Blame It on the Blackout

by Heidi Betts

  If she spent the night with anyone, it would be Peter. And if she wound up in anyone’s bed, it would be his, not Will Dawson’s. He didn’t care how much she was flirting or how receptive the man obviously was.

  Lucy laughed again at something Will said and Peter felt his blood pressure spike. One more suggestive joke or over-the-top giggle and he thought he might snap. He’d shatter the wine glass in his hand or drive the tines of his fork into his former friend’s fingers where they covered and wrapped around Lucy’s atop the linen tablecloth.

  “Don’t you think we should get down to business?” he finally said, the words rumbling from his throat in something close to a growl.

  Both Lucy and Will cocked their heads, glancing at him for the first time in more than an hour, as though they’d forgotten he was even present at the same table.

  Untangling their twined arms and hands, Lucy sat back a bit in her chair, away from Will and gave a small smile.

  “Of course,” she murmured. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to distract you from your purpose.” She pulled a small legal pad and pen from her handbag, poised to take notes. “Please, go on. I’m ready when you are.”

  Peter felt a punch to his gut as powerful as any an opponent could have delivered in a title fight. He had used the excuse of needing her along as his assistant to manipulate her into coming, and now she was throwing her notepad down like a gauntlet. Showing him she knew her place, reminding him of their professional arrangement, and all but spelling out that their conversation on the plane meant if he wasn’t open to marriage and family, then she wasn’t open to him.

  He’d known that. Even as he was relating facts from his childhood to her, he’d known that she would take it to mean he wasn’t interested in developing anything of a permanent nature with her.

  Lucy had grown up very differently than he, and though she may not be on the hunt for a husband right this minute, he knew she had visions of picket fences and two-point-three kids running through her brain. He might be fun to have as a lover for the short term, but he would either have to let her go or turn into a long-term kind of guy right quick. And knowing he never intended to marry or reproduce meant she’d likely knocked him off her list completely the minute he’d admitted as much.

  A little voice in the back of his brain cheered. He should be happy, relieved, grateful she’d cut off any chances of an ongoing relationship. That way, he would never have to worry that she’d begin to expect more from him than he was willing to give. He’d never have to prepare a speech for letting her down easy or explain why she might share his bed, but would never share his life. He would never have to see her tears or listen to her wails as she stormed out of his house and cursed him for wasting her time.

  Been there, done that.

  So why, instead, was his stomach churning, his upper lip sweating? Why was there a sharp pain in the region of his heart?

  Because he was a sap, that’s why. Ridiculous to think it could be more than a fanciful notion of keeping Lucy with him forever. As anything other than his assistant, at least.

  Maybe he’d been watching too many chick flicks lately or leaving the television on the wrong channel while he worked. Whatever the cause of his recent bout of melancholia, he was damn certain he didn’t plan to change his lifelong goals and beliefs just because he’d spent one night in an overheated elevator car with Lucy. Best sex of his life or not, no woman was worth running the risk of turning into his father, of irreparably ruining multiple lives.

  Refusing to meet Lucy’s gaze or the censure written there, he shifted his focus instead to Will and steered the conversation back where it belonged—firmly on the business at hand.

  Lucy didn’t know what had crawled up Peter’s butt and died, but about halfway through dinner, he’d turned surly and cross. He’d discussed William Dawson’s company and the software system he thought best for the man’s growing business, but he’d been so curt about it that he might have been a rival CEO in the center of a corporate takeover.

  And darned if Lucy could figure out why. Before they’d left Georgetown for New York, Peter had given the impression that he and Will were friends, as well as associates. They were roughly the same age, had grown up with similar backgrounds, and were both building personal companies they hoped would be successful.

  So why was Peter suddenly acting as if Will had stolen his favorite toy?

  Unless Lucy’s behavior during the meal had set him off.

  Her cheeks flushed as she remembered, and she admitted to herself that she might have gone a touch overboard.

  Once she’d made the decision to go in search of an eligible man—or men—her seductive side had come out full-force. Will Dawson was an attractive, unattached man. The minute they’d walked into the hotel restaurant and Peter had introduced them, she’d detected a note of interest in the man’s dark eyes and decided to see where it led.

  It had led rather quickly to a lot of laughter, a few fluttered eyelashes, and some tentative touching of both hands and legs beneath the table.

  Lucy hadn’t realized Peter noticed, let alone that her actions would bother him. After all, he’d made it clear immediately following their one night together that it had been a mistake and he didn’t intend to let it happen again. Then, on the plane, he’d gone even further by telling her a bit about his childhood and assuring her he never intended to settle down with anyone, not even her.

  So why shouldn’t she be allowed to date other men? Even those of Peter’s acquaintance. Even in his presence. He wasn’t her brother or father, with some over-blown sense of familial protection that allowed him to tell her who she could see or flirt with. She was a grown woman, looking forward to a happy future that would hopefully someday include a husband and children. And if Peter wasn’t willing to give her those things, then he had no right to keep her from them, either.

  As she strolled across the hotel room, stripping out of her dress and stockings, Lucy couldn’t decide whether to be amused or angry by the entire situation. Peter was the man she wanted, but he didn’t want her. And yet, it seemed he also didn’t want her to be with anyone else.

  Well, he couldn’t have it both ways. She’d spent the past two years fawning over him, believing he might one day sit up and take notice of her, and that they might have a future together. Now that she knew that wasn’t the case, she wanted to get on with her life.

  She thought of Will, with his short black hair, set in glossy spikes along his head with a touch of gel. His chocolate-brown eyes and easy smile. She might have invited him upstairs after dinner if Peter hadn’t been all but shooting daggers and chewing glass.

  A second later, though, as she reached into the shower to turn on the water, she knew that wasn’t true. She might have invited Will up to her room, but she doubted anything would have happened. For one, she wasn’t the kind of girl to sleep with a man she barely knew the first night they met. For another, she was afraid she wouldn’t be able to banish Peter from her mind long enough to be intimate with somebody else.

  Stepping under the warm spray, she let water sluice down her body, wet her hair. It felt wonderful, and for the first time all night, she let herself relax completely, let the tension wash away from her muscles as easily as the shampoo and soap suds slid down the drain.

  She stayed in the shower longer than usual, until steam fogged the glass of the bathroom mirror and her skin turned warm and silky. Then she wrapped one towel around her hair and another around her body, tucking the corner between her breasts to hold it fast.

  While she was still damp, she squeezed a dollop of sweet-smelling moisturizer into the palm of her hand and smoothed it over her arms and legs, then patted herself dry. With the floral scent of lotion filling the small room, she combed and blow-dried her hair before opening the door and stepping out into the rest of the hotel room.

  Letting the towel from around her body drop at the foot of the king size bed, she took the three strides to the dresser in the nude and dug
a nightie out of the top drawer. The emerald satin slipped on over her head, settling its spaghetti straps over her shoulders and lace bodice along her breasts with a gentle whoosh.

  A throat clearing across the room spun Lucy around with a startled yip. Peter sat in the corner, slouched down in a chair, hidden by shadows.

  “Good Lord,” she breathed, “you scared me half to death.”

  It was a testament to how comfortable she felt with him that she didn’t even realize she’d just pranced in front of him completely naked for a full minute. When she did, she gave another yelp and grabbed for her earlier discarded bath towel.

  “Peter!” she chastised, using the white terry cloth to cover herself from neck to knee, even though she was now more than adequately dressed in the short, slinky nightgown. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”

  He cocked his head in the direction of the connecting door. “It was unlocked. I wanted to talk to you, but I didn’t expect you to be walking around naked.” Sitting up a bit straighter, he had the decency to look abashed. “Sorry.”

  For the first time since sending her heart into over-drive with his sudden appearance, she noticed the condition of his suit, wrinkled and disheveled. His tie had been loosened and draped down his chest at an odd angle, and it looked as though he’d run his fingers through his hair a few thousand times.

  Her embarrassment faded, replaced by concern, and she moved to sit on the corner of the bed nearest his chair.

  “Is something wrong?” she asked.

  For a moment, he didn’t answer. Then he bent forward, resting his elbows on his thighs, hands clasping and unclasping between his parted knees as he hung his head dejectedly.

  “I came to apologize for dinner. I acted like an ass.”

  Lucy crossed her legs, letting the towel fall to her lap. “You were a little asslike,” she agreed softly.

  He lifted his head and gave her a small smile. “You noticed that, huh?”

  “I noticed. I’m just not sure what came over you. I thought you and Will were friends.”

  “We are, at least as far as business goes.”

  “Then why did you treat him so shabbily? And me, too, for that matter.”

  “Truth?” He slanted an uneasy glance in her direction. “I didn’t like the way he was looking at you, touching you. Or the way you reacted to him.”

  Setting the still-damp towel aside, she scootched another inch toward the edge of the mattress. “Why, Peter? Why do you care what I do or who I do it with? It’s not like you’re interested, not judging by what you said on the plane.”

  In one fluid motion, Peter abandoned his chair. Towering above her, he leaned in, fists digging into the bedspread on either side of her hips until their noses nearly touched.

  “That’s where you’re wrong,” he whispered, his voice low and rough, running over her like a sheet of sandpaper. “Because I am interested. God help me, but I am.”

  Eight

  Desire stabbed through Peter, and the closer he got to Lucy, the sharper that desire became. Going down on one knee in front of her, he breathed in the clean, shampooed fragrance of her long, black hair, let his gaze roam over the rosy glow of her shower-fresh skin.

  “I tried to deny it,” he said, the words ripped from his throat as he stared up at her, blood pounding in his veins. “That one night was supposed to be just that—one night. One night when I finally got to experience what I’d been dreaming of since the first time you came to interview for the job as my assistant. One night when things got a bit crazy and my claustrophobia served as the perfect excuse to taste your lips, caress your body, feel you move beneath me while we made love.”

  He lifted a hand to her face, stroked the back of his fingers over the baby-soft silk of her cheek. “I hoped that would be enough, for both of us. Because I can’t give you what you need, what you deserve. You want it all—a wedding, babies, happily ever after. And I want those things for you, but I can’t be the one to give them to you. Not now, maybe not ever.”

  Letting his hand dip lower, he traced the line of her jaw, the slender column of her neck, the gentle slope of her chest. The lacy front of her liquid green gown exposed all but the very tips of her breasts. They drew his eye and then his touch.

  “Seeing you tonight, though, flirting with Will…There were a couple of times during dinner when I had to stop myself from leaping across the table and choking him with his napkin.”

  His hold shifted from below the curve of her breasts to her waist and squeezed. “Tell me to leave, Lucy,” he implored, meeting her ocean-blue eyes. “Say you hate me and never want to see me again. Kick me out before I do something really stupid like beg you to go to bed with me.”

  Lucy raised an arm, feathering her manicured fingers through the hair at his temple. “I don’t hate you,” she murmured. “And you don’t have to beg.”

  Lowering her head, she pressed her lips to his, her hands spreading across his cheeks and neck. Her mouth felt like molten lava flowing from an active volcano. Heat poured through his veins, all but giving off steam, bringing every hormone in his body to full attention.

  Coming up on his knees, he started to stand, only to push her back on the mattress. The satiny fabric of her nightie rode high on her thighs as he hovered over her, mouth devouring, hands exploring.

  He’d missed this the first time around. Watching her, seeing her beautiful hair spilled out around her like a halo, her eyes turn dark with passion, her nipples pearl at the tips of her pert breasts. And it was a damn shame, because every inch of her was so beautiful, his teeth ached.

  He stroked her shoulders and arms, memorized the shape of her womanly form with its hills and valleys, dips and swells. Electricity sparked at his fingertips as they skimmed across her flesh, sending the sensations straight to his groin.

  A moan rolled up from his diaphragm as their tongues tangled and twisted. Her legs wrapped around his like vines, and he could feel the silk of her skin even through the material of his dress slacks.

  The nails on one of Lucy’s hands dug into his back while the other loosened the knot of his tie. Tossing it aside, she moved to the buttons of his shirt while he rocked his hips into the cradle of her thighs and skimmed a hand beneath the hem of her gown.

  With each movement of their bodies, he slid Lucy farther and farther up the length of the mattress, until her head was propped on the pillows. The new position gave them more than enough room to spread out and enjoy themselves.

  As soon as she’d finished with the buttons, he shrugged out of both the white shirt and gray suit jacket, letting them fall to the floor. He began inching her gown upwards, over her hips, her torso. Lucy raised her arms so he could slide the slinky material off completely.

  She lay beneath him, blessedly naked. Sexier and more lovely, if possible, than when she’d stepped out of the bathroom after her shower and dropped the towel. And this time, he didn’t have to just sit back and watch, he could touch and taste and stroke to his heart’s content.

  Her fingers at his waist succeeded in unhooking his belt, then shifted to the button and zipper of his pants. When both slid free, she tunneled her fingers inside, into the band of his briefs and pushed everything down past his hips.

  He groaned as she raked her nails across the sensitive flesh of his buttocks and the backs of his thighs, then quickly kicked off his shoes and shrugged out of his slacks and underwear. Stretching out atop her, their heated bodies molded together. Hard on soft, rough against smooth, they fit like pieces of a puzzle, creating a picture that felt…right. Unbearably perfect, even if it was only temporary.

  He used his lips and teeth to graze her collarbone, working his way down to her breasts. With light, butterfly kisses, he circled the pert, plum-colored areolas, then eased closer, blowing lightly on the tight flesh, letting his tongue dart out to lick her pointed nipples.

  “You smell delicious,” he murmured against her moist skin. “Like strawberries and cream.”


  She gave a breathy chuckle. “It’s flowers. Rose soap and honeysuckle shampoo.”

  “Whatever it is,” he said, “you smell good enough to eat.”

  He dug his teeth into the cushiony side of her breast, then licked away the sting with this tongue. Continuing the onslaught, he suckled one breast while kneading the other with his palm until Lucy writhed beneath him, arching her back and twisting her hips. Little sounds, like a mewling kitten, rolled past her lips, urging him on.

  “Unfair,” she whispered. And then she slipped a hand between them, reaching down to stroke the long, hard length of his erection. It pulsed in her hand and sent fireworks bursting behind his closed eyelids.

  “That’s better,” she told him. “Now you know how I feel. How you make me feel.”

  With a growl, he yanked her legs up and over his shoulders, switching his attention from her breasts to her ribcage. He kissed a ring around her belly button, a path across her abdomen, and then lightly nuzzled the springy curls at the vee of her thighs. She moaned in protest, pushing at his shoulders to dislodge him, but he held firm.

  “Hush,” he ordered against her womanhood. “Let me. I’ve been dreaming of this longer than you can imagine.”

  She seemed to relax then, her head sinking into the pillow, her ankles crossing in the middle of his back. He licked her like a cat, tasting the musky sweetness that was her own intimate flavor.

  Lucy hummed with pleasure as his tongue lapped and explored. Her pelvis rose and fell, begging for completion. And he gave it to her, deepening his attentions, focusing on the tiny bud of desire that made her squirm. Her breathing began to come in pants, shorter and louder, until her spine bowed and she screamed in ecstasy.

  Peter felt the orgasm vibrate through her body and into his own, arousing him even more. He couldn’t wait to be inside her again, to feel that heat, that wet, that sense of completeness he’d never experienced before in his life.

  Only with Lucy.