Page 13 of Near Miss

A rush of warm heat pooled between her thighs. She clamped them together and stared at the tabletop until her hormone surge abated.

“I said, I think we should take a break for lunch. There’s a shop downstairs where we can grab a piece.”

She blinked. “A piece of what.”

The edges of his mouth curled up. “Sorry. A sandwich.”

“Oh.” She blinked again. “Sure.” Was he suggesting a lunch date where they could sit down and get to know each other better, or was he planning on grabbing something and bringing it back to his office? She wanted to learn more about Lachlan Mackay than what she’d read about in the file from Admiral Dane.

He stood, and his lips twisted, a soft grunt escaping.

Her gaze dropped to where he massaged his left thigh. “Are you okay?”

“I’m fine,” he answered in a sharp tone that indicated otherwise.

He gestured for her to go in front of him. His fingers grazed the small of her back, sending a bolt of lightning through the fabric of her suit straight to her womb.

She wobbled at the impact.

“Careful.” His long fingers shot out to steady her. “Maybe you should try shorter heels.”

He grabbed his suit coat off the back of his door before rolling down his shirt sleeves and slipping into the jacket.

“It’s not the shoes,” she mumbled. She kept her head down, her gaze slanting to try and read the fancy invite perched on the corner of his desk.The Reston Gallery of Art cordially invites you to—

“Ready?”

She gave a guilty start, her gaze jerking to meet his before she preceded him out of his office.

If he’d noticed her snooping, it didn’t show. Contained power radiated from him, even as he shortened his stride to match hers. His limp smoothed out as they kept walking.

Maybe she was a snob, but Lachlan hardly seemed the art patron type. He had a rough-around-the-edges aura clothed in a custom suit—a Daniel Craig as the urbane James Bond vibe.

The doors closed on one of the elevators before they could reach it. She pressed the button to summon another car. The next elevator that arrived was empty. They stepped in, and Lachlan pressed the button for the ground floor. As if on cue, they retreated to opposite corners.

She stared at the digital floor indicator above the doors to keep from staring at the man. The floors ticked downward—seven, six, five.

The elevator shuddered to a stop with a bounce. The green digits on the floor indicator disappeared. Lachlan frowned and pressed the open door button. Nothing happened.

She opened her mouth to speak when the overhead lights in the ceiling panels went dark.

“Bollocks,” Lachlan swore.

“Is the elevator stuck?” Sophia turned her wide-eyed gaze on him in the dim light.

“We’ll be fine.” He pressed the alarm button. Nothing happened. He punched the call button, his neck muscles tightening. The scent of moon-kissed flowers, lush and sweet with a dusky edge, permeated the small space. Sophia’s scent. He’d been breathing her in all morning, willing his body not to react as they worked together. He needed fresh air that didn’t smell like her.

“Hello?” A disembodied male voice responded.

“Elevator number three is malfunctioning.” Lachlan gave the man the building address.

“Hang tight. We’re sending a technician.”

Sophia had moved to stand next to him. She bit her lip, and he zeroed in on dainty white teeth gripping a generous lower lip.

A wave of lust hit him square in the chest. “How long?” he snapped at the faceless man on the other end of the line.

“Please try to stay calm, sir. We’ll get you out as quickly as we can.”

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