Jeez. Idiots. “Stay in one place,” Dean ordered the man. “Otherwise you’re putting everyone in danger.”
“Fuck you,” the man snapped, shuffling forward in the dark.
Another crash, and something wet sprayed over Dean’s legs. He hoped to God it wasn’t acidic. People were using their cell phones to light up spaces around the room, but he’d had enough. He caught his princess by the hand and stepped two paces back the way he’d come, where he was sure he’d passed a door.
“Come with me,” he whispered.
The pungent scent of cleaners greeted him, but he didn’t care. At this moment, a broom closet was far safer than out there with the jackasses.
She came willingly. “I thought we weren’t supposed to go anywhere.”
“That was before Dumb and Dumber tried to light us on fire.”
Her soft laughter tickled the side of his neck. The closet was so tiny there was absolutely no room to move. They stood side by side, their arms touching, the heat of her skin searing through his spandex sleeve.
“Why is it that people always turn into morons in an emergency?” she asked wryly.
“I don’t think they turn into that so much as it’s their true nature coming out.”
“I guess.” She paused. “This one time I was staying at a hotel in London when the fire alarm went off, and you should have seen the chaos that erupted. Turned out to be a false alarm, but twelve people got injured during the evacuation because everyone was pushing each other out of the way.” She heaved a glum breath. “The world is nuts.”
Was it? Because his world seemed pretty damn fine right about now. Standing in close quarters with a woman whose body could only be described as sin? Bring on the next emergency, please.
A brief silence fell over the dark space, as Dean tried to find a non-sleazy way to segue from we’re stuck in a closet to goddamn, I think you’re hot.
But his goddess beat him to it.
“So…” Her tone rang with humor. “Wanna make out?”
Chapter Two
Emma Lee could think of a hundred better ways she could be spending her evening. Not at this party would be on the top of that list. But she supposed if she had to be stuck in a broom closet with someone, she could do a lot worse than sexy Iron Man. Or at least she thought it was Iron Man—she’d only caught a quick glimpse of him in the flash of light from one of the cell phones that had switched on in the main room.
Granted, for all she knew, her costumed crusader’s face veered more toward hideous villain than chiseled hero, but hey, when a man was rocking a body like that? Who cared what was up top. And at least the mask covering his face kept the illusion intact.
“You stole my line.” His voice sounded rough and slightly far away from behind the plastic mask, but there was no mistaking his amusement.
“Did I?” she teased.
“Mmm-hmmm. And the answer is yes. I would love to make out.”
Emma sucked in a breath. She’d only been kidding when she’d voiced the silly question, but judging by the seductive note in his tone, he was dead serious.
“Oh.” She swallowed. “You know I was joking, right?”
That got her a soft chuckle. “Word to the wise—never joke about something like that with a guy like me.”
“Why?”
“Because I take kissing very seriously, darling. If making out was an Olympic sport? I’d be a gold medalist.”
She grinned despite herself. It’d been a long time since she’d met a man who made her laugh. The males she encountered on a daily basis were either industry professionals with inflated egos or models who thought they were hot shit, but that was fashion for you. Even though she stayed behind the scenes, she couldn’t avoid the glitz and glamour of her field—and the often-slimy, über-arrogant men who crossed her path. Including the one she worked with.
The man standing next to her at the moment definitely gave off a cocky vibe, but there was nothing slimy about him, and when he shifted in the darkness so they were face to face—or rather, face to mask—Emma’s pulse sped up. Not in fear, but…oh hell…in anticipation.
Yup, she shouldn’t have let Susanna Jones convince her to come tonight. Emma wasn’t crazy about parties. Or crowds. Or unfamiliar places. Normally, a drink or two would ease her nerves and allow her to come out of her shell, but she hadn’t had time to hit the bar yet—Suz’s friends had dragged her upstairs to get their scare on the moment they’d arrived at the party.
And now she was in a dark, cramped space with a man who was making her heart race.
“I really was kidding,” she said, her mouth running dry. She gave a rueful sigh. “Being in here reminded me of that game my friends and I used to play in middle school—you know, seven minutes in heaven?”
He made a tsk noise with his tongue. “What a sad game.”