Chapter One
The elevator was between floors when it came to a jaw-
jolting stop and the lights blinked out. There had been no
warning, no grinding down of gears, no forecasting flicker
of the lights. Nothing. One minute the cubicle had been
moving on its silent descent, the next, its two occupants
were engulfed in unrelieved black stillness.
"Uh-oh," the man remarked. He was a New Yorker and
accustomed to the practical jokes the city played on the
citizens. "Another blackout."
Laney McLeod didn't comment. The man obviously expected
her to say something. She could feel him turn and look
toward her. But speech and movement were beyond her. She
was paralyzed with fear. She rationalized, telling herself
that it was her claustrophobia that made the situation so
horrifying, that she would survive, that such stark terror
was juvenile and bordered on the ridiculous. It didn't
help.
"Are you all right?"
No, I'm not all right, she wanted to scream at him. But
her vocal cords were frozen. Eight well-manicured nails
were digging into two sweating palms. She realized that
her eyes were squeezed shut. But forcing them open made no
difference; there was no light in the suffocating confines
of the apartment building elevator. Her breath was rasping
loudly.
"Don't worry. It won't last long."
His calmness infuriated her. Why wasn't he panicked? She
wanted to demand if he could guarantee that the power
would be restored shortly. These blackouts could last for
days, couldn't they?
"I think I'd feel better if you'd say something. You are
all right, aren't you?"
She sensed a hand groping in the darkness only seconds
before it made contact with her arm. She jumped.
"It's all right." Quickly he withdrew his hand. "Are you
claustrophobic?"
Frantically she nodded her head, illogically thinking he
could see the motion. He must have sensed it because his
voice took on a lulling inflection. "There's nothing to
worry about. If the power isn't restored in a matter of
minutes, the fire department will be looking for stranded
people like us."
She felt the air stir and heard the soft rustling of
clothing. "I'm taking off my coat. I suggest you do the
same."
When he had boarded the elevator, she'd gotten only a
brief impression of gray hair, a tall frame, a slender
physique, and clothes too studiously casual not to be
outrageously expensive. Not speaking, not making eye
contact, she had watched the lighted numbers over the
elevator door as they ticked off their descent.
She had known that he watched her for several moments
after he got in, though he Hadn't spoken either. They had
been subject to that universal awkwardness that comes
between two strangers sharing an elevator. Eventually his
eyes had joined hers counting down the floors of the
building. Now she heard his jacket land on the plush
carpet.
"Need any help over there?" he asked with forced
cheerfulness when she didn't move. He took a step toward
the sound of the heavy, irregular panting and raised his
hands. He heard her thump against the paneled wall as she
backed away from him. He touched her rigid body and
tentatively felt his way to her shoulders. "Hey." His
voice was silky soft. "Everything's going to be fine." His
hands gave her tense shoulders a reassuring squeeze. Then
he moved.
"What are you doing?" Laney hadn't thought she could speak
until she heard her own gasped question.
"Helping you off with your coat. The hotter you are, the
harder you breathe, and the more likely you may start
hyperventilating," he said. "My name's Deke, by the way."
The suit jacket she had bought at Saks only the day before
was eased off and dropped to the floor. "What's your name?
Is this a scarf?"
"Laney." She raised leaden hands and fumbled against his
fingers. "Yes. It comes off." She unwound the tie from her
neck and handed it to him.
"Laney. That's an unusual name. Maybe you should unbutton
a few buttons too. I don't think your blouse will allow
much ventilation. Silk, isn't it?"
"Yes."
"Very pretty too. Blue, if I remember."
"Yes."
"You're not a New Yorker," he remarked casually. He was
working at the cuffs of her blouse, unbuttoning the pearl
buttons and rolling the sleeves up her arms.
"No. I've been visiting for a week. I'm due to leave in
the morning."
"You were visiting someone in the building?"
"Yes. My college roommate and her husband."
"I see. Now, isn't that more comfortable?" He adjusted her
opened collar around her throat. "Would you like to sit
down?" He lightly touched her waist with both hands.
"No!"
Dammit. Deke Sargent cursed himself for moving too fast.
Mustn't panic the panicked. The woman was still plastered
against the wall as though she were facing a firing squad.
She was breathing as though each inhalation were her
last. "All right, Laney. You-"
The lights flickered like a strobe, then came on full
strength. The gears of the elevator were engaged with a
gentle bump, and they were moving again.
Two strangers stared at close range into each other's
eyes. Both pairs were dilated. Her face was pale. His was
creased with concern.
He smiled crookedly and returned his hands to her
shoulders. She looked ready to fly into a million
pieces. "There! See? I told you. Everything's back to
normal."
Instead of returning his smile, resuming the aloof
detachment of a stranger, thanking him for his patience
with her silliness and restoring her clothing, she slumped
against him. His shirtfront was clutched in tight, damp
fists, and she uttered an anguished cry against his chest.
He felt her convulsive trembling.
God bless her, she had forced herself to hold on to her
composure as long as she could. But when the danger was
over, her nerves had given way to her terror of the dark,
confining elevator.
They came to a gliding stop at the lobby level. The door
whished open. Through the plate glass windows of the
lobby, Deke could see people milling about on the
sidewalks. The avenue was thronged with traffic halted by
inoperative signal lights. Chaos reigned momentarily.
"Mr. Sargent-" the uniformed doorman began, rushing toward
the elevator.
"I'm fine, Joe," Deke said brusquely. The last thing this
woman needed was to be thrown out on the street in her
condition. He didn't want to make any lengthy explanations
to the doorman. "I'm going back up."
"Were you in the elevator when-"
"Yes, but I'm fine."
He propped Laney against the wall and leaned backward to
press the Door Close button and the one designating the
twenty-second floor. The doors closed and they surged
upward. The woman had been impervious to it all. She still
slumped bonelessly and hiccupped soft sobs.
"You're all right. You're safe. It's okay," Deke murmured
as he held her to him. She smelled very good and he liked
the feel of her hair on his neck and chin.
The elevator opened onto the hallway of his floor.
Splaying a hand wide over her chest to keep her from
collapsing, he bent down to pick up their discarded
jackets, the tie of her blouse and her handbag. Then he
swept her into his arms and against his chest. He carried
her down the hall to the corner apartment and set her
gently on her feet.
"Almost there," he whispered as he took his key from his
pants pocket and inserted it into the lock. The door swung
wide. He scooped the woman in his arms again and strode
inside, depositing her on a sofa whose deep cushions
almost swallowed her.
When he turned to leave, her arms lifted as though
imploring him to stay. "I'll be right back." Unthinkingly
he brushed a kiss across her forehead. He hurried back to
the door and punched a sequence of numbers on his alarm
system, which would have gone off in fifteen seconds had
he not. Their clothes and her handbag were retrieved from
where he had left them in a pile in the hall. He closed
and relocked the door, flipped up a switch that turned on
the indirect lighting and adjusted the dimmer down. The
room was lit with a suffusion of pale gold.
He crossed the room in three long strides and knelt in
front of the sofa, taking her hand between his and chafing
it. "Laney?" Her eyes were closed, but they came open at
her name. "How are you?"
She looked at him blankly. Two large tears rolled down her
cheeks. Then she covered her face with her hands and began
to sob. "I was so scared. It's stupid, childish, I know.
Claustrophobia ..."
"Shhh." He got off his knees and sat down beside her. He
gathered her in his arms, pressed her face into his neck
and stroked her hair. "It's over. All over. You're safe."
He kissed her temple. He kissed it again. His hand
smoothed down her back and she snuggled closer.
Abruptly he pulled away and cleared his throat
roughly. "What you need is a brandy."
He sure as hell needed one. He slowly extricated himself
from her clinging hands and went to the small wet bar in
the corner. As he poured the aromatic liquor into
snifters, he watched her. It was as though her tears had
cleansed her not only of panic but of energy too. She had
turned sideways on the sofa, tucking her feet beneath her
hips and resting her cheek against the back cushion.
Of all the damn things, he thought with a wry smile. Deke
Sargent rescuing a woman in an elevator? An absolutely
gorgeous woman who had to be helplessly carried into his
apartment and was at his mercy? He shook his head as he
made his way back to the sofa. No one would ever believe
it.
What else could he have done? Turned her out on Manhattan
streets in the aftermath of a blackout? But what was he
going to do with her?
It never occurred to him to start calling other residents
in the building in an attempt to locate the friends she
had been visiting. Nor did he examine the possessiveness
he felt toward her. He recognized it; he just didn't
analyze it. But he thought it had something to do with the
sweet curve of her hip as she reclined on his couch and
the way her honey-blond hair spilled over the tangerine-
colored velvet cushions.
"Here, Laney, drink some of this." He sat beside her again
and, cupping her head in his hand, raised the fragile
snifter to her even more fragile lips. Her lashes
fluttered open. Blue eyes, disoriented but no longer
haunted, stared at him for a moment before her lips parted
and she took a sip of the finest brandy in the world.
Her face didn't testify to its quality: Her features
screwed up comically and Deke chuckled softly as she
coughed and sputtered. She wasn't sophisticated, though
her well-cut raw-silk suit indicated discriminating taste.
"More?" he asked.
She nodded and surprised him by covering his hand with
hers and guiding the snifter back to her mouth. She sipped
daintily until most of the brandy was gone. Then she
leaned her head against the cushions and sighed deeply.
The gesture was innocent, but the swell of her breasts
beneath the clinging blouse aroused far from innocent
desires in Deke.
Setting her glass on the lacquered coffee table, he drank
a long sip of his own brandy. Her condition being what it
was, it wasn't fair for him to stare, but he had never
professed to being anything but human.
He studied her as she lay against the cushions, head
thrown back, throat arched and vulnerable, eyes half
closed, lips fragrant and moist with expensive brandy. Her
face was too angular to be considered beautiful. The nose
was a bit too short. Her mouth ...
Best not to linger too long in consideration of her mouth.
Her neck was long and slender and showed off delicate
collarbones. In the triangle between them beat a steady,
if a bit rapid, pulse. Her breasts looked soft, natural,
touchable, beneath her blouse, but she was wearing a
brassiere. He could see hints of weblike lace and satin
straps. Her waist was model-thin. Thighs and hips
likewise. From what he had seen of her calves, they were
well shaped and encased in pale stockings. His palms
itched to stroke them. She was wearing beige suede pumps
with a butterfly embossed in shiny thread on the vamp.
Even as he watched, she moved the toe of one shoe to the
heel of the other and pushed it off. The other shoe
followed. They thumped almost soundlessly to the thick
carpet. He dragged his eyes from the slender feet back up
to her face. She was watching him with a notable lack of
curiosity about her surroundings or about him.
"I couldn't breathe." A row of straight white teeth
clamped over the trembling lower lip to still it.
He touched her hair, slid his fingers down her
cheek. "That's a terrifying sensation, but it's over now."
"It was so dark." Her frail voice gave out on the last
word and she squeezed her eyes shut.
Deke moved quickly to enclose her once again in his
arms. "You were frightened. I'm sorry."
Her pliant body conformed to his hard one and mentally he
groaned because his responded. Suddenly she was not just a
woman who needed comfort and understanding: she was a
woman who was soft and feminine and who felt better than
any woman he had held recently. He spoke her name aloud.
She raised her head. Her eyes were the color of fog
rolling in off the ocean. They were wide and
pleading. "Hold me."
"I will," he vowed fervently. She seemed satisfied and
nestled her face in his neck. When her lips brushed his
skin, he felt the contact all the way down to his
manhood. "I'll hold you."
Unconsciously he was raining light kisses over her hair
and along her cheek. It seemed natural that he place one
finger beneath her chin and tilt her head back. His lips
grazed hers lightly before they rested on her mouth. He
breathed in the aroma of brandy that lingered on her lips.
Only a eunuch could have restrained himself. Deke had
never been mistaken as such.
His lips pressed hers. He felt her stiffen momentarily,
but then she relaxed against him again. He slowly
separated her lips with his tongue and ventured inside. At
first his investigation was tentative. When she touched
his tongue with hers, his control broke. Making a low
growling sound in his throat, he became more aggressive.
His tongue claimed the sweet cavern of her mouth for its
own, touching everywhere, flicking, stroking.
Her hands knotted handfuls of his shirtfront between
clenching fingers. Her legs stretched out over his. She
purred. God! Was he having some kind of marvelously erotic
dream?
His hand coasted down her front, intending to go around
her back for a tighter embrace. But her breast was too
much of a temptation and he paused to caress it gently.
Regretfully he moved his hand away.
"That felt good. Please do it again."
His head sprang up and Laney was impaled with disbelieving
green eyes. The women who usually enjoyed his caresses
considered themselves sophisticated. They played at sexual
games. Every one had a role and spoke the right dialog.
Never had Deke heard such an honest, direct request.