him like a halo, and he looked even larger than usual, and it hit Dani like a giant, cosmic fist that this whole nobly-rescuing-her-from-death situation was almost certainly a sign. As in, a sign. The timing and the drama were too significant to ignore. The universe might as well have pointed flashing neon arrows in the direction of Zaf’s delicious shoulders and screamed, This one, then, since you’re so impatient.
Dani stared. Really? Him? Are you certain? After all, sleeping with a friend hadn’t ended well for her last time. Plus, Zaf could be a teeny bit uptight, and then there was that excess of chivalry and the habit some men had of reading commitment into copulation . . . She opened her mouth to ask Zaf if he might, against all her previous instincts and assumptions, be up for no-strings shenanigans. Then she remembered that they were dying, which made the whole thing immaterial, and anyway, he looked to be in a foul mood. His jaw, beneath its short, black beard, was tight, his lush mouth was a hard line, and his thick hair was an outrageous mess, perhaps because he’d just forced an elevator open with his bare hands.
Before she could comment on that strange, if impressive, behavior, he reached into the lift, dragged her out by the front of her dress, and plastered her against his massive chest. An almost silent “Alhamdulillah” rushed out of him on a sigh. Dani was just thinking, rather ungratefully, that he better not have creased her bodice, when he wrapped his arms so tightly around her that she could barely breathe.
Or maybe that was the mercury vapor.
“Why the fuck were you in the lift?” he demanded, his words hard, the rest of him . . . not. She was quite certain he was nuzzling her head like a cat. “You don’t use the lift in emergency situations!”
“I know that,” she griped, her voice muffled against his chest. And what a lovely chest it was, like a big, meaty pillow. His belly was nice, too, both soft and solid. She wondered if she could get away with grabbing his arse, since her brains were probably melting out of her nose as they spoke. “I was already in the lift when the alarm started. It just sort of . . . shut down.”
He growled. He actually growled—she felt the sound rumble through him. “This shitty old fucking building. The outer doors weren’t even closed.”
“The emergency button didn’t work,” she said, enjoying the tension in his body as he wrapped himself around her. “I was trapped in there for hours.”
“Er . . . I don’t think it was hours.”
“One hour, then,” she corrected.
“Danika, it’s been twelve minutes since the alarm started.”
“Oh.” Well, it had felt rather long. “Perhaps my grip on time wobbled a bit because of the strain.”
His growl came back. “I’m going to kill someone.”
“I think we’re going to be killed.”
“What?” Zaf pulled back a little, looking down at her, and she tried not to whine at the loss of contact. At least his hands were gripping her upper arms now, his thumbs sliding back and forth over her skin in a shower of sparkles. He’d never touched her before.
He really should touch her again, if possible. Soon.
“We’re being poisoned,” she told him sadly. “By gas. But at least my last sight on this earth will be your wonderful beard.”
His response was slow, as if he doubted her cognitive function. “Dani, this is a drill. There is no gas.”
It took her a moment to process those words, but once it happened, she blushed hard enough to combust. “Right. Erm. Sorry about the beard thing. My mind’s all over the place. It’s the gas.”
His gorgeous mouth kicked up at one corner. “The . . . nonexistent gas?”
“Placebo effect,” she told him firmly, and stepped back, breaking the contact between them. If there really was no gas, then it must be touching Zaf that was making her dizzy. And silly. And mushy. That needed to stop. She had nothing to feel mushy about, since he hadn’t actually risked death by cyanide to come to her rescue, and anyway, mushiness was strictly prohibited.
“What’s wrong with your hand?” he frowned, thankfully oblivious to Dani’s mental ramblings. He caught her right wrist and studied what she hadn’t noticed: her nails, torn and slightly bloodied from the force she’d used trying to open the doors.
“Oh, I attempted your method of escape,” she told him airily. “Apparently, I don’t have