by Jaide Fox
But he hadn’t touched her once.
Groaning, Clark rolled over and eyed the door to her bedroom. The firmly closed door to her bedroom. Bruce would have been in there by now, he reflected bleakly. Bruce’s physique would have blinded Blossom to his less-than-superheroic emotional traits, providing him quick and easy access to her bed. And once there, Bruce would have wasted no time in plying his legendary bedroom skills to give Blossom the sexual fulfillment she needed to trigger her own powers.
Still, things could be worse. At least he and Blossom shared the basics for a good friendship. They liked the same jokes, and she loved superheroes and everything about them. Plus, she seemed to be comfortable around him.
He grimaced. As long as she didn’t look at him, that is. But he had spent the night at her apartment. She could have kicked him out, but she hadn’t. That counted for something, right? Given enough time...
Except he didn’t have enough time.
Shit.
He should have been expecting Captain Marvelous’ wake-up call, but the cell phone chirp still took him by surprise.
He grabbed his glasses with one hand and his laptop case with the other. He tore open the Velcro and pulled out his cell. "Kendall here."
"What’s the report, Clark? Are you in yet?"
Clark winced at the Captain’s choice of words. "Uh, not exactly, sir."
"Not good enough, Clark, you know that. Time’s running out."
Clark gave a surreptitious glance toward Blossom’s door. "I’m working on it. I spent the night in her apartment."
The Captain perked up. "In her bedroom?"
"Uh, no," Clark said. "On the couch."
A brief silence ensued, then the Captain heaved a sigh. "Clark, much as I hate to admit it, I’m beginning to think I made a mistake sending you to Megalopolis."
Clark struggled to right himself on the understuffed couch cushion. "Not at all, Captain. I can do this. I just need a little more time."
"Unfortunately, that’s something I don’t have to give," the Captain said. "Lex’s bomb is set to go off in..."
"...seventeen hours and fifty-eight minutes," Clark finished for him. "Believe me, I know."
"Then you understand I’ve got no choice, son. I’m sending in backup."
Clark’s stomach abruptly knotted. "Who?"
"Why, Bruce Wynn, of course. Who else?"
* * * *
Saturday, 6:15 a.m.
Seventeen hours, forty-five minutes, and counting...
Blossom was dressing when she heard Clark’s phone ring. Who would call him at this hour?
A girlfriend?
The thought made her stomach lurch, though she couldn’t quite imagine why. It’s not like she wanted him for herself or anything. Even though she’d had more fun last night in ... heck, she didn’t know how long. Clark was really the nicest guy. She revised her theory about the girlfriend caller. It just didn’t seem in Clark’s character to cheat on an unsuspecting significant other. Not that any cheating had gone on, mind you. The whole night had been totally innocent.
Blossom zipped up her jeans and wriggled into a green and gold MPI tee shirt. She and Clark had watched TV for hours, but he hadn’t tried to kiss her again. She felt a little conflicted about that. On one hand, he’d had plenty of opportunity. She should be insulted he hadn’t taken advantage of it. On the other hand, who could blame him if he hadn’t? When he’d tried it the first time, she’d decked him.
She eased open the door. "Clark? Are you up?" She wouldn’t want him to think she was eavesdropping.
He snapped his phone closed and shoved it into his laptop case. "Yeah," he said, getting to his feet.
His white pants were a bit rumpled, but at least his black shirt was all the way unbuttoned now, and hanging loose. His feet were bare. Somehow, that seemed unsettling.
She made it halfway across the room before her legs refused to take her any further. "Your chest looks a lot better," she said. Inanely. "I mean, the hives and all."
"The itching’s gone," he replied, not moving.
She changed direction, heading for the kitchen. "Want some coffee? I usually pick it up on my way to the lab, but I can--"
"No thanks," he said. "Let’s go out to breakfast."
"Can’t. I have a meeting with my Ph.D. advisor at seven."
"On a Saturday morning?"
"Yeah. Graduate students don’t exactly keep corporate hours."
"Meet me after, then."
"I have a ton of work to do."
His tone turned desperate. "Lunch, then. You have to eat, right?"
"I guess. How ’bout the Burger Shack? It’s a couple blocks down the street, on Main. At eleven forty-five?"
"It’ll have to do," said Clark. "See you then."
* * * *
Saturday, 8:48 a.m.
Fifteen hours, twelve minutes, and counting...
Clark leaned on the stand up counter at the local coffeehouse and took a bracing gulp of his caramel latte. He had to do something about Blossom. The "just friends" thing was all very well and good, but with time ticking by like--well, like a neutron bomb ready to explode--he couldn’t afford to kick back and wait for favorable developments. He had to come up with a viable plan for her seduction. One that would take Blossom’s mind off her narrow visual focus and let her concentrate on her feelings. He knew she liked him a little. If she harbored even one one-hundredth of the attraction he felt for her, he would succeed.
After years of fantasizing about Diana Price, it was odd he should feel this way. Diana was every man’s dream. The kind of woman you saw in a centerfold. Tall. Voluptuous. Gorgeous. Self-confident. Hot. And if Diana had a brain, it wasn’t immediately apparent.
Blossom couldn’t begin to compete. Sure, she was cute, especially with all those freckles on her upturned nose, but no one would have handed her first place in a beauty contest. Her breasts were barely a B cup, and her legs weren’t long and shapely. Her hair frizzed a little. But she was smart. And fun, once you got past her I-hate-geeks façade. She had a great sense of humor, and to Clark, that counted for a lot.
She was a little unsure of herself, in an endearing kind of way. Maybe that was why she obsessed so much about Superman. Maybe subconsciously, she wanted to set her standard so high no man could reach it. So she wouldn’t get hurt.
I wouldn’t hurt her, Clark thought. If she wanted him, he’d be hers in three seconds flat. After he triggered Blossom’s superpowers and saved the world, they could hook up for good. He took a long sip of coffee, spinning that fantasy for a while. They could get married, buy a house in the suburbs not too far from HI headquarters, have two-point-three kids and a dog...
But he had to get her into bed first. Before Bruce arrived on the scene. When that happened, Blossom would take one look at Bruce’s steroid-enhanced pectorals and melt into a gooey puddle on the sidewalk. All the women did.
A hot rush of anger surged through him. No way could he let Bruce Wynn, Superjerk, hurt Blossom. Clark would face down a whole freezer full of calamari before he’d let that happen.
If only he could get Blossom’s mind off the visual...
He straightened abruptly. That was it. Get Blossom’s mind off the visual.
Could he do it?
Chapter Six
Saturday, 12:15 p.m.
Eleven hours, forty-five minutes, and counting...
Blossom dumped three packs of sugar into her iced tea, all the while keeping one eye on the door. Clark was late. He wouldn’t stand her up, would he? A little twitch of fear wiggled in her stomach. Maybe he’d decided she was too geeky for him. He wouldn’t be the first guy to decide that.
"Hey, babe. Got a minute?"
The speaker was a man. A beautiful man. Blossom looked behind her, but she didn’t see anyone he might have been speaking to.
She turned back. "You mean me?"
"Yeah, babe. You."
She drank him in. Over six feet tall, with dark hair, dark eyes,
and chiseled features. And dressed all in delicious black. A T-shirt stretched so tight across his unbelievable chest it was in danger of coming apart at the seams. Leather pants hugged lean hips and long muscular legs with just the right amount of loving cling. Blossom’s eyes widened. The incredible bulge between his thighs was definitely superhero material.
Her stomach executed an Olympic grade back flip. This guy outshone every last poster on her wall. God, he was hot. Scorching. Just touching him would probably give her third degree burns.
"Did you want me for something?" she asked.
"Oh, yeah." He let the words hang there in the air between them until she blushed. "Can I join you?"
"Me?" He had to be kidding. No man in his league had ever even blinked in her direction.
His gaze drifted over her, sending little tingles zapping all over her skin. "I saw you sitting here," he said. "And I thought, what a crime such a beautiful girl has to eat lunch alone. I’ll buy you lunch, babe."
She stared at him for a good five seconds before she realized he was waiting for some kind of reply. "Sure," she said, waving toward the empty booth seat opposite.
Oh, wait. What about Clark? She gave another glance toward the door. Well, heck. He was late. It would serve him right to find her with another man. Not that it mattered. After all, it wasn’t as if she and Clark had anything going on.
She swallowed a little pang of guilt as the hottie’s perfect butt slid across the vinyl bench seat.
She shoved a menu at him. "What would you like?"
He held her gaze. "I’m looking at it, babe."
"Oh," squeaked Blossom, her throat suddenly dry. She licked her lips. His incredible eyes darkened.
Oh, God.
"What did you say your name was?" she asked.
* * * *
Saturday, 12:31 p.m.
Eleven hours, twenty-nine minutes, and counting...
The key to success in any venture, Clark decided as he hurried to his lunch date with Blossom, lay in careful research and meticulous planning. Of course, promptness didn’t hurt either. He checked his watch and winced. He was late, late, late. He hoped Blossom didn’t think he’d stood her up.
He clutched his laptop case in one hand, thinking of the extra items it held. Items he’d purchased, then promptly hidden in the zippered and Velcroed pockets. The store he’d visited was the kind that didn’t open until noon, and it had taken a little time--after he’d recovered from pure shock--to sort through its offerings. After all, the fate of the world depended on his choices.
He hurried the last few steps to the Burger Shack and shoved open the door.
And stopped dead in his tracks.
Shit.
Bruce Wynn was in town.
Clark plowed through the knot of customers at the door. He’d known Bruce was coming to hit on Blossom, but the fact hadn’t registered until now. His stomach lurched as Bruce’s manicured hand crept across the table to stroke Blossom’s fingers. He said something. She laughed.
No way was this happening, Clark thought darkly. Blossom was much too nice a girl to get caught by a predator like Bruce. Clark pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and squared his shoulders. His grip tightened on the handle of his laptop case.
He marched to Blossom’s rescue.
"Clark," Blossom said, not quite meeting his gaze.
"I thought we had a lunch date," Clark said tersely.
Bruce lounged back, draping one arm over the back of the booth seat, an amused smile playing on his lips.
Blossom’s eyes sparked with annoyance. "You were late, Clark, but luckily I got another invitation for lunch." She waved a hand across the table. "This is Bruce."
"Pleased to meet you," Bruce said.
"Bruce thought it would be a shame if I had to eat alone," Blossom said.
"I’m sure," said Clark dryly.
"A word of advice," Bruce said, talking to Clark but keeping his gaze trained on Blossom. "Never leave a beautiful woman waiting."
Blossom giggled, soaking it up. Puh-lease, thought Clark. How could an intelligent girl like Blossom not see through Bruce’s act? It was incomprehensible.
Clark shifted his laptop to his other hand. "I’m sorry I’m late," he said to Blossom. "But I really couldn’t help it. Come on. Tell this joker to get lost."
"I can’t," said Blossom. "We’ve already ordered. Maybe you and I could get together some other time."
"Fine," said Clark. "I’ll wait until you’re done lunch and walk you back to campus."
"Oh," said Blossom, looking nonplussed. "That won’t work. Bruce said he’d drive me."
"Dinner, then?"
"I’m working late."
"I’ll pick you up."
She shook her head. "No. Bruce and I--"
"Forget it," Clark cut in. "Just forget it."
He turned on his heel and strode off, seething.
"Clark..." Blossom called.
He paused, hopeful, not daring to turn.
"Let him go, babe," Bruce said. "He’ll cool off."
"I guess you’re right," he heard Blossom say.
Clark trudged on, toward the rear of the restaurant. He couldn’t afford to leave the building, not with Bruce drooling over Blossom like a condemned man over his last slice of cheesecake. He banged into the men’s room, deep in thought. He needed help, and fast. But who...
That’s it. He tore open a pocket on his laptop case and slid out his cell phone. No signal. Well, it freaking figured, didn’t it? He just couldn’t catch a break on this assignment.
He climbed up on a sink and held the phone near the single window, high up on the wall, trying to catch a satellite beam.
The door creaked open, admitting an elderly man. He gave Clark a startled glance, then shuffled over to a urinal and unzipped his pants.
The phone beeped. Yes! Clark punched in a number and waited grimly for an answer.
"Hello?"
He didn’t beat around the bush. "Diana. You’ve got to help me."
"Clark? Is that you?" Diana’s breathless little laugh wafted over the wireless connection. "I thought you were on assignment."
"I am. And it was going fine. But now Bruce is in town and he’s going to blow it for me. He’s going to have Blossom in bed before dinner."
The old codger at the urinals looked up from his business and shot Clark an interested glance.
Clark lowered his voice, trying to keep his footing on the edge of the sink. "You’ve got to help me, Diana."
He could almost see her inspecting her long, red fingernails for flaws. "I don’t know, Clark..."
He wasn’t in the mood for her games. "Come on. You know you owe me."
The old man zipped up.
"Owe you? For what?"
"Programming your DVD player, for one thing. Updating the virus protection on your PC. And what about last spring when I reset every clock in your house for Daylight Savings Time? What are you going to do in October when you have to set them all back again?"
A long silence, broken only by the flush of the urinal.
"Diana..."
She gave a little sigh. "Oh, all right. I guess I can help you out, if it doesn’t take too long. I’m in the middle of something."
"What?"
"Shopping. In downtown Megalopolis. And you know how hard it is for a superheroine to get a free afternoon."
"Megalopolis?" Clark laughed out loud. Finally, a break. "Perfect. How far are you from MPI?"
"About ten minutes," Diana said. "Why? What do you want me to do?"
The old man shuffled up to the sink next to Clark’s and cocked his eyebrows.
"Get lost," Clark told him. "No, not you, Diana."
"Hmph," Diana said.
Clark waited while the old man dried his hands and creaked out the door.
"Clark? Are you still there? I haven’t got all day, you know. I have a facial at four."
"You’ll be done way before then," Clark assured her, and proceeded t
o outline his plan.
* * * *
Saturday, 12:57 p.m.
Eleven hours, three minutes, and counting...
Clark had to admit, Diana really had a flair for the dramatic. And she showed up right on cue, just as the Burger Shack waitress brought Bruce the check. She’d outdone herself with the costume. Clark barely recognized her.
He watched as Diana, garbed in a shapeless, colorless housecoat, waddled through the restaurant. He wasn’t sure what she’d stuffed under her dress to simulate an eight-and-a-half month pregnancy, but from his position at the door to the men’s room, her round stomach looked pretty damn convincing. Pink foam rollers stuck out all over her head and fuzzy pink slippers encased her feet.
Clark had lusted after Diana for years, but in all that time, he’d never seen her without makeup. Amazingly, without cosmetic assistance, Diana’s looks hovered around average. Blossom’s fresh, unadorned complexion was much more appealing. Clark mused over the discovery. Who would have guessed it?
Diana, clearly enjoying herself, waltzed halfway down the aisle. She stopped, made a big show of spotting Bruce and Blossom, and let out an earsplitting shriek.
Every head in the place turned.
"You!" she cried, marching up to Bruce and jabbing him on the shoulder with one finger. "You ... you ... worthless, low-life, two-timing excuse for a man!"
"Diana?" Bruce said.
Clark chuckled. Old Bruce was pretty slow on the uptake. He didn’t even have the presence of mind to pretend ignorance.
Blossom gasped. "You know this woman?"
"Know me?" Diana yelled. She smoothed her hands over her impressive girth, arching her back and thrusting her belly in Bruce’s face. "I’d say my husband knows me pretty damn well, wouldn’t you?"
A purple-haired lady at the next table looked up from her lemon meringue pie. "I’d say so, honey."
Bruce’s eyes bugged out. "What the hell--"
"Oh. My. God." Blossom scooted down to the end of booth seat. "You’re married?"
"No," said Bruce, grabbing her wrist. "I’m not. Don’t go. I don’t have anything to do with this." He glared at Diana. "It’s a set up."
