Roxanne St. Claire - Like a Hurricane

“Would you like some help up there?”

A hand with pink fingernails reached down and frantically pulled at the skirt, hiding the blue-lace trim, but not the thighs. The decidedly feminine backside squirmed, accompanied by another little mewing sound as the skirt—bless the tiny thing—crept higher up in response.

“Oh—oh! I’m stuck!”

He dodged a sudden swing of one long, shapely leg, then watched as the blue material shimmied left and right in a vain attempt to descend and dainty bare feet pointed to the ground. His instinct was to reach out and help her, but he was momentarily paralyzed. Surely his hand would accidentally land on a soft, feminine piece of flesh.

That did it.

The blood reached its destination and Quinn sucked in a breath as arousal sucker punched him. Without thinking, he grabbed the hips, careful to touch only the fabric of her skirt.

She shrieked again. “Hey! What are you doing?”

He held tight. “Trying to get a round peg out of a square hole.” He gripped the curve of her hips, inadvertently bunching the material and leaving him with a handful of pure, silky thigh. Oh, man. “If you, uh, just relax, ma’am, I can bring you down.”

“Relax?” The muscles under his fingers tightened in sheer defiance of the order.

“Relax,” he urged, sliding his hand to a covered area.

He heard a moan, then, “Okay.”

“All right, I’ve got you.” It didn’t take much strength, but he was thankful for his six-foot-plus height and the hours he’d spent at the gym as he eased her body down. Every one of his senses slammed into full alert while he drowned in the intoxicating feminine scent of her and studied the perfect curves of her backside under the silky material of her skirt as she descended.

Inch by scrumptious inch, he brought her closer to the ground. She let out tiny whimpers of discomfort that made him want to cradle her closer. A narrow waist emerged from the opening, followed by a sleek, toned back, covered only in a thin blue tank top, the same color as the skirt and…coordinated undergarments.

As her head dipped into the elevator, he saw a twisted mass of thick, dark hair stabbed with a yellow pencil—a pencil?

Once her bare feet were firmly planted on the floor, she kept her back to him as she reached up and yanked her skirt furiously over her thighs. Too bad. He’d miss them.

“Thank you.” The tremble in her voice touched him.

“No problem.” None. At all. He’d do it again in an instant.

She still didn’t turn and he fought the urge to gently twirl her around. He wanted to see her. He needed to see what kind of face went with a body like that.

She stood perfectly still, square shoulders topped by the ridiculous pencil ’do.

He cleared his throat again. “Well. Okay, then.” He tapped the wall of ancient-looking elevator buttons. “First floor? Ladies’ lingerie?”

The proud shoulders shook in a sudden laugh. Good. It would be a crime if hips and thighs and legs like that didn’t have a sense of humor.

“It’s okay,” he told her. “I didn’t see anything I haven’t seen before.” He paused, that single flash of blue lace burning in his brain. “Just at a new and different angle.”

She chuckled again.

“Kinda makes me want to move into this place permanently.”

In an instant, she whipped around. “Really?”

Then Quinn McGrath got sucker punched again.

This time by blue. It was all he could see, all he could absorb. Her eyes were the most beautiful shades of blue and green, precisely the deep, inviting, mesmerizing color of the Gulf of Mexico. They were set wide apart, adorned with thick black lashes. His gaze traveled over her creamy complexion and paused at the little killer cleft in her chin.

“Really,” he said huskily. At least he thought that’s what he said. But the way she blinded him with a glorious smile, he wondered if he’d actually said the words screaming in his brain. Something along the lines of: Let’s have sex. Now.

Great. One nanosecond view of underpants and a perfectly mature thirty-three-year-old man was reduced to thinking like a teenager.

The maddeningly blue eyes narrowed to slits. “What are you doing on this floor?”

He took a step back, afraid if he got any closer he’d pull her into his arms and act like a teenager, too. “I—I was just looking around.” He pointed to the open access panel. “And up.”

She smoothed her skirt self-consciously. “It was stuck.”

“I noticed.” He almost couldn’t look into the depths of her eyes, they were so distracting.

She fought a smile. Adorable. “I mean the elevator.”

He forced his gaze away from her face, down over the azure-colored tank top and onto the most impressive set of—

With a jerk, the elevator plummeted into a sudden fall that tumbled her into him.

“Oh—”

The force pushed Quinn into the panel of buttons just as the elevator thudded to a halt. With a low rumble, the doors started to close.

“No!” She lunged toward the noise. “We’ll be stuck!”

He jammed his hand between the doors, his wrist chomped by wood and a rubber strip just as she fell against him, her heavenly body molded to his in the tiny confines of the elevator.

This was the definition of agony and ecstasy. He muttered a soft curse. She spat out a hard one.

In one more second, she’d surely realize what a positive impression she was making.

“I can open them,” she said, sticking her hand through the opening his arm made between the doors.

Her jaw clenched, her eyes crinkled and a tiny pulse in her slender necked thumped. He let his gaze drop again, this time the angle giving him a direct shot down into her incredible cleavage. Good God, was nothing about this woman ordinary?

She swore again and grunted, inadvertently pressing her thigh between his legs and mumbling something about a cable.

Unfortunately, his body responded for him. Instantly, she jumped up and did that little bird-squawk thing again.

Quinn managed to stand. He twisted his arm and forced the doors open until they locked into place. The elevator had fallen about two feet. “I can climb up there and then help you up,” he said. Not that he wouldn’t like to stay trapped in a four-by-four-foot space with her, but they’d probably run out of air. Or self-control.

“I think you’ve helped me enough today.” Her voice was tight, but there was a glimmer in her eye. A very pretty glimmer. “You go and I’ll work on the broken cable.”

“No way,” he said hoisting himself up in one move. He turned and reached for her arm. “It’s not safe in there.”

“You’re probably right.” With a resigned sigh, she scooped up her shoes, then reached toward him. She locked her slender arms around his much stronger ones and he lifted her over the step and into the hallway with ease.

She looked up at him and beamed. “Thanks.” Her smile was absolutely deadly. “The elevator is a little unpredictable in this place. But really that’s part of the charm.”

The only charm he could see was a five-foot-six-inch blue angel with a writing utensil in her hair and a body that could bring a man to his knees. Just the thought of being on his knees in front of her made his blood go rushing off to that same place again.

He jammed his hands into his pockets and looked into those magic eyes. “So, did they bring you in for the night shift or are you the regular repair person in this dump?”

An endearing flush spread across her cheeks. She reached up and tucked a stray espresso-colored strand into the pencil, then dropped her shoes on the floor and straightened them with her bare foot. “It’s not a dump.”

“It ain’t exactly the Taj Mahal.”