Forever Lies

6

“I suppose we should call for help.” I glanced down at the phone labeled for emergency use on my side of the elevator, and when I looked back up, the man’s piercing gaze was still fixed on me. He pulled away from the wall and closed the space between us, making my breath catch in my throat. Leaning across me, just inches from touching me, he opened the call box and retrieved the phone. I released a shaky exhale and took a small step back to give him room and to collect myself. “Yes, my companion and I are stuck in one of the elevators in the Triton building … No emergencies, just stuck … Thank you.” He hung up the receiver and turned to where I now stood in the back corner, having inched away from him as he spoke. “They’ve sent someone to check on the situation, but there’s no telling how long it will be.” His deep voice resonated throughout the small space, each syllable oozing control. The sound was the perfect complement to his unflappable demeanor.

My heart pounded so fast, I became lightheaded. I’d been around assertive men all my life, but this man’s presence filled up the small space so completely, there was no oxygen left to breathe. My eyes flitted to his, and I offered him a glimpse of a smile. “It’s not the first time I’ve been stuck in an elevator. Live in the city long enough, and you come to expect these things.” Relief coursed through my veins when I managed to utter something semi-intelligible. “You work in the building?” Leaning his shoulder against the side wall, he continued to focus all his attention on me, not returning to his side of the elevator. “Yes, I work at Triton. You?” “No, I’m just here on business.” He stared at me for a long moment. It felt as though he was measuring my worth, as if he could see deep inside of me and was perusing my most personal thoughts. The tension in the small space was more than palpable—it was a physical force pressing against my skin. Finally, he broke the silence. “Luca,” he rumbled as he extended his hand. He was introducing himself. He easily could have retreated to his side of the car and ignored my existence until help came for us, but he hadn’t. He was striking up a conversation. Was he interested in me or simply entertaining himself to make use of the time? “Alessia.” His hand was rough but warm, and he held my much smaller hand for longer than was necessary. As he released my fingers, his thumb stroked along the back of my hand, sending tingles across my skin, cascading up my arm and down into the pit of my belly. “Italian?” “Yes,” I replied. “With the enormous family to prove it.” He smirked, but before he could respond, the elevator jarred to life. Just as we started to rise, he lowered his hand and pressed the stop button. The elevator ground to a halt again, and my brows creased in confusion. “Give me your phone,” he ordered softly, palm outstretched. Later, when I looked back on the moment, I wondered why on Earth I had obeyed the man. He easily could have taken my phone so that I couldn’t call for help and assaulted me, but that thought never cross my mind. His words were like a whip, snapping me into action. He arched a brow. “Unlock it, Alessia.” My name on his tongue was the sweetest nectar I could have imagined— delicious, tempting, and dangerously addictive. The slightest twinge of fear pricked at the back of my neck. Somewhere deep down, I sensed this man had the potential to undo me—take me in, rearrange my insides, and spit me back out after I was unrecognizable. I chided myself for overreacting. This was a five-minute conversation with a man in an elevator, not an arranged marriage. I needed to get a grip on myself. As soon as he pressed the button again, we would be on our way, and I would likely never see him again. A buzzing sounded in his breast pocket. He pulled out his phone, began to type, my phone still firmly cradled in his other hand. “I’d like to hear more about you and your family, but it looks like our ride is almost over.” He closed the space between us, and instead of handing back my phone, he reached over and slid the device back inside my purse, bringing us within inches of one another. His pulsing heat radiated off him, tugging at me to close the gap and press my body against his. My eyes leapt up to his, my mouth softly parted as I struggled to keep my wits. “I’ll be in touch,” he rasped before stepping back and pressing the button behind him without severing our connection. The moment the doors opened, he was gone. Holy f**k, what just happened? It was like a scene from a movie—that crap didn’t happen in real life. Yes, I was an attractive woman, but that usually meant I got cat-calls from construction workers and hit on by slimy douchebags. Rarely was the attention wanted, and the feelings were almost never reciprocated on my end. I only had a matter of seconds to gather my thoughts and collect myself before the elevator doors opened onto my floor. I had started my morning feeling good about my day. Now, I was positively beaming, unable to contain the wide smile on my face. Tuesdays were still not Friday, but they were a hell of a lot better than Monday. My dad’s office was the only one along the wall of windows that was fully enclosed for privacy. It was on the opposite end of the floor as my office, so I didn’t run into him all that often. In fact, my job in marketing didn’t require a whole lot of interaction with the CEO’s position, but every now and then, I’d have a budgeting issue or some other business matter that needed to be signed off on by my dad. On this particular occasion, I had budgeting paperwork that needed his signature. When I approached the open door, I heard my dad’s steady voice as he spoke to someone from within his office. I listened at the door for a moment to decide if I should wait or come back later. “I called to speak with the concrete rep this morning, discovered the guy killed himself,” came my father’s voice. “The Venturi kid? The one you met with last week?” I recognized that voice as well—it was my dad’s long-time best friend, my Uncle Sal. I wasn’t sure if Sal was technically related to me—he wasn’t an uncle but had carried the honorary title since I was little. He’d been a part of our family for as long as I could remember. He’d even been a pallbearer at my brother’s funeral