The Do It List (The Do It List #1) Read Free Page A

arm muscles ripple under that perfectly tailored Savile Row suit.
      “What’s your game?”
    “Basketball. Knicks fan, since I was a kid.” The panels opened enough to get a peek into the elevator shaft, which turned out to be a wall of cement blocks. Craning his neck, he checked above, then below. “Christ, we’re exactly between floors.”
    So, no chance for a quick escape. My head moved in an almost imperceptible nod, as he positioned himself between door panels, and shoved harder.
      “By any chance, did you happen to make a note of the last floor, before the blackout?”
    “Twenty…two, maybe?” I did not wish to think about dangling from steel cables twenty-something floors from the ground. Too late. The thought spiraled into something anxious. I checked for signs of a panic attack. Shallow breathing and a rapid pulse.  
    “Have you ever done it in an elevator?” I blurted out, desperate for a distraction. I cringed at the suggestive remark, but that didn’t stop me from checking his reaction.  
    He cleared his throat softly. “I beg your pardon?”
    I shook my head and backpedaled. “I can’t think what came over me just then. Forget I ever said such a thing. I must be out of my mind. I do not say things like that to strange men.” What began as a murmured apology ended in a freaky, near-hysterical rant.
    In the dead silence that followed, I covered the heat of my cheeks with both hands.
    “You’re frightened. And you have a beautiful blush, don’t hide it.” Braced between the doors, he rested his chin on a curve of upper arm muscle. “I may not have asked the question, but I was thinking something equally—”
    His phone buzzed on vibrate and we both jumped. Instinctively, he reached for his pocket, and the doors shifted.  
      “Could you get that?” He locked both arms against the threat of imminent and crushing entrapment.
    I scanned his lower torso. “Where is it?”  
    “Right-hand pocket.”  
    The thought of rummaging about in his slacks caused a hesitation.
    “It’s either the doors or the phone.” He shifted his stance.  
    “No, stay where you are. I’d rather have the air.” I sucked in a deep breath. “Besides…” My pulse raced, as I slipped my hand into his trousers. “It could be the elevator company.”
    I maneuvered around one large, hard device. “Sorry.”  
    “Don’t be.”
      The look of raw lust in his eyes quickly sent my hand lower, to the object vibrating below. I grabbed the phone and dragged it out of his pocket. Apparently my cheeks were going to remain permanently inflamed around this man. I slid back the lock and held the phone to his ear.
      “This is Bradley.” The garbled squawk on the other end sounded angry and female. “This is not a good time, Claire. I can’t talk right now—”  
    Cut off, he held back and listened. “How is Olivia?” His gaze met mine and lingered. “At the moment? I appear to be stuck in a lift.”
    A few seconds of silence ensued, then a tinny response.  
    “Not sure, blackout of some kind.” The high-pitched voice warbled on. “Listen, I’m expecting a call from Con Edison, or the lift company. Apologies—yes, later.” He nodded to me and I pressed end.  
    My brow must have remained in an elevated position because he mumbled a few words about an ex and changed the subject.
      “We need something to wedge between the doors.” He glared in defiance at the elevator panels, as if by sheer force of crystal-blue eye magnetism they might remain open. This entertaining new man—my elevator-tilting Don Quixote—caused an upward slant to the ends of my mouth.
    Searching around, his gaze landed on my bag. “That giant carryall of yours.”
    “And who is Olivia?” I was curious and I had a bargaining chip.
    He stared long enough to be contemplating a lie. “Olivia is my daughter.”
    “How old?”
    His expression softened. “She just turned eight.”
    “Nice age…. I have a nine-year-old