alive during an anxiety attack. But feeling the elevator at a standstill with the door shut, I felt as if those vital organs would explode.
That thought about fainting was getting all too real.
There was no air in here. Well, no fresh air. A ringing started in my left ear, and then collided in the center of my brain. I tried to take a deep breath. No luck.
âYou all right?â
My hands started to tremble more. The sweat now poured down my cheeks. I felt cold, then flushed. Then cold again. My heart had to be hitting the inside of my chest, at the speed it was going.
âHey. I asked if you were . . .â
Suddenly his arms were around me. The elevator darkened, spun, and then winked out.
âWeâre on the ground floor.â
The voice floated on a current of air. A deep, sexier-than-hell voice. I felt a hand brush the hair from my clammy forehead.
It felt nice
, I thought, as I tried to open my eyes.
A man stood above me. Not just any man.
Jagger.
The elevator door was open. I looked from him to the lobby and realized I was on the carpeted floor of the elevator.
âHere.â He took my shoulders and lifted me to a sitting position. âTake a few deep breaths.â
I nodded and did. A musky aftershave hit my nostrils. I turned to look into his eyes. Where Iâd seen specs in Nickâs, there were none noticeable in the darkness of Jaggerâs.
âLetâs get you up and out into the fresh air. Youâre not pregnant, are you?â
I looked at him as if he were nuts, and started to say âIâve only slept with Doctor Taylor about twice a year and he uses the most expensive condoms,â but decided it was none of Jaggerâs business and merely shook my head. A crowd had gathered around the elevator.
âDiabetic?â
âWhat?â He hoisted me up, held my arm and walked me toward the door.
âDiabetic. Are you a diabetic? Have epilepsy? Some other illness?â
âWhat
is
this? Some verbal physical exam?â My cheeks flushed when he looked at me. His hand rubbed low on my back.
âIâm only trying to figure out what happened back there.â
Oh God. Iâd either have to lie about having a physical disease in which case God might see fit to actually giving me one or tell the truth. Pauline Sokol, good Catholic girl. â
You
caused it.â
Jagger let out a deep howl of a laugh. By now heâd opened the door and a cool blast of air hit us. Felt wonderful, yet I shivered since my hair was damp.
âI believe thatâs the first time a woman has fainted over meâthat I know of.â
I pushed away. âThis woman fainted because
you
locked her in a closed . . . elevatorââ
âChrist.â He looked genuinely sorry, mixed with a little pissed. At himself, I was guessing. âYou passed out because I stopped the elevator?â
âEveryone has a phobia. Iâll bet even you do.â Not in a million years did I believe that.
He leaned near in a naughty-boy sort of way and grinned. âWhen you discover what it is, let me know.â
I pushed past him. âI have to go.â
He grabbed my arm. âNot so fast.â
Oh, no. He was going to pursue the questioning heâd started on the elevator. My heart thudded at the thought of the closed, stopped elevator.
âIâm not letting you drive after passing out.â
Hmm. Compassion.
And no further questions.
âIâm fine,â I insisted, shivering outside in the parking lot.
Jagger cursed under his breath. âLook, lady. By the way, whatâs your name?â
Wow. I knew his name, but he didnât know mine. Still, with the tone he used, he didnât seem truly interested.
âPauline. Pauline Sokol.â
He held out a hand. âJagger.â
âI knââ Shit! He couldnât know that I knew his name. Then heâd ask too many questions. Then Iâd seem interested in