Without glancing back, he stepped into the car.
Jane stood frozen in place for a moment, insulted. A tad pissed. Then she bounded into the elevator after him, hoping he couldn’t see the hot flush on her cheeks. Why was this guy so rude? Liz had told her he’d been extremely warm and gentle as he’d lifted her into the helicopter. So either Liz was wrong and Thomas Becker was an asshole or, as usual, Jane’s Playboy Bunny body had caused yet another man to reach an unfair conclusion about her.
Sometimes she hated the way she looked. And, to this day, she still wondered if her mom had engaged in a torrid affair with some Irish stud in order to produce a daughter like Jane Harrison. Because really, how else could she explain how utterly different she looked compared to everyone else in her family? Her parents, sister, and younger brother were skinny as twigs, with sandy-blond hair and dark brown eyes. Jane, on the other hand, had a head of shocking red hair that nobody ever believed was natural, blue eyes that were far too big for her face, and of course, that centerfold body. Her sister was willowy and graceful, a few inches short of six feet, like everyone else in the family. Jane? She was a paltry five-six, with her huge boobs, small waist, and curvy frame—all guaranteed to make sure most people lumped her in the airhead category without a second’s thought.
Well, she was no airhead. A bit of a wild child, sure. Definitely at one with her sexuality. But stupid? Nope. And she was a damn good journalist, with a big brain in her head to match those big breasts.
Setting her jaw, she fixed Thomas Becker with a steely look and said, “Why not?”
He blinked, looking startled that she was in the elevator with him. “Huh?”
“Why aren’t you interested in doing the interview?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “I can assure you, Today’s World is a very prestigious magazine, and I’m very good at what I do. I could paint you as an All-American hero, a regular GI Joe.”
The corners of his mouth twitched. “It sounds very tempting, Ms. Harrison—”
“Jane,” she cut in.
“Jane,” he amended. “But I’m still not interested in having an article written about me.”
“It won’t be just about you. Look, Mr. Becker—”
“Just Becker, or Beck.”
“Okay, Becker. It’ll revolve around Elizabeth, and her experience. I’d just like some quotes from you about the rescue itself, how you planned it, the strategy, maybe a picture.”
His features hardened. “No.”
Frustration bubbled in her stomach. “Will you at least give me a reason why you’re so determined not to do it?”
He glanced at the flashing numbers over the doors, his stiff shoulders telling her he couldn’t wait to get out of this elevator. Wonderful. Now he was dying to get away from her.
Glancing at her again, he released a sigh. “I don’t like being in the spotlight, okay? And I definitely don’t like having my picture flashed around.” He rolled his eyes. “For someone who considers herself a good journalist, I’d think you’d understand why that is.”
She bristled. “Why a man who saved a woman’s life doesn’t want some good old praise? No, I don’t understand.”
“I’m a SEAL. My job requires keeping a low profile, getting in and out of places before people even realize I’m there. How well do you think I’d do if everyone knew my face?”
Jane paused. Huh. So he made a good point. “Okay,” she said thoughtfully. “I get that. But there are ways around it, you know. We don’t have to print a picture, and we can change your name in the article. What’s your next argument?”
A flash of amusement filled his eyes. “Has anyone ever told you you’re very persistent?”
“Yep. Goes with my line of work.”
The elevator slowly ground to a stop. Jane glanced up and noticed they hadn’t reached the lobby, but had stopped on the third floor. She waited for the doors to open to let in a passenger, but nothing happened.
Wrinkling her forehead, she glanced at Becker. “Why did we stop?”
“I have no idea.” He moved toward the panel and punched in the lobby button again.
A shrill ringing suddenly blared in the elevator, startling her so badly she nearly fell over backwards. “What the hell?” she shouted over the noise.
Becker studied the panel then jammed his finger against the intercom button. The ringing died immediately, replaced by the sound of static. Becker leaned into the speaker. “Hello, anyone there?”
A moment later, a voice responded. “Hi there, folks, what seems to be the problem?”
“The elevator stopped on the third floor. It might be stuck.”
“All right, just stay put. Let me see what the trouble is.”
“Stay put?” Jane echoed as the static crackled and disappeared. “Where the hell else would we go?” Her suit jacket suddenly felt far too tight, her skin super hot.