Darkness wrapped her arms around me like a lover I’d grown tired of. Too heavy, too cloying. If I’d had my pick of hiding places, I wouldn’t have chosen a freaking closet.
But beggars and choosers and all that.
Only a sliver of light underneath the door made my coffin seem like less of a permanent void. My heart kicked inside my chest, each beat like a punch against my ribs.
But it wasn’t fear.
Oh no. It was something deeper. Darker. More worrisome.
And it felt a hell of a lot like excitement.
The heat of the man who held his hand pressed over my mouth completely enveloped me, wrapping itself around me, not like the stifling shroud of a wet blanket but more like the safe cocoon of a weighted one.
I should have been terrified. Screw getting caught. I needed to kick, and scream, and raise hell because I could very well die in this closet.
No, you won’t.
Okay, maybe not, but it sure as hell felt that way. That was what I got for literally running away from a party. But in my defense, I was escaping Fenton Mills, my boyfriend’s boss. That man had far too many hands and had consumed far too many gin and tonics to care who saw him try to grab my ass.
If I was in the mood to be honest, I’d have to admit the crowd had started to get to me too. Dexter had promised to stay by my side, knowing how crowds made me crazy, but true to form, he’d gotten caught up talking to someone, had some scotch, and left me alone like a sitting duck.
So I’d gone looking for a little reprieve. A moment to breathe. Somewhere to hide. The office door was open, and then I’d leaned against the stupid statue, a ceramic of what looked like bodies intertwined. How was I supposed to know how fragile the damn thing was? I’d been startled by a noise and bumped the stupid thing and had to scramble to catch it.
I’d grabbed onto what looked like a handle just in time. Problem was, when I righted the statue…the handle came off in my hand. Only it wasn’t a handle at all. It was a dick. I had statue dick in my hands. Statue Dick.
As if that hadn’t been enough cause for panic, the noise I’d heard only drew closer with footsteps outside the door. Cold, clammy sweat popped on my skin, and I had to make a literal fight-or-flight, game-time decision. There was no fighting in my party shoes, so I’d chosen to flee. But I couldn’t very well go out the door I’d come through because then I’d have been caught, so I hid in the closet, in the dark. And I’d been prepared to stay there for however long I needed to.
I didn’t have to wait long. After minutes, the door opened and light spilled in, practically blinding me and giving me only a one-second glimpse at what I was certain would mean a trip to jail when a man so broad that he blocked out the direct light put me in darkness again.
He was well over six feet. His blond hair was a little too long. And his ice blue eyes pierced directly into my soul, freezing me where I stood and sending heat licking over my skin. I caught just enough of a jaw so square that it would make Henry Cavill jealous before he stepped into the shoebox-size closet that was definitely too small for one of us, let alone two.
His broad shoulders took up far too much room and made it difficult to breathe. Our bodies pressed up against each other, and the heat of him chased away the chill of my fear. But my thundering, tripping, skipping heartbeat stayed. My breath became shallow and thin. Probably because he was hogging all the damn oxygen.
I should have been afraid, but it was excitement that made my belly do flips and injected that hint of euphoria that lied to me and told me I could fly.
“What do you think—” I didn’t get to finish my statement because the Viking god in Armani placed his damn hand over my mouth and leaned ever so close. A wash of heat spread over my body as I molded against him because, quite frankly, I had nowhere else to go. I was hot and flushed and worried, but somehow, not scared.
“Be still.” The gruff, grumbly growl sent a spike of heat through me. But