Man of Fortune. Rochelle Alers

      Tamara Wolcott glanced down at her chest. Not only had she missed several buttons, but she hadn’t put them in the corresponding buttonholes. There was no doubt the stranger could see her bra and everything inside it.

      She rolled her eyes at him. “Thanks!”

      Duncan couldn’t stop the smile stealing its way across his face. “You’re welcome. That’s what happens when you have to dress in a hurry,” he drawled facetiously.

      Turning her back, Tamara unbuttoned then buttoned her blouse again. “It’s not what you think,” she snapped.

      “How do you know what I’m thinking?” Duncan asked.

      “It was your snarky comment about getting dressed in a hurry.”

      His smile faded. “Is there such a word as snarky?”

      “Yes, there is,” she retorted. “Look it up—” Whatever Tamara was going to say died on her lips when the elevator came to an abrupt halt midway between the first and second floors. The emergency light came on and she slapped the emergency button, while muttering a colorful expletive.

      Duncan moved over to the panel and released the emergency button, hoping the action would restart the elevator. He waited a full thirty seconds, and then pushed it again. The piercing sound was annoying and deafening. He released it. “It looks like we’re stuck.”

      “You don’t say, Einstein.”

      “Ditch the attitude, lady,” he countered nastily. “It’s not going to solve anything. It’s apparent someone in the lobby heard the bell, so it shouldn’t be long before we’re out of here.”

      Tamara opened her mouth to deliver a sarcastic comeback to the man who not only looked good but also smelled incredibly delicious. He was tall, slender and impeccably dressed in a lightweight gray suit, white shirt and silk tie in varying shades of gray, black and white. His cropped, raven-black curly hair, smooth olive skin and intense light-brown eyes under arching black eyebrows were mesmerizing. A straight nose and firm mouth added to what was an arresting face. And she was annoyed with herself because she found him so physically attractive.

      “I hope it’s not going to take too long because I have to go to work.”

      Leaning against a wall, Duncan crossed his arms over his chest. “Where is work?”

      Tamara closed her eyes for several seconds. “I work in a hospital.” She glared at the man who didn’t appear in the least perturbed that they were stuck in an elevator in a Manhattan highrise. “Can you please push the emergency button again?” She couldn’t control the slight quiver in her voice.

      Duncan didn’t move as he continued to stare at the woman with the voluptuous body and sexy voice. If he had ever fantasized about getting trapped in an elevator with someone, then this was his dream come true. She was tall, at least five-nine or ten with flawless tawny skin, and she had pulled her hair into a ponytail ending midway down her back. Her mouth matched her body. It was full, lush and temptingly curved. If the eyes were a mirror into someone’s soul, then hers radiated anger and resentment. The large, dark, slanting orbs gave off sparks that didn’t bode well for anyone on the receiving end of her rage. He forced himself not to look at the swell of breasts under a man’s white shirt. A pair of stretch jeans and black leather mules completed her dressed-down look.

      He forced a smile. “I’m certain someone heard the bell.”

      Tamara took a quick breath. “How do you know that for certain, Mister-Know-It-All?”

      Duncan’s smile faded. She was back with the bad attitude. His temper flared. “Push the damn button yourself if you think that’s going to move the elevator.”

      Tamara reached for the button at the same time voices came somewhere outside the door. “We’re stuck in here,” she shouted.

      “Hold on, miss. We’re going to try and get you out,” said a muffled voice. “Someone in the Con Ed work crew cut a feeder cable and…” His voice trailed off.

      “A feeder cable,” she repeated. “That means there’s no electricity.”

      Duncan gestured to the overhead emergency light. “At least we’re not in the dark.”

      Tamara reached into an oversized leather tote and took out her cell phone. “I hope I can get a signal in here.” She exhaled a breath. “Thank goodness.” Scrolling through her directory she pushed speed dial. “This is Dr. Wolcott,” she said identifying herself when a clerk answered the phone. “I’m scheduled to cover the six o’clock shift for Dr. Shelton, but right now I’m stuck in an elevator in a building on Park Avenue South. Tell Dr. Killeen I’ll be in once someone gets me out of here.”

      “I’ll let—wait a minute, Dr. Wolcott, there’s a special news bulletin coming across the television. The power is out in most of Gramercy Park. Is that where you are?”

      “Yes.”

      “I’ll let Dr. Killeen know that you’ll be late.”

      “Make certain you do.”

      Tamara ended the call and looked at the man staring back at her with an amused expression. She didn’t know what was so funny. They were trapped in a space less than six feet wide that was getting hotter with each passing moment.

      “What’s so funny?”

      Duncan straightened. “Are you usually so brusque, Dr. Wolcott?”

      She looked down at the toes of his polished shoes. “No, I’m not. Right now I’m a little stressed out. I’m sorry if I was rude to you, Mr….”

      “Duncan.”

      Her head came up. “Does Duncan have a last name?”

      “It’s Gilmore.” He extended his hand. “Does Dr. Wolcott have a first name?”

      She shook his hand, noting the palm was smooth to the touch. “It’s Tamara.”

      “Tamara,” he repeated. “What does it mean?”

      “It’s Hebrew for palm tree.”

      “It’s very pretty.”

      Tamara smiled for the first time. “Thank you.” She offered him her cell phone. “I was told that half the neighborhood is without electricity. You can use my phone if you need to make a call.”

      “Thanks, but no thanks.”

      Her eyebrows lifted slightly. “Isn’t there someone you would want to know where you are?”

      “No.”

      Tamara’s eyes narrowed. “Do you live in this building?”

      “No,” Duncan repeated. “I was just leaving a client. Do you live here?”

      “I wish. I live in an incredibly overpriced East Village walkup.”

      “Living in Manhattan is practically prohibitive.”

      “You can say that again,” she drawled. “Where do you live, Duncan?”

      “Chelsea.” He smiled when Tamara whistled. “It’s not quite Park Avenue or Sutton Place, but it’s getting there.”

      “Where in Chelsea do you live?”

      “Twenty-First between Tenth and Eleventh.”

      “Isn’t that near Chelsea Piers?” she asked.

      Duncan nodded. “I can see it from my bedroom window. Have you ever been there?”

      “Unfortunately, I haven’t,” Tamara said truthfully.

      She’d worked double shifts for the past four years to pay off her student loans and recoup the monies she’d saved before her ex-husband had emptied their joint bank account with the intent