He doesn’t answer. He just twines his fingers tighter with mine as he leads me out the front door of his apartment into a low-lit hallway, tows me toward a service elevator, and slides open the gate so we can clamber inside. There are only three buttons on the panel — 1, 2, and B. He hits B and the elevator rattles into motion a few seconds later.
“Hello?” I yank at my hand, trying to get free, but he’s latched on tight. “I’m barefoot. Braless. My butt is barely concealed by these boy-short undies. And I would really not enjoy meeting your neighbors while practically naked.”
“No neighbors.” Nate’s eyes flicker down to my chest as if to confirm I am, in fact, braless, then move slowly down my body. “I own the whole building.”
I cross my arms over the girls, feeling my heartbeat pick up speed as his eyes slide down to linger on my bare legs.
He owns the building? The whole building?
Does that mean we can hook up in this elevator?
Eeek! Danger!
I push the thoughts away and take a step back, so I’m pressed against the wall as far from him as humanly possible. His eyes never leave me as we descend.
It’s easily the longest thirty seconds of my life.
“Well.” I swallow, searching for composure. “Where the hell are we going? It’s, like, one in the morning. I could be sleeping right now.”
Not.
He runs his free hand through his hair, expelling a harsh breath. When his eyes lift to mine, I see frustration in their depths. “Neither of us is going to get any sleep, and you know it.”
My mouth opens, closes, opens again. I can’t really protest — he’s right.
“So you’re taking me where, exactly?” I adopt a haughty expression. “You hit B — is that basement? Batcave? Bottomless pit into which you will throw my lifeless body?”
“You’ll see.”
I roll my eyes. “Could you be any more cryptic?”
“Probably.” His eyes crinkle. “If I tried.”
“You’re annoying,” I inform him.
Annoyingly good-looking.
Annoyingly funny, in your own smart-ass way.
Annoyingly charming, when you look at me like that.
“Uh huh,” he says, like he doesn’t believe a word I’ve said.
“I don’t like you.”
“Boo likes me.” He shrugs, as though that makes everything balance out.
“He likes anyone who takes him for midnight walkies,” I say, lying through my teeth.
Boo barely likes anyone. Even me.
Yet, for some ungodly reason, he’s taken a shining to Nate.
“Uh huh,” Nate says again. Damn. He knows I’m full of shit. “Whatever you say, West.”
Wherever we’re going, I know one thing: I’m totally screwed.
***
On the ride down here, I made jokes about the basement level of his building being a Batcave — turns out, I wasn’t that far off. In addition to a stockpile of weaponry and electronics in a massive locker on the far wall, there’s a sparring area with a punching bag and mats, and an honest-to-god shooting range set up on the other side of the space. It looks like a bowling alley with four separate lanes, except instead of pins there are hanging paper targets at the end of each strip.
“Do you live above Knox Investigations?” I ask after a few seconds of looking around with wide eyes.
His gaze cuts to me and he nods sharply.
“Sleep on the second floor…. Batcave in the basement….” I tilt my head. “What’s on one?”
“Control room,” he says succinctly. The stubborn set of his jaw tells me I’ll get no more out of him on the subject.
“What are we doing down here?”
His arms cross over his chest, making his muscles bulge. “I’m going to teach you how to protect yourself.”
“What?” My heart beats too fast as I eye the sparring matts, picturing me and Nate rolling around there, hands all over each other as he teaches me his moves.
In my fantasy version of this scenario, we may or may not be naked. And his moves have very little to do with the rules of jiu-jitsu.
Danger!
Realizing I’ve been lost in my lusty thoughts, I force myself to tune back in.