Heat Exchange (The Alpha Billionaire's Virgin Book 1) (2 page)

"I wonder if that's a camera," she said aloud.

This time his reluctance to look up was obvious. Janey flushed. She hadn't really been talking to
him
. Exactly. But there was no need to make her feel like she was intruding. She wasn't exactly here voluntarily.

"Yes, it is," he said without bothering to glance up at the ceiling.

"Amazing that in a building this old there's that kind of technology. And look at this panel. You wonder if we could go flying like in
Charlie and the Great Glass Elevator
. That was a fun book." Why couldn't she stop chattering? Maybe she was more panicked than she realized.

Or maybe being stuck in an elevator with a delectable male hottie who wasn't the slightest impressed with her nonhottie self right after being rejected by a far less appealing guy by email was beginning to take its toll. Janey felt those tears well up in her eyes again.

She turned away from the man quickly, facing the doors, and crossed her arms over her chest.

"Surveillance is everywhere these days," he said tersely—and, she'd bet, went back to doing whatever he was doing with his device. She didn't turn around to confirm it. She determined not to talk to him at all for the rest of the time they were stuck here unless it was an emergency.

The next several minutes passed in silence except for the tapping of the man's stylus on his phone and the occasional beep, which she could hear over the soft rush of the ventilation system. She reluctantly admitted that the guy was right; it was getting uncomfortably warm in here.

Giving up any pretense of poise, she plopped down on the floor and shrugged off her oversized jacket, revealing the white shell blouse she wore underneath. It was semi-sheer, but she didn't worry about it. If her companion on the elevator even noticed, she didn't fool herself he'd be bothered even a little.

Janey had what she thought of as an invisible body. There was nothing technically wrong with it, but even at the beach while she was wearing a swimsuit, she was never the center of attention. That was reserved for the skinny, flat-bellied girls, or the robust athletic ones, or even the softer, fun party girls. She wasn't any of those. She was just Janey.

She reached into one of her totes and pulled out a bottled water. She opened it and drank the whole thing down. It was warm, but better than nothing.

She glanced around and saw the guy was still leaning against the wall, still all into his phone. Guilt made her rethink her position on the silent treatment. If she was thirsty, he probably was, too. It was, after all, lunch time.

"Do you want some water?" she offered.

He glanced up, frowned when he didn't see her, then found her on the floor. Wow. He'd seriously been unaware of her if he didn't even know she was sitting down now. Janey took it in stride. The story of her life.

"No, thanks, it's—" he broke off, his eyes narrowing as they took in her see-through blouse. Then he seemed to catch himself and moved his gaze to her face. "No," he said slowly.

"Are you sure? I have extra. I've already had one." She dug into the bag and held out the bottle to him.

A shiver traveled through her as she caught his gaze on her again. He was definitely noticing her lack of a jacket, looking at her breasts through the shell in their simple bra. Pretty openly, actually. It probably should have been offensive but offended wasn't how she felt. The opposite, actually.

But she didn't fool herself about it. It probably just meant that her own version of Murphy's Law had struck again and he wasn't available. Of course he'd be attached. Rich, good-looking, thirtyish guys like him were never single. Well at least, if they were,
and
they were heterosexual, they never gave her a second look. The fact that this one was doing so now had to be due either to the
very
boring scenery in here or her Curse of Attracting Sleazeballs.

Janey seriously wanted to cry now.

He spotted the empty bottle she was crumpling in her hand. "That? You drank that whole bottle?"

"It's not that big," she sniffed. He didn't need to talk about it like she was a lush, for goodness sake.

"Nor are bladders," he said dryly. "And we don't know how long we're going to be on this thing."

"Oh. You're right. That wasn't too bright." Her voice broke a little.

He stared at her. His phone made a sound and absently he glanced at it, tapped something, then tucked it in his pocket. "You are claustrophobic," he said abruptly.

Janey became aware then that the tears she'd been fighting since she read Vince's email were now trailing down her cheeks. "No," she said. "I'm sorry. It's nothing to do with being in the elevator."

The tears weren't stopping. She bent her knees, wrapped her arms around her legs, and tucked her head between them. "I'm just having a bad day. Ignore me," she said in a muffled voice. "You can go back to your surfing. I won't disturb you again."

"I wasn't surfing, I was working," he said. To her surprise, his voice came from lower down. She lifted her head and found him sitting against the side wall of the elevator with
his
knees up. "Do you normally burst into tears in the middle of the day?'

"Whenever I haven't eaten," she said. "Missing meals makes me weep."

There was a beat of silence, then he gave a chuckle. "Is that where you were going just now? Lunch?"

Sitting down like that, he looked almost approachable. Janey wiped her cheeks with her arm. "No, I was providing it. I'm catering a lunch on seven. What about you?" she asked shyly.

"Dentist appointment." He grimaced. "Not that I was looking forward to it, but I wanted it over with."

Well, that was very human and normal. "I'm, uh, I'm Janey. Janey Pankowski." She reached into her bag and fished out a business card and handed it to him.

"Nyall Anderson."

Janey didn't fail to notice that he tucked her card away without looking at it, and he didn't reciprocate with his own business card.

"How much time do you think has passed?" Janey said.

"An hour and a quarter," he said after checking his phone.

"
That
long? Oh, my God. We're really stuck in here." The fact that there hadn't been a peep from anybody outside boded ill in her mind.

"It's looking like we'll be here a while," he agreed. "You might as well tell me why you were crying."

Just his mentioning it made it start happening again. Janey didn't understand it. She was sitting here with a man that she had nothing in common with and he was inviting her to confide in him.

"Why do you want to know?" she said. "Do you like listening to strange women tell you about their miserable lives? Are you a psychiatrist or something?"

"Lord, no." He sounded repelled. "Curiosity, I guess."

Well, that fit in with the calculating businessman image, at least, she thought. "I'm afraid you'll be disappointed. It's nothing exciting. I just asked a guy out on a date and he said no."

"That's it?" He didn't seem impressed. "That makes you cry on elevators?"

She swallowed. "No, that's not
it
. It's the story of my li-ife. Nice guys look right through me. It's only the cheating sleazeballs who ever come on to me."

Janey heard her own words and winced. She couldn't believe she was sitting here complaining to this guy about her lame love life.

His gaze moved over her again, this time more speculatively. Of course, her legs and arms blocked most of her body, but he seemed to see through them. "I can see why the sleazeballs, but I'm not getting the nice guys part."

Janey's jaw dropped. Had she just been insulted? "Thanks a lot," she said.

His eyes narrowed. "Did that offend you?"

"You just said you think I'm perfect for scumbags."

"You have a voluptuous body," he said. "Men want to fuck that. But I don't know why decent guys wouldn't, too. They're basically the same animal, with different shirts."

For a moment Janey couldn't breathe or talk. When she finally managed it, she said shakily, "You couldn't be more wrong."

"About what?"

"About guys wanting to…uh…be with me. I'm a virgin," she said bluntly. "I'm twenty-nine and I've never had sex with a man."

"You're gay?" His brow rose. He asked the question in that bemused way a person might say, "You've really never been to Canada?"

A laugh burst out of her. "I wish! I got so frustrated with the whole thing one time I tried to psyche myself up to become lesbian. That was a fail, too. My fantasies just wouldn't go there. It's males I like."

There was a minute of silence where she couldn't read his expression.

Then:

"You don't want to be a virgin?" he said.

"I don't care if I'm a virgin or not exactly. I just want to—" She blushed. "To know. What it's like. To feel—uh—"

"You want sex," he drawled. "With someone you won't catch a disease from."

"I could go off with one of the sleazeballs, I guess. I just haven't gotten that desperate yet."

His mouth slanted sardonically. "So why not ask some guy you know to fuck you?"

"They don't want to. Seriously," when he looked disbelieving. "Look at me!" She moved her legs down and spread her arms out. "I'm the classic girl next door. I'm the sister. I'm platonic city, Nyall. I'm not imagining it. Believe me. It's dogged me all my life." The tears were starting again. "I don't usually act this pathetic, but it's starting to get to me, you know? I don't understand your gender at all and I'm pretty sure at this point it's too late for me to ever be able to."

His lips twitched. "We're pretty simple."

"Yeah, right. I can't believe I'm talking to you about it, anyway," she muttered.

"You don't tell people about it?"

"Oh, sure, friends. But you're a stranger. Some strangers might be okay to talk to. But you're my last idea of a good confidante."

His amusement broke through in a laugh. "Why do you say that?"

"Oh, you know." She waved her hand dismissively. "Gorgeous. Sexy. Successful. Smooth. Out of my league."

As if to prove his popularity, his cell phone went off. He withdrew it from his pocket, but after one glance he put it back.

"Now, what were you saying?" he prompted, looking at her narrowly.

"Out of my league," she answered.

"Right. I take it you've heard of me?"

Her eyes widened. "No. Heard of you? Why, are you famous? Nyall Anderson," she said to herself. It didn't sound familiar.

He frowned, studying her. "No," he said finally. "I'm just a businessman."

She snorted. "A posh one, though, right? What do you do?"

"Start-ups," he said. "Starting them. Then selling them."

"I see," she said. "I have a small local catering business. Oh, I told you that already, didn't I? My specialty is allergy-friendly baking. Nut-free cookies. Seed-free bread. Dairy-free, egg-free donuts."

"I see." He stared at her.

She grinned. "Now you're hungry, aren't you, with all that food talk?"

"No, unlike you, I had lunch already. But you were saying about my being a bad confidante…"

"Oh, yeah. I'm talking about the whole package." She gestured vaguely at him. "The way you dress, the way you look, the way you live."

His tongue poked his cheek. "I see. Amazing what you can tell from first impressions," he drawled. "But what does all that have to do with who you talk to about losing your virginity?"

"I don't know. Just that if I were in a room full of people and had to pick someone to spill my soul to, you'd be the last person I'd approach. You're in a different universe from me."

"We seem to be in the same elevator."

"Purely by accident." She paused. "Although now that I think about it, you might actually be the perfect person to talk to. Especially if you're married. Or have a girlfriend. Or are otherwise unavailable."

He leaned forward and tilted his head. "Why do you say that?"

"Because then you could tell me why your type makes sleazy passes at my type."

"Oh, I can tell you that in any case." His gaze lowered pointedly. "It's probably your tits. They're sensational. And your ass isn't bad, either."

Janey gaped.
Instinctively her arms crossed over her chest and her whole body suffused in a blush.

His lips quirked, but he went on. "But as to being committed to anyone…sorry to disappoint. I don't do girlfriends or wives these days."

"
You're
gay?" Her eyes popped.

"No," he said with forced patience.

"Then why…"

"I do sex," he said deliberately. "Not relationships."

"Oh."
Get a grip, Janey. This is unreal, but you can handle it.
"Anyway, you're not the kind of man I usually associate with. You're the right age, just…a different lifestyle. And you're hot. I don't usually go around with studly guys who belong on the covers of men's magazines."

He sighed. "I'm getting the point. I'm a god. You're a peon."

She blinked. Frowned. Then sighed wistfully. "Yeah. I just wish I could meet somebody nice and normal who wants me and wants to be my boyfriend. Everyday stuff. Somebody I'd trust to lose my virginity to. Who'd…"

"What?"

"Teach me all about sex. What the big deal is."

He shook his head. "You're doomed for failure."

Again, his words managed to bring the tears to the forefront. "That's what I thought."

"Not the way you're thinking." He sounded impatient. "You're looking in the wrong place. If you want someone to teach you how to enjoy sex, you don't look look to nice guys."

"I'm not having sex with a sleazeball," she said emphatically.

"I didn't say you should."

"Yes, you did. I mean, if not sleazeballs and not nice guys, what kind of guy should I seek out to teach me about sex?"

He shrugged. "That's easy. Me."

Before Janey could respond to Nyall Anderson's unsettling answer, the intercom sounded. It was a bit of a shock; Janey didn't realize contact could be initiated from the outside.

"All right, people," a tinny male voice said through the static. "The crew's out and you should be out of there soon."