Becker shrugged. “He’s probably scared we’ll try to climb out the ceiling panel and rappel down the cables.”
His attempt at humor fell flat, mostly because Jane was barely listening to him. She glanced wildly around the car, measuring it in her mind. Five by five, she guessed. Maybe a couple of feet more. Oh God.
“You okay?”
Her head jerked up. “What? Yeah. Sure. I’m great. I’m wonderful.” Her eyes ping-ponged around the tiny space. “Why isn’t he answering us?” she finally burst out.
Becker came to her side, concern in his eyes. “Hey. Hey.” He touched her arm. “Don’t worry, okay? I’m sure they’ll have it up and running in a few minutes. Fifteen, max.”
Sweat bloomed on her forehead. “Fifteen minutes? We can’t survive in this teeny little box for that long! What if we run out of air? What if—” She quit talking, her heart pounding so fast she feared it might stop.
“I take it you’re not good with small spaces,” Becker said with a sigh.
She sucked in some oxygen. “It’s a problem,” she admitted.
“How the hell did you get to the eleventh floor then? You didn’t ride the elevator up?”
She shook her head, pressing her hands to her sides because they were beginning to sweat. And shake. “I took the stairs.”
“You climbed ten flights of stairs to—”
He was interrupted by the sound of static again. Jane’s entire body flooded with relief as a voice filled the car.
“Folks, you still there?”
“Oh, for fuck’s sake, where else would we go?” she muttered.
Looking like he was smothering a smile, Becker moved back to the intercom. “Still here,” he said.
“It seems we’re experiencing some technical difficulties,” the man said apologetically. “The repairman is on his way over to take a look.”
Jane’s heart took off like a terrified horse in a thunderstorm. Oh shit.
“Shouldn’t take too long to get you folks out of there,” the man—no, the devil—added. “Half hour, hour tops.”
Jane promptly dropped to the ground and stuck her head between her knees. She sucked in shallow breaths, knowing she was making a fool of herself, but unable to stop the terror spiraling inside her.
“Okay, thanks. Keep us updated please,” Becker said into the intercom. And then he was by her side, on his knees beside her. “Jane. Jane, look at me.”
Miserably, she raised her head, ashamed of the tears prickling her eyelids.
“Just breathe, okay? Breathe with me.”
She opened her mouth, but when she tried to inhale, her throat tightened. “There’s no air,” she wheezed. “No. Air.”
She grew light-headed, her cheeks so hot she knew they must look like two enormous apples. And her heart…oh God, she really was going to have a heart attack. In this miniscule elevator car with no air and walls that were closing in on her and—
A pair of strong arms wrapped around her and suddenly she found herself in Thomas Becker’s lap. His hands cupped her scorching cheeks, those brown eyes blazing with intensity. “Jane, look at me. You’re okay. We’re okay. We’ll get out of here in no time, all right? And there is plenty of air, so you really need to stop hyperventilating before you pass out.”
Pass out? She was more worried about her heart bursting right out of her chest. As panic spiraled through her, she buried her face against Thomas Becker’s sturdy chest and started to cry.
Fucking wonderful. Not only was he going to be late for his appointment with the realtor, but now he had to contend with the panicky, crying sexpot in his arms. With a sigh, Becker awkwardly patted Jane Harrison’s back, attempting to offer reassurance, but all he got in return were a few more muffled sobs and a growing erection. The hard-on couldn’t be helped. The woman in his lap was smoking hot, with high, full tits, shapely legs that were bare beneath that short skirt of hers, and a firm ass that felt pretty damn good against his thighs. And she smelled incredible, like honey and lavender and a flowery perfume that made his groin ache. He couldn’t resist pressing his face to the wild mane of red hair spilling down her back, inhaling her sweet shampoo as the soft tresses tickled his nose. He forced himself to pull back, because one, it was inappropriate to smell a woman’s hair while she was crying in his arms, and two, because he really, really didn’t need this headache right now.
His shoulder was fucking throbbing, the bullet wound still in its early healing stages, and he knew he’d overdone it in the physical therapy session today. But hell, he needed to get back in fighting shape, and fast. He was going stir crazy in his hotel room, dying to get back to work, and if it meant pushing himself to his physical limits, so be it.
“Jane,” he said firmly. “Look at me.”