She blinked. “My accent isn’t strong enough to warrant the nickname,” she muttered. Her father had been Irish, her mother Bostonian, and her speech pattern held slight, very slight, hints of both. That’s all. She grew up on a farm in the USA, for Pete’s sake.

“I think it does.” Raider moved toward the doors and placed his hands in the middle, digging his fingers between them. Or rather, he tried to do so.

Nothing happened.

Brigid’s breath quickened. That fast, she was back in a cell. Her lungs hurt. Her vision narrowed from the outside, making her eyes sting. Were they even on the top level? How far would they have to fall? God, she had to get out of there. She sucked in air.

He turned then, narrowing his focus onto her again. “Whoa.” Stepping in, he grasped her chin and lifted her face enough to meet his eyes. “Take a deep breath.”

She couldn’t breathe.

“Now, Brigid.” The command in his voice shot through her panicked mind.

She instinctively heeded it and pulled in air, filling her lungs. Automatically obeying him just as she had in the pub. What was wrong with her?

“Now let it out. Slowly.” He waited until she did so. “Again.”

She obeyed his order, and her heart rate slowed down. Then she started to focus on something other than her imminent death in a small space. His size. His scent of male and musk. His nearness and warmth.

Her heart kicked back in along with her libido. Heat flushed through her, igniting nerves, softening something deep inside her. His grip remained gentle yet firm on her chin. If he lowered his head, his mouth could be on hers.

Where the heck had that thought come from? Heat burst into her face, no doubt turning her a very unappealing crimson.

“It’s okay,” he murmured, the tone deep and reassuring. “The door will open.”

The door? What door? She coughed. “You don’t like me.” The words tumbled out. Was she reminding him or herself?

Both of his dark eyebrows rose. “That’s not true.” He released her and stepped back.

“Yes, it is.” She wanted to cross her arms but forced herself to remain still and in control.

“No. I just haven’t figured you out.” He turned for the door again.

She frowned at his broad back. “So?”

“I figure everyone out.” He smacked his palm against the door. “Open, darn it.” The doors shook and then inched open awkwardly. He’d done it again.

“You sure have a way with elevators,” she breathed, jumping out into the dingy hallway.

“Just wait until you see how good I am with a fiancée,” he murmured, moving out behind her and bringing heat and power with him.

She shivered. Was that a threat or a promise?

Chapter Four

Chapter Four