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  “My maternal grandmother. I picked up a lot of Italian while I was there, including some key phrases I probably shouldn’t know. I realized as a teenager that I could curse in Italian and my father wouldn’t know what I was saying because he’s Irish. From there it became a bad habit of mine. I’m sorry I yelled,” she added. “I just care too much. I always have.”

  Francesca might take after her mother in most things, but her father had made his mark, as well. Victor Orr had come from poor beginnings and raised his two daughters not only to be grateful for what they had, but also to give to the less fortunate. All through high school, Francesca had volunteered at a soup kitchen on Saturdays. She’d organized charity canned food collections and blood drives at school. After college, her father helped her get an entry level job at ANS, where he was the largest minority stockholder. It hadn’t taken long for her to work her way up to the head of community outreach. And she’d been good at it. Graham had never had room to complain about her doing anything less than a stellar job.

  But it always came down to money. When things got tight, her budget was always the first to get cut. Why not eliminate some of the cushy corporate perks? Maybe slash the travel budget and force people to hold more teleconferences? Or cut back on the half gallon of hair gel the head anchor used each night for the evening news broadcast?

  “I don’t want to hack up your department,” Liam said. “What you do is important for ANS and for the community. But I need a little give and take here. Everyone needs to tighten their belts. Not just you. But I need you to play along, too. It’s hard enough to come into the leadership position of a company that’s doing well, much less one like ANS. I’m going to do everything I can to get this network back on top, but I need everyone’s support.”

  Francesca could hear the sincerity in his words. He did care about the company and its employees. They just didn’t see eye to eye quite yet on what to do about it. She could convince him to see things her way eventually. She just had to take a page from her mother’s playbook. It would take time and perhaps a softer hand than she had used with Graham. At least Liam seemed reasonable about it. That won him some points in her book. “Okay.”

  Liam looked at her for a moment, surveying her face as though he almost didn’t believe his ears. Then he nodded. They stood silently in the elevator for a moment before Liam started shrugging out of his black suit coat. He tossed the expensive jacket to the ground and followed it with his silk tie. He unbuttoned his collar and took a deep breath, as if he had been unable to do it until then. “I’m glad we’ve called a truce because it’s gotten too warm in here for me to fight anymore. Of course this had to happen on one of the hottest days of the year.”

  He was right. The air conditioning was off and it was in the high nineties today, which was unheard of in early May. The longer they sat in the elevator without air, the higher the temperature climbed.

  Following his example, Francesca slipped out of her blazer, leaving her in a black silk and lace camisole and pencil skirt. Thank goodness she’d opted out of stockings today.

  Kicking off her heels, she spread out her coat on the floor and sat down on it. She couldn’t stand there in those pointy-toed stilettos any longer, and she’d given up hope for any immediate rescue. If they were going to be trapped in here for a while, she was going to be comfortable.

  “I wish this had happened after lunch. Those bagels in the conference room burned off a long time ago.”

  Francesca knew exactly what he meant. She hadn’t eaten since this morning. She’d had a cappuccino and a sweet cornetto before she’d left her hotel room, neither of which lasted very long. She typically ate a late lunch, so luckily she carried a few snacks in her purse.

  Using the light of her phone, she started digging around in her bag. She found a granola bar, a pack of Gocciole Italian breakfast cookies and a bottle of water. “I have a few snacks with me. The question is whether we eat them now and hope we get let out soon, or whether we save them. It could be hours if it’s a major blackout.”

  Liam slipped down to the floor across from her. “Now. Definitely now.”

  “You wouldn’t last ten minutes on one of those survival reality shows.”

  “That’s why I produce them and don’t star in them. My idea of roughing it is having to eat in Times Square with the tourists. What do you have?”

  “A peanut butter granola bar and some little Italian cookies. We can share the water.”

  “Which is your favorite?”

  “I like the cookies. They’re the kind my grandmother would feed me for breakfast when I stayed with her. They don’t eat eggs or meat for breakfast like Americans do. It was one of the best parts of visiting her—cake and cookies for breakfast.”

  Liam grinned, and Francesca realized it was the first time she’d seen him smile. It was a shame. He had a beautiful smile that lit up his whole face. It seemed more natural than the serious expression he’d worn all day, as though he were normally a more carefree and relaxed kind of guy. The pressure of buying ANS must have been getting to him. He’d been all business this morning and her behavior certainly didn’t help.

  Now he was stressed out, hungry and irritated about being trapped in the elevator. She was glad she could make him smile, even if just for a moment. It made up for her behavior this morning. Maybe. She made a mental note to try to be more cordial in the future. He was being reasonable and there was no point in making things harder than they had to be.

  “Cake for breakfast sounds awesome. As do summers in Italy. After high school I got to spend a week in Rome, but that’s it. I didn’t get around to seeing much more than the big sites like the Colosseum and the Parthenon.” He looked down at the two packages in her hand. “I’ll take the granola bar since you prefer the cookies. Thank you for sharing.”

  Francesca shrugged. “It’s better than listening to your stomach growl for an hour.” She tossed him the granola bar and opened the bottle of water to take a conservative sip.

  Liam ripped into the packaging. His snack was gone before Francesca had even gotten the first cookie in her mouth. She chuckled as she ate a few, noting him eyeing her like a hungry tiger. Popping another into her mouth, she gently slung the open bag to him. “Here,” she said. “I can’t take you watching me like that.”

  “Are you sure?” he said, eyeing the cookies that were now in his hand.

  “Yes. But when we get out of this elevator, you

  owe me.”

  “Agreed,” he said, shoveling the first of several cookies into his mouth.

  Francesca imagined it took a lot of food to keep a man Liam’s size satisfied. He was big like her nonno had been. Her grandfather had died when she was only a few years old, but her nonna had told her about how much she had to cook for him after he worked a long shift. Like Nonno, Liam was more than six feet tall, solidly built but on the leaner side, as though he were a runner. A lot of people jogged around the National Mall in D.C. Or so she’d heard. She could imagine him down there with the others. Jogging shorts. No shirt. Sweat running down the hard muscles of his chest. It made her think maybe she should go down there every now and then, if just for the view.

  She, however, didn’t like to sweat. Running during the humid summers in Virginia was out of the question. As was running during the frigid, icy winters. So she just didn’t. She watched what she ate, indulged when she really wanted to and walked as much as her heels would allow. That kept her at a trim but curvy weight that pleased her.

  Speaking of sweating…she could feel the beads of sweat in her hairline, ready and waiting to start racing down the back of her neck. She already felt sticky, but there wasn’t much else to take off unless she planned to get far closer to Liam than she ever intended.

  Although that wouldn’t be all bad.

  It had been a while since Francesca had dated anyone. Her career had kept her busy, but she always kept her eyes open to the possibilities. Nothing of substance had popped up in a long time. Bu
t recently all of her friends seemed to be settling down. One by one, and she worried she might be the last.

  Not that Liam Crowe was settling-down material. He was just sexy, fling material. She typically didn’t indulge in pleasure without potential. But seeing those broad shoulders pulling against the confines of his shirt, she realized that he might be just what she needed. Something to release the pressure and give her the strength to hold out for “the one.”

  Francesca reached into her bag and pulled out a hair clip. She gathered up the thick, dark strands of her hair and twisted them up, securing them with the claw. It helped but only for a moment. Her tight-fitting pencil skirt was like a heavy, wet blanket thrown over her legs. And her camisole, while seemingly flimsy, was starting to get damp and cling to her skin.

  If they didn’t get out of this elevator soon, something had to come off. Taking another sip of water, she leaned her head back against the wall and counted herself lucky that if nothing else, she’d worn pretty, matching underwear today. She had the feeling that Liam would appreciate that.

  Two

  “Sweet mercy, it’s hot!” Liam exclaimed, standing up. He felt as if he was being smothered by his crisp, starched dress shirt. He unfastened the buttons down the front and whipped it off with a sigh of relief. “I’m sorry if this makes you uncomfortable, but I’ve got to do it.”

  Francesca was sitting quietly in the corner and barely acknowledged him, although he did catch her opening her eyes slightly to catch a glimpse of him without his shirt on. She looked away a moment later, but it was enough to let him know she was curious. That was interesting.

  He’d gotten a different insight into his feisty executive vice president of Community Outreach in the past two hours. He had a better understanding of her and what was important to her. Hopefully once they got out of this elevator they could work together without the animosity. And maybe they could be a little more than friendly. Once she had stopped yelling, he liked her. More than he probably should, considering that she worked for him.

  “Francesca, take off some of your clothes. I know you’re dying over there.”

  She shook her head adamantly, although he could see the beads of sweat running down her chest and into the valley between her breasts. “No, I’m fine.”

  “The hell you are. You’re just as miserable as I am. That tank you’re wearing looks like it will cover up enough to protect your honor. The skirt looks terribly clingy. Take it off. Really. I’m about ten minutes from losing these pants, so you might as well give up on any modesty left between us.”

  Francesca looked up at him with wide eyes. “Your pants?” she said, swallowing hard. Her gaze drifted down his bare chest to his belt and then lower.

  “Yes. It’s gotta be ninety-five degrees and climbing in this oven they call an elevator. You don’t have to look at me, but I’ve got to do it. You might as well do it, too.”

  With a sigh of resignation, Francesca got up from the floor and started fussing with the latch on the back of her skirt. “I can’t get the clasp. It snags sometimes.”

  “Let me help,” Liam offered. She turned her back to him and he crouched down behind her to get a better look at the clasp in the dim red light. This close to her, he could smell the scent of her warm skin mixed with the soft fragrance of roses. It wasn’t overpowering—more like strolling through a rose garden on a summer day. He inhaled it into his lungs and held it there for a moment. It was intoxicating.

  He grasped the two sides of the clasp, ignoring the buzz of awareness that shot through his fingertips as he brushed her bare skin beneath it. With a couple of firm twists and pulls, it came apart. He gripped the zipper tab and pulled it down a few inches, revealing the back of the red satin panties she wore.

  “Got it,” he said with clenched teeth, standing back up and moving away before he did something stupid like touch her any more than was necessary. It was one thing to sit in the elevator in his underwear. It was another thing entirely to do it when he had a raging erection. That would be a little hard to disguise.

  “Thank you,” she said softly, her eyes warily watching him as she returned to her corner of the elevator.

  As she started to shimmy the skirt down her hips, Liam turned away, although it took every ounce of power he had to do so. She was everything he liked in a woman. Feisty. Exotic. Voluptuous. And underneath it all, a caring soul. She wasn’t one of those rich women that got involved in charity work because they had nothing better to do with their time. She really cared. And he appreciated that, even if it would cost him a few headaches in the future.

  “Grazie, signore,” she said with a sigh. “That does feel better.”

  Out of the corner of his eye, he saw her settle back down on the floor. “Is it safe?” he asked.

  “As safe as it’s going to get. Thank you for asking.”

  Liam looked over at her. She had tugged down her camisole to cover most everything to the tops of her thighs, although now a hint of her red bra was peeking out from the top. There was only so much fabric to go around, and with her luscious curves, keeping them all covered would be a challenge.

  “You might as well just take those pants off now.”

  Liam chuckled and shook his head. Not after thinking about her satin-covered breasts. He didn’t even have to touch her to make that an impossibility. “That’s probably not the best idea at the moment.”

  Her brow wrinkled in confusion. “Why—” she started, then stopped. “Oh.”

  Liam closed his eyes and tried to wish his arousal away, but all that did was bring images of those silky red panties to his mind. “That’s the challenge of being trapped in a small space with a beautiful, half-naked woman.”

  “You think I’m beautiful?” her hesitant voice came after a long moment of silence between them.

  He planted his hands on his hips. “I do.”

  “I didn’t expect that.”

  Liam turned to look at her. “Why on earth not? I think a man would have to be without a pulse to not find you desirable.”

  “I grew up in Beverly Hills,” she said with a dismissive shrug. “I’m not saying I never dated in school—I did—but there was certainly a higher premium placed on the Malibu Barbie dolls.”

  “The what?”

  “You know, the blond, beach-tanned girls with belly button piercings and figures like twelve-year-old boys? At least until they turn eighteen and get enough money to buy a nice pair of breasts.”

  “People in Hollywood are nuts,” he said. “There was nothing remotely erotic about me as a twelve-year-old. You, on the other hand…” Liam shook his head, the thoughts of her soft curves pressing against the palms of his hands making his skin tingle with anticipation. He forced them into tight fists and willed the feeling away. “It takes everything I’ve got not to touch you when I see you sitting there like that.”

  There was a long silence, and then her voice again. “Why don’t you?”

  Liam’s jaw was flexed tight, and his whole body tensed as he tried to hold back the desire that was building inside for her. “I didn’t think it was a good idea. I’m your boss. We have to work together. Things would get weird. Wouldn’t they?”

  Please let her say no. Please let her say no.

  “I don’t think so,” she said, slowly climbing to her knees. “We’re both adults. We know what this is and what it means.” She crawled leisurely across the elevator floor, stopping in front of him. Her hands went to his belt buckle as she looked up at him through her thick, coal-black lashes. “What happens in the elevator, stays in the elevator, right?”

  Liam didn’t know what to say. He could barely form words as her hands undid his belt buckle, then the fly of his pants. But he didn’t stop her. Oh, no. He wanted her too badly to let good sense interfere. Besides, they had time to kill, right? Who knew how long they’d be trapped in here.

  His suit pants slid to the floor and he quickly kicked out of them and his shoes. Crouching down until they were at the s
ame level, he reached for the hem of her camisole and pulled it up over her head. Francesca undid the clip holding her hair and the heavy, ebony stands fell down around her shoulders like a sheet of black silk.

  The sight of her body in nothing but her red undergarments was like a punch to his guts. She was one of the sexiest women he’d ever seen—and she was mostly naked, and on her knees, in front of him.

  How the hell had he gotten this lucky today?

  Unable to hold back any longer, he leaned in to kiss her. They collided, their lips and bare skin slamming into one another. Francesca wrapped her arms around his neck and pulled her body against him. Her breasts pressed urgently against the hard wall of his chest. Her belly arched into the aching heat of his desire for her.

  The contact was electric, the powerful sensations running through his nervous system like rockets, exploding at the base of his spine. He wanted to devour her, his tongue invading her mouth and demanding everything she could give him. She met his every thrust, running her own silken tongue along his and digging her nails frantically into his back.

  Liam slipped his arm behind her back and slowly eased her down onto the floor. He quickly found his place between her thighs and dipped down to give attention to the breasts nearly spilling from her bra. It didn’t take much to slip the straps from her shoulders and tug the bra down to her waist. The palms of his hands quickly moved in to take its place. He teased her nipples into firm peaks before capturing one in his mouth.

  Francesca groaned and arched into him, her fingertips weaving into his thick, wavy brown hair. She tugged him back up to her mouth and kissed him again. There were no more thoughts of heat or sweat or broken elevators as he lost himself in the pleasurable exploration of her body.

  And when he felt her fingers slide down his stomach, slip beneath the waistband of his underwear and wrap around the pulsating length of his erection, for a moment he almost forgot where he was, entirely.

  Thank heavens for power outages.

  *

  Francesca wasn’t quite sure what had come over her, but she was enjoying every minute of this naughty indulgence. Perhaps being trapped in this hot jail cell was playing with her brain, but she didn’t care. There was just something about Liam. Sure, he was handsome and rich, but she’d seen her share of that kind of man in Washington, D.C. There was something about his intensity, the way he was handling the company and even how he handled her. She’d been fighting the attraction to him since she first laid eyes on him, and then his shirt came off to reveal a wide chest, chiseled abs and a sprinkle of chest hair, and she lost all her reasons to resist.