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“What I’m going to do is focus on this campaign. Our proposal has to be perfect.”
Karen paused a moment, then huffed in disgust. “Fine, fine. All work and no play makes you a dull girl.”
Julie bit her lip, wondering just how much of the dollar and cents her artistic partner understood about their company. “Um, you know, I was going over our books last night and the picture—”
“I know,” Karen interrupted, holding up her hand to silence her friend. “Well, I don’t know the exact figures, but I’ve got a pretty good idea.”
Julie nodded. There was nothing more to say to that. Except, perhaps, that they would get through this. “We’re going to put together a kick-ass proposal. We’re going to be brilliant.”
“And we’re going to win this contract,” Karen echoed with confidence. “I just know it.”
2
Seven weeks later …
“WE DIDN’T GET THE contract.” Julie stared at her laptop, her mind going numb. “We didn’t get it.”
Across the desk, Karen sighed and set down her sketchbook. Neither one of them had to say what they were thinking. They were both far from home, buried in debt, and as of five minutes ago, their company was dead. Bankrupt. Belly-up. Finito.
“This should have worked,” Julie said as she fell back in her chair and stared at the ceiling tiles. “I think and breathe advertising. You’re the best graphic designer there is. And together we know the internet like the back of our hands. We should be buried in accounts, not.” Dead broke.
Karen released another heavy sigh. “Yeah, okay, so this campaign didn’t work. It was brilliant, they’re idiots for not hiring us, but now we have to move on. So, what’s next?”
Julie didn’t answer. She didn’t have the heart to tell her best friend that after two years of scrimping and sweating and bleeding, she just didn’t have it in her to try again. She’d put everything into this last pitch: heart, soul, and her last borrowed dime. They’d failed anyway. They hadn’t gotten the account.
“My dad’s started a new bowling league,” she said, still talking to the ceiling tiles.
“In Nebraska?” Karen snorted. “You hate Nebraska!”
She hated starving, too. And being homeless. Which she would soon be since she couldn’t pay any more rent on her tiny apartment or on this cramped office space.
“Come on, Julie. Usually you’re the one with six more possibilities lined up, just in case. So what’s next? What have you got up your sleeve?”
“Nothing,” she whispered. “Absolutely nothing. We’re done.”
Karen was silent for a long time, clearly absorbing the finality of that while Julie tried hard to not think of returning to Nebraska, suitcase in hand. How did she tell her family that her plan to make it big—the one she’d talked about since she was twelve years old—had ended up in a huge pile of debt?
“Okay, I’ve got a new plan,” Karen said firmly. “I think you should get laid.”
Julie lifted her head to stare at her friend. “What?”
“I’m serious. You’ve been working nonstop for months. Years, even. Too much tension stops the flow of qi.”
“What?”
“Your energy, your power. And nothing else opens up the qi like a good—”
“Karen! You can’t possibly think that sex is an answer to bankruptcy.” There. She’d said the word aloud.
Her friend shook her head. “We’re not closed yet. We’ve got almost a month left for you to think of something brilliant. But you won’t think of anything with your qi all clogged.”
Julie didn’t answer. Her friend was being silly as a way to lighten the mood. It was sweet really, but some things couldn’t be changed regardless of her state of qi.
Karen leaned forward, dropping her elbows onto Julie’s desk. “When was the last time you saw Elevator Man?”
Julie nearly choked. Gawd, she should never have told her friend about him. Especially since the elevator seven weeks ago had only been the first incident. They’d had approximately one anonymous encounter a week since then. And that was nothing compared to her nighttime fantasies. Who’d have thought that she would become obsessed with elevator sex? But she had. She didn’t know whether her fantasies were fueling her forays into the scandalous or the reverse, but whatever the reason, she’d been unable to stop herself from orchestrating increasingly sexual encounters with the hunky janitor.
Their second time had been in another jam-packed elevator, but this time she’d gotten in first. She hadn’t even been sure it was him except that his general height and build were the same. He was about six foot and lean in those blue denim coveralls. His hair was rich brown, all curly and shaggy, and his shoulders broad. As she’d stared at his dark, dark brown eyes, she’d wondered: are you him? Are you the first man to touch me in forever?
He hadn’t answered, of course. But he’d inhaled deeply, and she’d thought about her perfume. Was he smelling the sandalwood she liked to dab on her wrists? Or the minty herb of her shampoo? Did he know what she was thinking?
She’d smiled at him, then. Something in her had taken over and she’d flashed her best come-hither smile. He’d seen it. His gaze zeroed in on her lips. But he didn’t do anything, didn’t say anything. If anything, his eyes had gone impersonal and vague.
Her ego had crashed. This wasn’t her elevator man. Or if it was, he wasn’t interested in her. She had been stunned by the pain of that. The disappointment had cut deep, probably because she’d built so many erotic daydreams about him. She’d just been biting back a sigh when he reached forward to press the button for his floor.
Top floor. No biggie. Except on his way to the panel, he’d brushed across her right breast. It could have been an accident. After all, there were a dozen people crammed into the elevator. There was hardly space to breathe, much less reach for a button. But he had brushed her breast and her nipple reacted with a nearly painful point.
And on the way back from pressing the button, he’d done it again. Or perhaps she had “accidentally” pushed forward so that he had no choice but to caress her hard nipple. That was it for Encounter 2.
Encounter 3 came the next week, this time on the way down to the garage. Half-packed elevator, close quarters, but she’d been wearing a suit jacket so there was no accidental nipple brushing. But Elevator Man was nothing if not innovative.
He’d murmured, “Excuse me, excuse me,” as he maneuvered to stand right in front of her. Then he knelt down to open an access panel beneath the floor buttons. Everyone had shifted to accommodate him. Everyone, that is, except her because his position on the floor left his elbow pressed to her mons.
Oh, God, it had felt so good. Pressure. A circular rub. The garage floor had come too soon, and she’d been too chicken to stay. That night’s fantasy, however, had involved an empty elevator stuck between floors. It was only after encounters five and six that she migrated to a glass one at the top of the Eiffel Tower. She was pressed up against the glass while he did her hot and hard in front of the whole of Paris.
Yes, she was depraved, but perhaps that was the thrill of it. He was always polite, always gentle, and he stopped the moment the elevator did. But he made her feel like she was the hottest woman on the planet, like he couldn’t stop himself from touching her. She knew the shape of his body, the scent of his hair and the feel of his cock through a thousand encounters both real and imagined. And she couldn’t wait until it happened again.
And now, here was Karen asking for the details. “This last one was, um, the best,” she said, her face heating to crimson. “He stepped up behind me, pulled my hips back against his, and then …”
“Yes? What?”
Julie bit her lip. “His hand slid forward to, um, cup me. God, he has the best hands—big and strong.”
“Oh, my God! What did you do?”
Julie closed her eyes, unable to look at her friend in the face as she confessed this. “Nothing,” she whispered. “I just, well, enjoyed it.” But she’d thought about more. She’d thought about spreading her legs and giving in. She wanted to. She’d wanted to for weeks now, but she was too chicken. What if he told someone? What if he told a client? Of course, that wasn’t a problem now. There were no more clients—potential or otherwise. Meanwhile, she could still feel the imprint of his hand on her. God, it made her twist in hunger just thinking about it. It was a wonder she didn’t combust right here.
“Soo,” drawled Karen with a knowing look. “Sounds like you should enjoy things some more. Just do it, Julie. Let yourself go for once in your life. It’ll reset your qi.”
“Stop! I can’t just do someone in the elevator.”
“Of course you can. You got condoms?”
Julie nodded. She’d bought them weeks ago, and they’d been burning a hole in her purse ever since. She wanted to use them. It was insane, but she’d been thinking about it for two months now. She wanted to stop the elevator, hand him the condom and let herself do what she’d been fantasizing about.
“Meanwhile,” Karen said with a heavy sigh. “I’ve got to get home. Tomorrow’s lecture awaits.” Thankfully, Karen also taught at the Chicago School of Design. The collapse of their company would require a box of Kleenex and another of chocolates, but she wouldn’t be out on the street. Julie, on the other hand, would have to sell her laptop to pay for the bus ride home.
“Hey!” Karen cried as she playfully swiped at Julie’s leg with her portfolio. “Don’t stay here all night stewing. Go find Elevator Man. Or someone else.”
“Karen—”
“Seriously. Something will come up. Just have faith.”
Would it? Julie wondered. And if it did, did she still have the heart to pursue it? Instead of answering, she gave her friend a warm smile. “You’re the best,” she said. “I’m glad I picked you to go belly-up with.”
“Three more weeks,” Karen returned. “We’re not done until the rent expires in three weeks.” Then she was gone, heading out into the darkened expanse of the downtown office building.
Julie didn’t speak as their suite door clicked shut. She couldn’t. Her throat had clogged up and her eyes were watering. Three weeks or three years, it didn’t matter. She just didn’t think she had the heart to keep trying. Besides, she told herself sternly, she wanted to go home. She missed her family. What she couldn’t get past was that she’d be returning home a failure. A bankrupt failure.
It was on her twelfth birthday that she’d started talking about making it big in the big city. Her two younger brothers had laughed. Her sister, too, right after she’d said, “Julie always tells stories.” Even her mom had patted her head as if to say, isn’t she cute, dreaming the impossible dream. Only her father had taken her side. He’d told her then she could do anything she wanted, even move to Chicago and make her fortune.
It had taken fifteen years to make her dream a reality—or so she’d thought. But now she realized that her sister was right. Web Wit and Wonder was just another story that never came true. Pushing away that morose thought, she turned to her laptop and started typing. She stayed at her desk for hours more, searching for something, anything, to tide them over for another month. She didn’t find it. No jobs for an ad agency. Nothing even for a talented copywriter. She was out of options and out of money. It was time to go home.
Glancing at her clock, she was startled to see that it was nearly ten. Way too late for Elevator Man. She would have to count on her own fantasies for relief tonight. Just as well. She was feeling much too vulnerable right then. She didn’t even have a plant to go home to. Nothing but the ever-present certainty that she’d failed.
She closed up her laptop with a definitive click. She didn’t have a coat today despite the early fall cold snap. She’d chosen instead a wrap sweater top over dress pants. It was soft and warm, a gift from her younger sister for her birthday. Wearing it felt like being wrapped in cashmere love, though it was simple cotton. And except for Elevator Man, it was the only thing that had caressed her in a very long time. She must have known this morning that she’d need a hug by night.
Her thoughts were getting too morose. “Tomorrow, I can begin again,” she said out loud as a way to bolster her spirits. She stepped into the dark corridor, locking the office door behind her. The building was designed like a big rectangle around a central courtyard complete with trees and a water fountain. Way up high, the glass-paneled roof let in sunlight by day. Tonight, a big brilliant moon pierced the darkness. Only the robotics firm on the top floor had lights on. Robotics, apparently, weren’t affected by the sluggish economy, unlike small advertising firms.
She walked to the elevator bank and pressed a button. Her thoughts returned to Elevator Man, and she sternly reminded herself not to hope. At this hour, he had surely gone home already. That left her free to imagine all sorts of wildly erotic scenarios. The elevator took a long time coming, so she was able to fully steep herself in her fantasies. She pictured him behind her and all of Paris spread out before them. She imagined the thrust of his erection, the caress of his hands on her body. She was a wild woman, desired by a hot guy and completely free to enjoy her body. No work, no cares, just a man taking her to the ultimate sexual peak. God, it was heaven!
She was smiling as the metal doors parted, then she gasped in surprise. There, leaning back against the glass rear panel was Elevator Man. His usual coveralls were gone. Instead, he wore sneakers, dark jeans and a well worn cotton tee. The color was indigo fading to gray. Whatever image had once been there was now long gone, leaving little to distract her from the rippled shadows created by his sculpted torso. God, his forearms were nothing compared to the muscles across his chest.
Lifting her gaze a little higher, she saw his chiseled jaw, slightly darkened by five o’clock shadow. His eyes were at half mast as his nostrils flared. He was inhaling, his chest expanding as he clearly took in the scent of her. She’d started dabbing heavy amounts of sandalwood on her wrists ever since she’d noticed he took a deep breath whenever he was near her.
She didn’t speak. She couldn’t. He was lounging against the back panel watching her with a predatory expression. As if he’d been waiting for her. As if he’d known she was getting on the elevator right then and was daring her to step into his lair.
Karen’s words echoed in her mind. Just do it. Let yourself go for once in your life. Julie bit her lip. Could she? She had three weeks before she left Chicago for good. In three weeks, she would return to rural Nebraska and a wholly different life. Suddenly, three weeks felt like the perfect amount of time. Just enough time to revel in all her fantasies of the urban jungle. Three weeks to indulge however she wanted—passionately, frivolously, sexually—whatever she desired. Three weeks of time to be the wild woman she always pretended she was. After that, she would go home and start again.
All she had to do to begin was step through the door and let Elevator Man do whatever he wanted. Hell, she didn’t even need to wait for him. She could stop the elevator herself and let him know she was willing. That she’d wanted this for the last two months. Could she do it?
Yes. Tonight she was going to reset her qi because why the hell not? Tonight, she was going to do what she’d been fantasizing about for months.
With that thought in mind, she crossed the threshold. Then she did what she always did at the beginning of one of their encounters. She turned around to face the elevator doors, though her back prickled with awareness of him right behind her. She extended her hand and pushed the garage floor button.
The elevator hummed to life, the doors shutting slowly. But Julie didn’t let her hand drop away from the panel. Instead, her fingers hovered over the Stop button. Now, she told herself. Pull the Stop button now!
3
SAM FINN’S HEART—and dick—leaped forward, but he didn’t move off the elevator wall. He feared if he shifted at all, nothing would stop him from grabbing Miss Julie Thompson and dragging her back to his cave, so to speak. So he held himself still and gripped the railing until his hands hurt.
She had paused before strutting into the elevator, her pert chin lifted in challenge and her hips swaying slightly in anticipation. Was tonight the night? Finally? After months of foreplay, would he finally get up the nerve to push them to the next level?
Nearly two months ago, Sam had also stood at the back of an elevator while she sauntered in. Later, he learned what her name was. Later, he figured out that she was the owner and creative force behind Web Wit and Wonder. Later, he realized that she’d been in her “creative” mode, dressing and walking with a flair that he found especially sexy.
At the time, all he noticed was that she was a bright flash of yellow sundress, bouncy hair and strappy sandal attitude. All woman, very perky in all the best ways, and a night-and-day difference from the corporate stiffs he was about to face in his own boardroom. Then she had stuffed her delectable body close, he’d caught the exotic scent of sandalwood, and his dick had the normal, predictable reaction. He’d gotten a boner the size of the Sears Tower.
Nothing unusual there. Every male above the age of eleven had suffered through an embarrassing erection. But then she’d done the unthinkable. She’d pressed backward against him. Far from being shocked and repelled, she’d actually, swear to God, squeezed him. Well, that’s what his lower half believed. And then, while his brain was scrambling desperately to hold on to sanity, she had stepped away. Seconds later, she was off the elevator while he was harder than granite. He’d needed twenty minutes before he could face his employees.
It could have been an isolated incident, the kind of random thing that sometimes happened in a city the size of Chicago. It probably would have remained an isolated event if he weren’t owner of the office building in which they both worked.
But he did own the building and he had access to all sorts of interesting security devices. Nothing intrusive, but it took less than a minute to learn everything official about Miss Thompson and her ad agency. And given that this was a building outfitted with the latest and greatest technology of the time, he could easily tie its security feed to his own laptop. There was no surveillance within her office suite. That would be a breach of privacy. But in the hallway outside her door? Absolutely. He knew when she came and went from her office, he knew what she wore, and most importantly, when she would be heading for the elevator banks.
So the stalking began. He couldn’t get her out of his mind. Had her caress been a product of his fevered imagination? Or would she welcome more? Could such a beautiful woman really want his touch? He had to know if he was imagining her response or if she was just into kinky, anonymous sex play.
It took nearly a week, but he’d managed to arrange to be in another packed elevator with her. His heart had been beating triple time, but after a week of fruitless speculation, he’d had to put the question to the test. He’d reached for the elevator button by way of her breast.
He’d tried to be subtle. If she started screaming, he could pretend he’d stumbled, it was an accident … He had an entire litany of excuses ready. He’d extended his hand, brushed across her breast and then pushed the button. And damn if on the way back, she didn’t “accidentally” fall forward enough that he was nearly cupping her.
He’d almost collapsed. He had nearly convinced himself that she would scream bloody murder. That he’d be facing a sexual harassment lawsuit. But when none of that happened, his mind had simply shut down with shock. That, unfortunately, gave free rein to his inner stalker.
He’d never gone for emotionless sex before. Never had an interest in casual hook-ups. His life was his robotics company, and his women had been relationships. He never guessed that he would spend two months trying to find a way to have sex with a stranger in an elevator.
But maybe that was the point. Maybe he was ready for sex without pretense. Forget a meeting of minds and life goals. Julie Thompson was a bright splash of color in his very gray, very robotic world. Why couldn’t he walk on the wild side for a while? As long as she was willing, he was game.
And best of all, he made sure he only connected with her when he was in his coveralls. He’d be damned if he let another woman have “sex with the billionaire.” He hadn’t thought there were that many money-hungry groupies in the world. Certainly not those who would go for a boring, nearsighted, robotics geek. But experience had taught him to be extra cautious about his identity. So, if Miss Julie Thompson wanted hot elevator sex, she was going to get it with a maintenance guy, not a CEO.
So the stalking began in earnest. He watched when she came and left her work. It helped that she was as much a workaholic as he was. Their hours matched up nicely. Morning elevator mash-ups allowed for discreet fondling. And at night, when he was all alone in his bed, he played out scenarios that appalled his rational brain.
But that was fantasy, and he was beyond tired of playing by himself. Tonight, she was here alone and he was more than ready to take it to the next level.
She had turned her back on him with a sexy wiggle to her hips. The scent of sandalwood hit him and his blood went straight south. If he were sticking to his usual pattern, this was when he would come up behind her and begin fondling. Her ass, her hips, her breasts—didn’t matter. She was fantastic all around. Curvy, athletic without being obsessive, and just the right height for him, especially when she wore heels.
But this wasn’t going to be a usual elevator encounter. It was late at night, they were the last ones in the building, and he had control of the elevator thanks to a new app he’d just installed on his phone.
The elevator started moving and he could see her body change. Her purse slid down her shoulder to land by her feet on the floor. Her shoulders opened up and her chin lifted slightly. And best of all, her hand hovered over the Stop button. Right there was the invitation he needed. She wanted more, just like he did. Was she going to do it? Was she going to pull the button?
Yes! She popped it out and a split second later, he initiated the app on his phone. Right on cue, the elevator jerked to a stop between floors, its security camera turning off at the same time. She gasped and stumbled, clearly surprised by the lurch. He caught her before she fell backward. His thighs braced her legs, and his arms went around her body, one over her right shoulder, the other curving around her lower ribs. She wore a soft sweater top that tied on one side. If he slid his hand across her belly, he could have her top undone with a flick of his wrist.
“Are you all right?” he said, his voice low.
“Y-yes,” she stammered, turning her head. They were nearly nose to nose. He could smell the herbal scent to her hair and even his bad eyes could see the dark rich black of her eyelashes. “I, um, must have missed and hit the wrong button.”
“Nah. We’ve been working on the elevators,” he lied. “It’s been acting wonky all day.”
“Oh,” she said softly, as she lifted her face to his.
“That’s too bad.”
Now was the time, he told himself, and without thinking twice, he simply went for it.
SHE’D DONE IT. She’d stopped the elevator and now she had to follow through. She was trembling, her belly shivering where his hand held her so solidly. And his eyes were the most wonderful color of brown. A rich, dark chocolate that tempted her to dive right in and lap up all the goodness that he alone could give her.
His mouth touched hers, all warm and seductive. He brushed his lips across hers, teased her with his tongue.
“We’re in no danger,” he said, his voice a deep shiver across her skin. “I think I can start it up again,” he continued. And while his mouth continued to tease hers, his hand skated over her belly and tugged at the tie of her top.
She gasped. Her lips felt incredibly sensitive, but nothing could top the knowledge that he was starting to undress her. Was she really going to do this? His kiss deepened, his tongue thrusting into her mouth as she opened to him. And she felt the tie of her sweater pull loose.
