Blame It on the Blackout (11 page)

Ethan took a menacing step forward. “Don't even think about it,” he warned in a low voice. “She doesn't want to see you, and I promised her I wouldn't tell you she was here, so if you move so much as an inch in that direction, I'll have to ask Archie to take you out back and pummel you a while.”

Archie was Ethan's head bouncer, built like an eighteen-wheeler, and Peter searched for a glimpse of him as he turned his attention to the glass-fronted office on the second floor of the nightclub. He didn't see any signs of Lucy because the blinds were drawn, but the urge to climb the curved staircase at the back of the room and find her was strong.

Ethan came out from behind the bar and laid a hand
on Peter's shoulder. “You've screwed this up royally, buddy, and I'm not real sure it can be fixed. But before you do anything, you need to go home and sleep off your little drinking binge. I already called a cab. When you wake up, take a long, hard look at this thing and how you feel about Lucy, then maybe you can talk to her.”

Feeling like he was walking through a thick fog, Peter nodded. His friend's words didn't make complete sense at this very moment, but he knew Ethan was looking out for his best interests. Even if he had hired Lucy behind his back, he wouldn't give Peter bad advice. They'd been friends too long for that.

With a nod, he let Ethan lead him outside and put him in a bright yellow taxi.

“Get some rest,” Ethan told him in an understanding tone. “We'll talk later, and I'll take good care of Lucy until you decide what you're going to do.”

Even as exhaustion swept him and his eyes fell closed, Peter realized that's exactly what he was afraid of—someone else taking care of Lucy because he was too screwed up to do it himself.

 

Lucy peered through a slit in the vertical window blinds of Ethan's office, careful not to let Peter see her. She suspected Ethan had already told him she was up here, otherwise he wouldn't have been staring so intently in her direction. But he didn't start forward, didn't storm up the stairs to confront her about quitting her job
with so little advance warning. If he had, she'd have probably gone running, escaping through the emergency fire exit at her back.

Instead, Ethan laid an arm across Peter's shoulders and steered him toward the entrance of the club, presumably to send him home. She hoped Ethan had called him a cab, considering the amount of alcohol Peter had consumed since arriving only a few short hours ago.

A frown marred her brow as she considered that. Peter wasn't a big drinker. He might have a glass of wine with dinner or the occasional scotch and soda at the end of the day, but other than that, his main vice seemed to be gallons upon gallons of sugary-sweet cola. Today, she hadn't seen him order so much as a ginger ale.

That bothered her, probably more than it should have. She didn't work for Peter any longer, which meant his eating and drinking habits were none of her concern.

But she still loved him, despite her best efforts to lock him out of her heart, so she supposed it was only natural to wonder about him and worry that he wasn't taking good enough care of himself.

Ethan came back inside alone and headed directly for the polished onyx stairs that led to his office. Lucy let the blinds fall from her hands and darted back to the desk, managing to take a seat and look busy just as the door opened.

She glanced up and smiled, pretending she'd been working on his books all along. “Hi.”

He didn't return her greeting. “Peter just left,” he reported flatly.

Her eyes widened as she feigned a sense of startlement. “He was here?”

One corner of his mouth curved in mock amusement. “Peter may have been too drunk to notice you peeking through the blinds, but I sure wasn't.” He shook his head. “You two are really something. Both so desperate to pretend you don't feel anything for the other that you're sort of missing the point.”

Lucy bristled slightly at his chastising tone. He'd been so supportive up until now, she'd hate for him to suddenly turn critical of her feelings for his friend. “What point would that be?”

“That you love each other. You should be together, celebrating that love, not working this hard to come up with ways to hide it.”

“And you're such an expert on the subject?” She made it a question because she knew all about Ethan's reputation as a ladies' man and his track record with women.

“No. That's just it. I haven't had much luck in the romance department myself, but it's always easier to see the truth of a situation when you're not personally involved. And it's pretty darn clear from where I'm standing that you and Peter feel the same about each other, you're just too damn stubborn to admit it or take a chance on being shot down.”

Her eyes welled with sudden tears at Ethan's words. Was he right? Was she being a coward? If she walked up to Peter and told him exactly how she felt, would he surprise her by admitting he loved her, too?

Her gut told her no, that he would stick to his long-held beliefs that he couldn't open himself to a relationship and still be a successful entrepreneur. But a tiny voice in her head asked
what if?

What if she was wrong?

What if he did feel something for her?

What if she held her tongue out of fear when all it would take was one well-placed question to possibly make all her dreams come true?

But was she brave enough to risk it? She didn't know. Ethan had given her something to think about, though, and she promised herself that she would.

Blinking to disperse the dampness fringing her lashes, she inclined her head to let him know she heard what he was saying.

“Do you know why Peter won't let himself get involved?” she asked, wondering if they were close enough for Peter to have shared his past with his friend.

“Yeah, I know,” Ethan said with a derisive curl of his lip. “And if you ask me, he doesn't give himself enough credit. But I have a feeling that when he finally stops worrying about turning into his father, he'll discover he's not half bad at juggling his software company and a family.”

Lucy swallowed hard, trying to dislodge the lump in her throat. “I've always thought the same thing.”

“So tell him,” Ethan said simply. “And then make him believe it.”

T
hree days. Three days without Lucy and he had yet to sleep, eat, or change his clothes. He hadn't showered or shaved, and had barely touched the case of soda she always made sure to keep in the refrigerator for him.

As soon as he'd gotten home from The Hot Spot, instead of taking Ethan's advice and sleeping it off, he'd stripped down to his boxers and undershirt and gone straight to work on a new computer program.

He'd worked for hours, days, but nothing seemed to go the way it was supposed to. Ideas were slower to come, codes harder to write, and solutions more difficult to find. His mind kept wandering—always to Lucy and how much he missed her. To what might have been.

Without her here, his house was a just a big, empty building, with cold walls and even colder rooms. The entire place was dark because she wasn't around to flip on the lights.

The phone rang, but he didn't pick up. There was no one in the world he wanted to talk to right now except Lucy, and he doubted she would be calling anytime soon.

Ethan had told him he needed to think things over, decide what he really wanted. Since then, all he'd done was
think,
but he still didn't know what to do.

He knew what he wanted, but only in general terms: Lucy. He wanted her to come back to work, be in his life—and his bed—again. But he was smart enough to realize that as far as going back to the way things were, that ship had sailed. He couldn't go to her and say,
Hey, how about being my lover and my assistant again, but without all that pesky emotional baggage?
He suspected that would go over about as well as a Yankee fan at a Red Sox home game.

And to be honest, he wasn't positive that's what he wanted any longer, either. He still didn't think it was a good idea to mix business with pleasure.

His father had been an abysmal failure when he'd tried to handle the jobs of both father and businessman, but Peter was beginning to wonder if trying and possibly failing in the long run still wasn't a better alternative than never trying at all. Especially if it meant the difference between having Lucy in his life or not having Lucy in his life.

Because
not
having her was becoming unbearable.

He pictured his life ten years from now, without Lucy being a part of it, and all he saw was darkness, sadness, misery.

Oh, he might be sinfully rich and famous for his games and software designs, but most likely he would also be a lonely hermit.

His assistants would be pimply-faced college interns from the local university who didn't stick around long enough for him to learn their names.

Women would flirt with him at social events or drop by with baked goods to try to lure him out, but none of them would be as attractive or interesting as Lucy. And he already knew with complete conviction that no other woman would ever touch him the way she had, emotionally or physically.

So what are you going to do about it, smart guy?
a voice in his head whispered none too subtly.

Good question. He didn't have an answer just yet, but since it didn't look like he'd be going to bed anytime soon, he certainly had time to figure it out.

 

Lucy stood on the stoop outside Peter's front door, breathing deeply, concentrating on not hyperventilating. She didn't want to be here, had half hoped he would ship the last of her things so she would never have to see him again.

No, that wasn't quite true. She wished on a daily
basis that she could see him…not to mention touch him, smell him, hear his low, rumbling voice.

God, she missed him, and they hadn't even been apart a week yet.

Her stomach took a tumble and she locked her teeth together to keep from throwing up. Lord, she was nervous. She'd come to collect her things, but only if Plan A didn't work out.

Ethan's way was Plan A because she hadn't been able to get his comments out of her head since he'd told her to go down fighting, instead of feeling sorry for herself and giving up like she had when she'd flown home from New York.

So here she was, preparing to confront Peter and lay all her cards out on the table, regardless of how he might react. Her heart would shatter like glass if he rejected her or told her again that he couldn't get seriously involved because it might influence his work. But she was willing to risk it on the off chance that Ethan was right. Even if the odds were a zillion to one, she had to know for sure.

Swallowing the knot of dread lodged in her throat, she lifted her hand and rang the doorbell. She still had a key, but didn't feel right using it when she no longer worked for him.

She waited for Peter to answer the door and braced herself for the sight of him, but he never came. Seconds ticked by and she pressed the bell again.

This time, she heard the thump of footsteps on the staircase and mumbled curses. The door swung open be
fore she was fully prepared, stealing the air from her lungs.

Peter stood on the other side of the threshold, fully dressed in a light blue suit and pale yellow tie. His shoes were polished to a high shine, his hair neatly combed. It was enough to stun her into speechlessness.

“Lucy.”

Her name burst from his lips in a rush, breathless from more than just the race downstairs, she suspected.

“Peter. I, um…came for my things.”

Coward!
she chastised herself.
Wimp. You weren't going to say that.

But he took a step back, motioning her inside. “Come in. I'm glad to see you,” he said as he closed the door behind them. “I was actually planning to come by The Hot Spot soon to talk to you. I guess you've saved me the trouble.”

She gave a weak smile, not sure how to respond to that. She suppose she should be grateful she'd decided to come over, somewhat prepared, before he could catch her off guard at the club.

At the look on her face, he stumbled. “Jeez, I didn't mean it that way. Going to see you wouldn't have been an inconvenience at all. I just meant…we must be on the same wavelength for you to show up here at about the same time I was getting ready to come see you.”

Her grin grew a little then, becoming more sincere as he rushed to correct himself and reassure her. This was the Peter she knew, always aware and courteous of
her feelings. The suit had thrown her off at first, but the hair, the eyes, the lips, the shape of his well-shaven, chiseled face were all familiar and dear to her heart.

She curled her fingers into her palm, resisting the urge to reach up and smooth a stray lock away from his forehead.

“Your things are all where you left them,” he said, walking backwards ahead of her as he gestured toward the den. A slight blush tinged his cheeks. “I was sort of hoping you'd come back to work so I wouldn't have to gather them up at all.”

She held his gaze for a split second, then looked away, studying the oriental design on the red and beige runner that covered the hardwood floor.

“Actually,” she ventured, steeling her spine and forcing her chin up, “I didn't come only to collect my belongings. I also wanted to talk. About us.”

She saw his chest hitch as he sucked in a breath, and her hopes flagged. Oh, God, this wasn't going well at all. He hadn't changed his mind. He didn't want her back—at least not as anything more than his assistant. Her pulse pounded in her ears and she wanted to turn and run, except her feet wouldn't seem to move.

And then Peter reached out and wrapped his warm, strong fingers around her wrist, sending a shock of electricity skittering along her nerve endings.

“Wait here,” he told her. “I'll be right back.”

Part of her wondered why she was just standing
there, rooted to the spot. She should leave, or at least begin clearing her desk.

But Peter bounded up the stairs, returning less than a minute later carrying his brown leather briefcase. He grabbed her hand on the way past and dragged her into the study.

“Sit,” he ordered, taking the chair beside her desk and setting the briefcase down on top to open.

Lucy bristled slightly at his perfunctory tone and she locked her knees rather than doing as he'd instructed.

“I don't need to sit,” she said, finding a bit of her courage in the annoyance he'd stirred up. Funny how she could still love him and be ready to spill her guts about it even after he'd rubbed her the wrong way. “But there is something I need to say to you.”

He raised his head, green eyes washing over her like a cool breeze over a meadow. A muscle ticked in his jaw. “I need to say something to you, too,” he said softly, though his voice was strained.

He probably wanted to beg her to come back to work, but she couldn't do that, given the way things stood at the moment.

“Please,” she murmured. “Let me go first.” She had to get this out before she exploded, and hearing Peter ask her to resume her position as his assistant would only weaken her resolve.

The sinews of his neck contracted and released as he swallowed, but he inclined his head for her to continue. Inhaling deeply, she tried to get her thoughts in order
and figure out where to begin. She took a seat, finally, before her legs gave out and she ended up on the floor.

“I'm sorry about running off that night at the hotel,” she admitted. “I didn't mean to worry or upset you, but I just couldn't handle what was happening between us and had to get out of there.”

She laid her hand atop his where it rested on the edge of the briefcase. The heat from his skin soaked through to her bones, comforting her more than she'd expected.

“The fact is, Peter, I have feelings for you. You've probably figured that out already,” she added with a touch of a smile, “but what you don't know is that I've felt this way for the past two years, ever since I started working for you.”

Panic raced through Peter's veins, causing his eyes to go wide and fear to clog his windpipe. “Wait, wait, wait!” he all but shouted. “Don't say anything else.”

He leapt to his feet, shaking his head and digging frantically through the papers in his briefcase. She was about to say she loved him, he could sense it. And while he wanted to hear those three little words from her mouth almost more than he wanted to draw his next breath,
he
needed to be the one to say them first. He'd fought this for so long, put her through so much, he wanted her to know how he felt about her before she said any more.

Finding what he was searching for, he dropped back onto the seat of his chair and turned to face Lucy once again. She looked startled and confused by his sudden outburst, and he didn't blame her one bit.

Pulling his chair a few inches closer, he braced his knees on either side of her closed legs, lifting her hands from her lap and cradling them in his own. The paper rattled in his tight hold, but he ignored it.

“I'm the one who should be apologizing to you, Lucy,” he said solemnly. “You're so good to me…you always have been. And as hard as it may be for you to believe, you've meant more to me from the very beginning, too. You're a great assistant, and I'd do just about anything to have you back on the payroll, but there's something I want from you even more than your exceptional secretarial skills.”

He brushed long strands of ebony hair over her shoulder, caressing her cool cheek with his fingertips on the return trip. “I want you to be with me, Lucy. Stay with me, live with me, marry me…love me.”

A flood of emotions flashed across her face, not the least of which were incredulity and wariness. Fear squeezed him low in the solar plexus. He'd known this wouldn't be easy, known she would doubt him after all his talk about never tying himself to a wife and family, never letting his personal life interfere with his business plans.

“Hear me out. Please,” he said, his hand clutching hers even more tightly. “When I got back to the hotel room and found you gone, I didn't know what to do or think or feel. I'd gotten it into my head that everything was great. We could be lovers without strings, have a good time together without it ever meaning anything
more. But when I realized you'd left and weren't coming back, I was faced with the fact that you
needed
more.”

He lowered his gaze for a brief second, still somewhat unsure of the narrow path he was traversing. “It was one of those life-altering moments,” he admitted. “I knew I had to make some serious decisions or risk losing you forever. I don't want to lose you, Luce. I love you.”

The admission passed his lips quickly, and then he realized they hadn't been as difficult or as painful to utter as he'd anticipated.

“I love you,” he said again, louder this time, with more conviction, even as he watched her mouth turn down with skepticism.

“I know that has to be hard for you to believe, given everything I've said in the past, but I swear on my life and the future of Reyware that it's the absolute truth. You're a part of me, Lucy, permeating every cell of my being.

“I love your hair and your eyes and the full swell of your bottom lip. I love the way you laugh and smile and take such good care of me. I love that you know what I'm thinking almost before I know myself and are as familiar with the inner workings of Reyware and Games of PRey as I am.”

Licking his dry lips, he went on, willing her to trust him. “You're my inspiration, Lucy. When I got home from New York, I told myself you had been just a fling,
that I could always find another assistant and certainly other lovers, and I tried to get back to work.”

He chuckled shortly. “I might as well have been building a space shuttle in my basement. I couldn't think, couldn't concentrate, couldn't remember codes I'd learned as a teenager. Without you here, in my life, I'm helpless. Hopeless.”

She opened her mouth to speak, but he stopped her with an index finger pressed to her lips. He was afraid she would shoot him down before he'd told her everything he needed her to hear.