered across my chest at the endearment. “A mistake?”
“Us walking out of here and not seeing each other again.”
“How do you know that? I could be a scheming, crazy, money-hungry, raving lunatic for all you know.”
“You’re not,” he said, with all the aut
hority of man who was used to being right.
“How do you know?”
“I just do. I feel it. And my gut instinct hasn’t let me down in a long time.”
I was quiet a moment, and I felt him waiting expectantly for an answer. If I were a different woman, with a different life, with a different heart, with a different soul, I might have reached for his hand. I might have even reached for a kiss. Because although we’d just met, a kiss wouldn’t have been out of place for us.
But I was me.
Joss Butler.
And I was going to be alone after all.
As the elevator doors opened, I turned to meet Braden’s direct gaze. “Neither has mine.”
And I walked out, brushing past the apologetic staff and maintenance guys, hurrying away from a man who excited and devastated me all at once.
The Pursuit
I should have known.
I think deep down, I did.
And there was part of me that was annoyed, scared, and this other part of me (the moronic part) that was thrilled.
Because apparently men like Braden Carmichael went after what they wanted and he had decided he wanted me.
My heart sped up at the sight of him entering the club two nights after our elevator encounter. It was my first shift since that night, it was early, a weekday, so the club was quiet and the music was low. At ten o’clock, I felt the hair on the back of my neck rise. My eyes were drawn to the entrance to the club and I watched Braden stride in. I froze as he caught sight of me at the bar, and even across the distance, I could see the determination in his expression. He drew stares from both women and men as he strode across the club toward the bar.
But he only had eyes for me.
And when he came to a halt at the bar, he crossed his arms on the counter and leaned over. “I always get what I want, Jocelyn.”
His sheer will and utter arrogance was almost endearing and I couldn’t help the smirk that quirked my lips. “This is bordering on stalker behavior.”
However, I had experience in that. That guy had made me uncomfortable, unsettled in an unpleasant, aggravated way. I was unsettled because of the connection I felt to Braden. But to my confusion and irritation, I was really glad to see him.
He grinned that crooked, sexy smile. “You didn’t honestly think I’d give up?”