Elevator Heat
543 Words
Zara had almost convinced herself the kiss in the break room didn’t mean anything.
Almost.
Until the next morning, when she entered the elevator and found Jason already inside—alone, suit pressed, cologne faint but intoxicating.
He didn’t look at her right away. Just pressed the button for the 12th floor and let the doors slide closed.
“Morning,” she said, voice cooler than she felt.
“Morning,” he echoed, his tone low.
Silence fell between them, thick and charged.
Then the elevator jolted. Briefly. Just enough to make her stumble.
Jason’s hand caught her arm instinctively. Their eyes met—too close, too familiar.
“You okay?” he asked, voice quiet, palm still gripping her elbow.
“Fine,” she murmured, barely trusting her voice.
The elevator resumed.
But his hand didn’t drop.
Neither did her gaze.
---
The air tightened.
He shifted, brushing a strand of hair behind her ear. “You look… distracted today.”
“You’re not helping,” she said.
His lips twitched. “Is that my fault?”
She narrowed her eyes. “You know it is.”
Jason moved in closer. “I haven’t stopped thinking about the way you kissed me.”
“Jason—”
“Don’t worry,” he whispered, eyes fixed on her mouth. “I’m not touching you.”
His voice dropped an octave. “But I’m thinking about it.”
Zara’s breath hitched.
He stepped even closer, their bodies now barely a breath apart.
“Every time you say my name like that,” he continued, “it sounds like a dare.”
“Maybe it is,” she whispered.
His eyes darkened. “You have no idea what you’re doing to me.”
“I know exactly what I’m doing.”
His hand braced the wall beside her, not touching her—yet somehow, it was worse. Hotter. His body surrounded her without crossing a line.
“I want to kiss you again,” he admitted, so close she could feel the heat of his breath. “Right here. Right now.”
“Then do it,” she dared, voice shaky.
Jason’s mouth hovered near hers.
But he didn’t move.
Instead, he whispered, “No.”
Her brows lifted, surprised.
“I’m not going to give you what you want in an elevator, Zara.”
She arched a brow. “Why not?”
“Because when I kiss you next…” He stepped back, lips curved in restraint. “…you’re not walking away.”
---
The doors dinged open.
She stepped out, trying to calm her racing heart, heels clicking harder than necessary.
Jason stayed behind in the elevator, watching her leave without another word.
But the tension they left behind?
It stayed between them.
---
That afternoon, Zara’s mind was foggy. Her edits were sloppy. Her usual fire? Drenched.
She hated how much space he took up in her thoughts.
Even worse—she loved it.
---
Later, while grabbing her bag to leave, she found a folded sticky note under her laptop.
Jason’s handwriting.
> Don’t make plans tomorrow.
Dinner.
My place.
Real food. No lines.
---
She stared at the words, heart thudding.
There was no signature.
But she didn’t need one.
- Writer
