Damn it, why can't they have rooms on the 20th floor? It's hardly a long enough trip from the lobby and the number 2 flashes by in an instant, and hell, it's a calculated risk but then again, ain't all risks calculated?

His hand moves quickly to press the STOP button; the elevator grinds to a sudden halt between floors. He looks from the numbers to Freckles, swallows hard, and kisses her.

And then he does it again just 'cause they're both in the elevator together, and he sure don't want it to stop there. It might well. It could be that's all she wrote, that's all there is to give, but he has to try. If he doesn't, he'll never forgive his sorry ass for it. Like her hair's made of steel and his fingers are infused with magnets, they tangle in those brown strands, possessive and demanding and unapologetic, and for a fraction of a moment he holds her real close. When he speaks, his voice ain't much more'n a murmur.

"Guess I ain't cut out to behave, Freckles." His heart pounds; he can feel it better than he could since that day with the fake pacemaker.

Anxiety attack his ass. Must've been the scent of her shampoo set him off.