Stinger

hated the first one."

"Oh please. Am I supposed to feel badly for you that you get to do Bambi Bennett in a shower? Poor thing." I could hear the sarcasm dripping from her voice.

"Shit, it's awkward–there are two cameramen and a mic in that tiny space. From where I'm standing, it's not hot. Also, Bambi Bennett? Christ. Am I fucking a deer?"

"I know. It's a stupid name. She's new to the site. Look her up. She's all kinds of gorgeous. Lucky you. Kisses! Text me when you get the info." And with that she hung up.

Courtney owned the site I had recently signed a contract with–ArtLove.com. It was supposed to appeal mostly to women, the largest growing porn-watching demographic. Most of the shoots were in exotic locations and we were encouraged to look like we were really into each other–different than the wham, bam, thank you ma'am type of porn that men tended to like. The first shoot I had done was in Belize in an outdoor shower and despite what it might have seemed like to the viewer, I was just hoping I could stay hard through it. A film crew of sweaty dudes all up in your business wasn't exactly a wet dream come true, no matter how gorgeous the girl was.

Apparently, though, after only a couple films, I had a small fan following. And so my agent had all but insisted I show up this weekend to make an appearance. I had stayed at the meet-and-greet bullshit for as long as I could stomach, and then I'd snuck out and run straight into Miss High and Mighty. It wasn't that I didn't appreciate my fans… or rather, I guess I tried not to think about my fans too much because let's be honest, they admired me for reasons that made me think it was better that I not shake their hands.

I started toward the elevators, intending on going up to my room and changing for the pool. It was the easiest place to pick up a girl, one who didn't care to know who I was or what I did–and the feeling would be mutual.

"Whoa, hold the elevator," I called as I spotted one going up, doors just starting to close. I flashed my room key to the security guard standing at the front of the alcove.

An old woman stuck her purse out, and the doors bounced back open and I jogged to it, thanking her and turning toward the front.

"The Lord is testing me," I heard a quiet voice whisper under her breath. I glanced to my left and two people over to see who had muttered those words, and there stood Grace "White Wedding" Hamilton. Go figure. I chuckled softly to myself at her tight expression over the fact that I was even sharing her space.

I leaned forward and grinned at her. I could tell that she saw me in her peripheral vision by the way her spine straightened, but she continued to stare straight ahead at the door in front of us.

The old lady standing next to Grace leaned around her and grinned back at me, waving a flirty, little wave. It was cute and so I laughed and waved back. Grace's head swiveled to me and her eyes widened as we made eye contact, me still smiling. Then just as quickly, she turned to look straight ahead again.

The elevator stopped at several floors and began to empty out, and pretty soon, it was just me and Grace and the old lady. We all stood quietly, staring straight ahead.

At the next floor, the old lady moved to the front and Grace and I both automatically stepped backwards to let her pass. As the old lady walked out the open doors, she turned and winked at me and then turned and winked at Grace too. I looked over at Grace, and her head was tilted, a small smile on her pretty, pink lips as she watched the doors close again.

Then she glanced at me, and the smile was replaced with a frown.

"You know…" I started to say, but my voice trailed off as the lights in the elevator flashed, and we felt a huge jolt, to which Grace let out a small squeak and I let out a "Holy shit!"

The elevator slammed to a stop, groaning loudly, and the lights flickered. I looked across the small space into wide, terrified eyes. We were stuck.

CHAPTER 2

Grace

As the elevator groaned to a stop and the lights flickered one more time, I felt fear wash over me. I didn't like small spaces. Not at all. It stemmed back to–well, it stemmed back to something I didn't like to think about. I took a deep breath and practically threw myself at the phone cubby, yanking open the small metal door and pulling the handle off the phone. I pressed zero and as it rang, my eyes darted to Carson who was standing in the corner, leaned against the wall, watching me carefully.

"Maintenance," a gruff voice said.

"Hi, hi! Yes, hi, this is Grace Hamilton. I'm a guest here this weekend. We're stuck in an elevator. It just stopped suddenly and…" My words trailed off as I heard the phone reception crackle and then die. I made a panicked sound in my throat and took three big steps over to my large purse, abandoned in the corner. I pulled out my phone and looked at the bars at the top of the screen. No service. Shit!

I looked over at Carson again and he was still staring at me, unmoving, just watching me with an unreadable expression on his face.

"Don't just stand there! We're trapped! Do something!" My breath hitched in my throat and I could feel my heart beating harshly in my chest. I lifted my fingers to my throat and felt my pulse racing wildly. I attempted to take a deep breath, but my throat suddenly felt as if it was swelling shut. I couldn't breathe. Oh God, I couldn't breathe.

I stumbled back against the wall, making eye contact with Carson who now had his brow furrowed as he moved toward me. I gripped the bar on the wall behind me, knowing I was about to die of asphyxiation, here in this elevator, the last eyes I saw those of Carson Stinger, Straight Male Performer. Oh no, no, no, no. Not like this.

"Hey, calm down, Buttercup," he said calmly, gripping both my arms just like he did when we collided in the hotel lobby. "Deep breath, take a deep breath. You're okay. They're going to get us out of here, all right? Just take a deep breath. Keep your eyes on me."

My eyes blinked rapidly as his face swam in front of me, my breath now coming out in raspy exhales as I fought to take in oxygen.

"Shit, Buttercup, come on, you're not going to pass out on me in this elevator. Deep breath."

For several minutes we both stared into each other's eyes, the worry in his deepening as he watched me struggle.

Oh God, Oh God, air, air!

He stepped away from me and started looking around the elevator, eyes wide, panicked now, searching for what, I didn't know. He flew over to the phone and picked it up and listened for a second, and then slammed it back in its small box and kicked the door shut. "Shit!"

I'm dying. Oh God, please, air.

He turned back to me, and my eyes were tearing up in my effort to take in what little oxygen was making it down the tiny passageway that was now the inside of my throat. I was sure I was turning blue.

"Sister Christian, oh the time has come!" Carson suddenly belted out.

Even in the midst of my panic attack, I startled. What the–

"And you know that you're the only one to say, okay."

He took a step back as my eyes followed him, my breath still sticking in my swollen throat as I struggled to draw in air

He pointed at me. "Where you going, what you looking for?"

What the hell is he doing? What the HELL is he doing? Oh! A little air. That's good, that's good, Grace.

"You know those boys don't want to play no more with you. It's true." At the last two words of the stanza, he lowered his chin and gazed into my eyes.

Better, better. More air, better. Okay, okay. I'm okay. Why is he singing while I'm almost dying here? He actually has a really nice voice–deep and slightly throaty. Figures he'd have a really nice voice. Figures he'd have a SEXY voice. Ah, air. Okay, I'm okay.

My breathing slowed marginally and I realized that the instrumental of "Sister Christian" was playing over