Blue-Eyed Devil (23 page)

“What about you?”

“I’ll be fine. Put your foot in my hand.”

“But h-how are you — ”

“Haven, quit talking and give me your foot.”

I was amazed by the ease with which he lifted me, one big hand fitting under my bottom to boost me up to the two maintenance men. They gripped me beneath the arms and pulled me onto the top of the elevator, holding me as if they feared I might skid over the side. And I probably would have, I was so covered in slime.

Normally I could have clambered up the ladder with ease, but my feet and hands kept slipping on the metal. It required concentration and effort to make it to the landing, where Hardy had pried open the hoist doors. There were more people to help me, a couple of office workers, the security supervisor and guard, the newly arrived elevator technician, and even Kelly Reinhart, who couldn’t stop exclaiming in horror, saying over and over, “I just saw her a half hour ago . . . I can’t believe this . . . I just saw her . . . ”

I ignored them all, not out of rudeness but single-minded fear. I waited beside the open doors and refused to budge, calling out Hardy’s name anxiously. I heard a lot of splashing and some grunting, and a few of the foulest curses I’d ever heard in my life.

Manuel was the first to emerge, and his companion came next. Finally Hardy crawled out of the hoistway, dripping and covered with the same dark slime I was, his business clothes plastered to his body. I was certain he didn’t smell any better than I did. His hair was standing up in places. He was the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen in my life.

I launched myself at him, wrapped my arms around his waist, and drove my head against his chest. His heart thudded strongly under my ear. “How did you get out?” I asked.

“I got a foothold on the handrail, did a pull-up on the top frame, and swung a leg up. I almost slipped back down again, but Manuel and Juan grabbed me.”

“El mono,” Manuel said as if to explain, and I heard a rumble of laughter in Hardy’s chest.

“What does that mean?” I asked.

“He called me a monkey.” Reaching into his back pocket, Hardy extracted a wallet and fished out some dripping cash, apologizing for the condition it was in. They chuckled and assured him the money was still good, and they all shook hands.

I stood with my arms clutched around Hardy as he spoke with the elevator technician and security office supervisor for a couple of minutes. Even though I was safe, I couldn’t make myself let go of him. And he didn’t seem to mind that I had attached myself to him, only ran his hand over my back now and then. A fire truck pulled up outside the building, lights flashing.

“Listen,” Hardy said to the security supervisor, handing him a soggy business card. “We’re done talking for now — she’s been through enough. I’ve got to take care of her and get us both cleaned up. If anyone wants to know something, they can reach me tomorrow.”

“Right,” the supervisor said. “I understand. You let me know if I can help you in any way. Take care, y’all.”

“He was nice,” I said as Hardy guided me out of the building, right past the fire truck and a van with a camera crew emerging.

“He’s hoping you don’t sue his ass,” Hardy replied, leading me to his car, which had been double-parked. It was a gleaming silver Mercedes sedan, and the inside beige upholstery was buttery and perfect.

“No,” I said helplessly. “I can’t get into that car when I’m all disgusting and dirty.”

Hardy opened the door and manhandled me inside. “Get in, darlin’. We’re not walking home.”

I cringed every second of the short drive to 1800 Main, knowing we were ruining the interior of his car.

And there was worse to come. After Hardy parked in the garage beneath our building, we approached the elevator that went to the lobby. I stopped like I’d been shot, and looked from the elevator to the stairs. Hardy stopped with me.

The absolute last thing I wanted to do was in get back on another elevator. It was too much. I felt every muscle tense in rejection of the idea.

Hardy was silent, letting me struggle through it. “Shit,” I choked out. “I can’t avoid elevators for the rest of my life, can I?”

“Not in Houston.” Hardy’s expression was kind. Soon, I thought, the kindness would turn to pity. That was enough to spur me forward.

“Cowboy up, Haven,” I muttered to myself, and pushed the up button. My hand was shaking. While the elevator cab descended to the garage, I waited as if I were at the gates of hell.

“I’m not sure I actually thanked you for what you did,” I said gruffly. “So . . . thank you. And I want you to know, I’m not usually . . . troublesome. I mean, I’m not one of those women who needs to be rescued all the time.”

“You can rescue me next time.”

That actually pulled a smile from me despite my anxiety. It was exactly the right thing to say.

The doors opened, and I just did it, made myself walk into the metal box, and I hunched into the corner as Hardy followed. Before the doors had closed, Hardy had pulled me into a tight-bodied clinch, length to length, and our mouths came together, and it seemed as if everything I had felt that day, anguish, anger, desperation, and relief, all surged to a flash point of pure white heat.

I responded with frantic kisses, pulling his tongue into my mouth, wanting the taste and feel of him all over me. Hardy gave a short, sharp pant, as if taken unawares by my response. He gripped my head in his hand and his mouth worked over mine, hungry and sweet.

In a matter of seconds we were at the lobby. The doors opened with an annoying beep. Hardy pulled away and tugged me out of the elevator, into the shining black marble lobby. I was sure we looked like a pair of swamp creatures as we went past the concierge desk to the main residential elevator.

David, the concierge, gaped as he saw us. “Miss Travis? My Lord, what happened?”

“I had a little . . . sort of, well . . . accident at Buffalo Tower,” I said sheepishly. “Mr. Cates helped me out.”

“Is there anything I can do?”

“No, we’re both fine.” I gave David a meaningful look. “And there is really no need to tell anyone in my family about this.”

“Yes, Miss Travis,” he said, a little too quickly. And as we went to the residential elevator, I saw him pick up his phone and start to dial.

“He’s calling my brother Jack,” I said, trudging into the open elevator. “I don’t feel like talking to anyone, especially not my nosy, interfering — ”

But Hardy was kissing me again, this time bracing his hands on the wall on either side of me as if I were too dangerous to be touched. The hot openmouthed kiss went on and on, and the pleasure of it was overpowering. I reached up and let my hands follow the thick slope of his shoulders, the muscles bunched and rigid.

I was dimly amazed by the effect of my hands on him, the way his mouth locked on mine as if he were desperately feasting on something that might be taken away. He was aroused, and I actually wanted to touch him there, put my hand on that heavy bulge. My trembling fingers slid over the flat reach of his stomach, crossing the warm metal buckle of his belt. But the elevator stopped, and Hardy gripped my wrist, tugging it back.

His eyes were a hot, soft blue, his color high as if with fever. He gave a shake of his head to clear it, and pulled me from the elevator. We were at the eighteenth floor. His apartment. I went with him willingly, waiting at the door as he entered the combination. He misdialed, causing it to beep indignantly. I bit back a grin as he swore. He gave me a wry glance and tried again, and the door opened.

Taking me by the hand as if I were a small child, Hardy led me to the shower. “Take your time,” he said. “I’ll use the other bathroom. There’s a robe on the back of the door. I’ll fetch some clothes from your apartment later.”

No shower had ever been as good as that one. I doubted any future ones would even come close. I turned the water temperature up to near-scalding, groaning with pleasure as it rushed over my cold, aching limbs. I washed and rinsed my body and shampooed my hair three times.

Hardy’s robe was too big for me, trailing the floor by at least a half-foot. I wrapped myself in it, in the scent that was now becoming familiar. I tied the belt tightly, rolled the sleeves up several times, and looked at myself in the steam-slicked mirror. My hair had sprung up in curls. Since there were no styling tools other than a brush or comb, there was no help for that.

I would have expected to feel drained after what I’d experienced, but instead I felt alive, overstimulated, the soft terry of the robe abrasive on my tender skin. Wandering to the main room, I saw Hardy dressed in jeans and a white T-shirt, his hair still wet from his shower. He was standing at the table, pulling sandwiches and containers of soup from a paper bag.

His gaze took inventory of me from head to toe. “I had the restaurant send up some food,” he said.

“Thank you. I’m starving I don’t think I’ve ever been this hungry.”

“That happens sometimes after a trauma. Whenever there was a problem on the rig — an accident or a fire — we all ate like wolves afterward.”

“A rig fire would be scary,” I said. “How do they start?”

“Oh, blowouts, leaks . . . ” He grinned as he added, “Welders . . . ” He finished setting out the food. “You start eating. I’ll run down to your apartment and get some clothes for you, if you’ll tell me the combo.”

“Please stay. I can wait for a while. This robe is comfortable.”

“Okay.” Hardy pulled out a chair for me. As I sat, I glanced at the television, which was showing the local news. I nearly fell off the chair as the anchorwoman said, “. . . and now more on the flooding. We’ve just learned that earlier this evening an unidentified woman was pulled from a flooded elevator in Buffalo Tower. According to security personnel on the scene, rising water in the lower level of the garage caused the elevator malfunction. Building employees said the woman seemed to be in good condition after the rescue and did not require medical treatment. We’ll let you know more on this story as it develops . . . ”

The phone rang, and Hardy glanced at the caller ID. “It’s your brother Jack. I’ve already talked to him and told him you’re okay. But he wants to hear it from you.”

Oh, hell, I thought. Jack must have been just thrilled to find out I was with Hardy.

I took the phone from him and pressed the talk button. “Hi, Jack,” I said in a cheerful tone.

“The thing you never want your sister to be,” my brother informed me, “is an unidentified woman on the news. Bad things happen to unidentified women.”

“I’m fine,” I told him, smiling. “Just got a little wet and dirty, that’s all.”

“You may think you’re okay, but you’re probably still in shock. You may have injuries you’re not even aware of. Why the hell didn’t Cates take you to a doctor?”

My smile disappeared. “Because I’m fine. And I’m not in shock.”

“I’m coming to get you. You’re staying at my apartment tonight.”

“No way. I’ve seen your apartment, Jack. It’s a pit. It’s so bad my immune system grows stronger every time I visit you.”

Jack didn’t laugh. “You’re not going to stay with Cates after you’ve been through something this traumatic — ”

“Remember our talk about boundaries, Jack?”

“Fuck boundaries. Why did you call him when you’ve got two brothers who work just a few blocks away from Buffalo Tower? Gage or I could have handled everything just fine.”

“I don’t know why I called him, I — ” I darted an uncomfortable glance at Hardy. He gave me an unfathomable look and went to the kitchen. “Jack, I’ll see you tomorrow. Do not come over here.”

“I told Cates if he touches you, he’s a dead man walking.”

“Jack,” I muttered, “I’m hanging up now.”

“Wait.” He paused, and his tone became cajoling. “Let me come and get you, Haven. You’re my baby sis — ”

“No. Good night.”

I hung up as the sound of swearing came through the receiver. Hardy returned to the table, bringing me a glass filled with ice and fizzing liquid.

“Thanks,” I said. “Dr Pepper?”

“Yes. With some lemon juice and a splash of Jack Daniel’s. I thought it might help steady your nerves.”

I gave him a quizzical glance. “My nerves are okay.”

“Maybe. But you still look a little strung out.”

It was delicious. I drank a few sweet, tart gulps, until Hardy touched my hand. “Whoa, there. Sip it slowly, honey.”

There was a pause in the conversation as we ate vegetable soup and sandwiches. I finished the drink and exhaled slowly, feeling better. “May I have another?” I asked, nudging the empty glass toward him.

“In a few minutes. Jack Daniel’s has a way of sneaking up on you.

I turned sideways to face him, hooking my elbow over the back of my chair. “There’s no need to treat me like I’m a teenager. I’m a big girl, Hardy.”

Hardy shook his head slowly, his gaze holding mine. “I know that. But in some ways you’re still . . . innocent.”

“Why do you think that?”

His reply was soft. “Because of the way you handle certain situations.”

I felt a wash of heat over my face as I wondered if he was referring to how I had behaved in the stairwell. “Hardy — ” I swallowed hard. “About last night — ”

“Wait.” He touched my arm as it lay on the table, his fingers gently tracing the tiny lattice of veins on the inside of my wrist. “Before we get to that, tell me something. Why did you call me instead of your brothers? I’m glad as hell you did. But I’d like to know why.”

The heat went everywhere then, spreading over the naked skin beneath the robe. I was suffused with uneasiness and excitement, wondering bow far I would dare to go with him, what he’d do if I told him the truth. “I didn’t really think about it. I just . . . wanted you.”

His fingers moved in a lazy, warm stroke from wrist to elbow, and back again. “Last night,” I heard him murmur, “you were right to push me away. The first time shouldn’t be in a place like that. You were right to call it off, but the way you did it — ”

“I’m sorry,” I said earnestly. “I’m really — ”

“No, don’t be sorry.” He took my hand in his and began to play with my fingers. “I thought about it later after I’d cooled down a little. And I thought you might not have reacted like that unless you’d had some kind of . . . bedroom problems . . . with your husband.” He looked at me, those blue eyes taking in every nuance of my expression.