Page 76 of Host for the Holidays
My stomach shoots into my chest, but there’s no room for it there because my heart is knocking from the back of my ribs to the front, over and over and over. I look into her eyes, searching for evidence that this is what she really wants, and all the while, she’s pulling, urging me toward her, so subtly I could almost persuade myself I’m imagining it.
But I’m not, and I know that because I have to adjust my footing to keep from losing my balance and falling into her. Instead, I take one step closer, my body reacting like a metal detector just shy of gold.
Madi’s hand slides up my arm, leaving chills in its wake that urge me closer toward the only other warmth in this elevator. Our faces are so close now, I can almost taste her. It’s like seeing water after a trek through the Sahara, and I can’t help myself now. My fingers are shaking, but I slip a hand around her waist, feeling her warm body on the palm of my hand and the cold metal of the elevator on the back of it.
She gives one more pull on my upper arm, this time less subtle, and I yield, trying to dip my toe in rather than diving in like my body and heart are telling me to do. Our lips meet, but just barely. It’s the whisper of a kiss, really, just a taste, and I can feel it radiate from my lips just like I can follow a sip of hot chocolate in my mouth, down my throat, and into my stomach, warming me, paving a path for more.
Gosh, I want more.
Her hand tightens on my arm just as her lips press against mine more fully, and I’m there to give whatever she will take, to take whatever she’ll give because I’m not even certain there’s a bottom to the pool we’re swimming in right now, but I want to dive deeper and deeper until I find out.
Her hand moves from my arm and joins with the other one in my hair, and my self-control frays like paper in a shredder. I slide my hand from her waist to the small of her back, pulling her toward me, needing all of her near me. There’s no resistance there, though, no equal and opposite reaction, so I stumble back and into the bars behind me, Madi’s mouth still on mine. The pain in my back only makes Madi’s lips feel all the softer.
Everything I’ve been trying to hold in check is spilling over, and her willingness to reciprocate has me feeling things I’ve never felt until now. I put a hand on her cheek, afraid she’ll pull away before I have the opportunity to express it all.
Clang.
The elevator comes to a rough halt, and we break apart, our gazes meeting. Somehow Madi’s even more beautiful now than she was two minutes ago, her lips more red than pink, her breath coming quickly, and her eyes on me.
We don’t even say anything. We just stand there, looking at each other, waiting for the doors to open behind her.
But they don’t.
THIRTY-TWO
RÉMY
I lookat the light to indicate which floor we’ve reached. Three, it says. I put a hand on Madi’s arm—not strictly necessary, but now that the touch barrier is broken, I can’t help myself—and lean forward to press the button behind her to open the doors.
Nothing happens. Madi turns and presses the same button. Still nothing.
I look around at the bars that surround the top half of the elevator, and my eyes settle on an unwelcome view: the floor a few feet above our heads. We are stuck in the in-between.
“What?” Madi says, her voice urgent. My face must have given me away because she follows my gaze, and her eyes widen.
“It’s fine,” I say. “We’re just between floors.” I press the four button again. Nothing.
“Oh my gosh,” she says in a whisper. “Did we break the elevator?”
I can’t help but laugh because she makes it sound like we broke it by kissing. I feel the place on my back where it hit the bars behind me.
“Maybe,” I say. “But it’s not a big deal. We just press this.” I press the alarm button, determined to keep calm because this is a scene out of Madi’s nightmares.
The seconds pass. And pass. And pass. Madi fidgets with one of the buttons on her coat while we wait for an answer, both of us staring at the red button. Paris is full of old elevators, and I’ve had to use the stairs while elevators are being repaired, but I’ve never actually beeninone when it broke.
I grab Madi’s hand, and her eyes flit to mine.
“It’s gonna be okay,” I say. “I promise.” I’m no Superman, but I will pry these freaking bars apart with my bare hands if I have to. And failing that, I will do a YouTube search for how to escape an elevator.
Madi seems to relax slightly as her fingers settle between mine. I could dropkick this elevator for interrupting things, but maybe this is for the best. A literal jolt was probably the only thing that could stop me from kissing Madi like I was.
But she just broke up with Josh yesterday. As in less than thirty-six hours ago. And while part of me is happy to take being a rebound if it means more time with Madi, the other part of me knows that rebounds are not the healthy way to deal with a breakup. I don’t want to take advantage of her in a vulnerable state.
Finally a man answers the call button, his voice muffled through the old microphone system. It takes a good deal of back and forth for us to understand one another, but once he’s brought up to speed on the situation and our location, he promises help is on the way.
I relay the information to Madi in English, and she lets out a sigh of relief, loosening her grip on my hand a bit, which is nice since her nails were starting to dig into my skin. If she needed it, though, I would have let her go full Wolverine on my hand.
She needs more distraction, and I can think of a few options . . . but now that my mind and body have had some time to cool, more questions are starting to creep into my mind about what exactly that was for her—and what happens now.
