Blame It on the Blackout (6 page)

Though she didn't stop what she was doing or acknowledge him in any way, he knew she sensed his proximity the minute he crossed the threshold into the den by the slight pause in her frantic typing. She recovered quickly and kept working, eyes on the screen, pretending he wasn't there—which she'd gotten pretty good at over the past few weeks. Her disinterest an
noyed him, but he swallowed back the urge to confront her, to make her notice him on a personal, primitive level, and walked forward.

Lucy did her best to ignore Peter as he waltzed into her office and made himself at home by propping a hip on the edge of her desk. The faded plaid boxer shorts he'd been wearing for two days now left his legs bare and put a hairy, well-muscled thigh nearly at eye level and definitely too close for comfort.

He was beginning to look tired and run-down. Not for the first time, she thought about telling him to take a shower and climb into bed for a much-needed nap, just as she had a thousand times before. But that brought to mind images of Peter naked…wet and soapy, on a soft, wide mattress, on top of her, inside of her…It was enough to drive a person mad, so she bit down on her lip and said nothing.

“Are you ever going to look at me?”

“Not if I can help it,” she tossed back. And then she did, because there really wasn't any other choice. “What do you want, Peter? I'm very busy, trying to keep your business afloat.”

“And I appreciate it,” he said cockily, “but this is business-related, too.”

That got her attention. Reluctantly she lifted her hands from the keyboard and sat back, meeting his green and hazel gaze for the first time since he'd entered the room.

“All right, I'm listening.”

“William Dawson wants me to come to New York, look over his setup and give him some advice.”

“I know, I've been telling him your schedule is full for a week now. If you want, I'll—”

“I've decided to go.”

Her brows lifted at that. Only days ago, he'd been adamant that he wasn't interested in an out-of-town trip and told her to do whatever she needed to put off Dawson without alienating him as a client.

“All right,” she said again, more slowly this time, “I'll make your plane and hotel reservations.”

He gave a sharp nod. “Good. Make them for yourself, too. I want you to go along.”

A shaft of panic speared her chest. Oh, no, she couldn't go with him. Just the two of them, on the plane, in the hotel when he wasn't meeting with William Dawson? No, that didn't sound like such a smart idea.

Taking a deep breath to reclaim her composure, she cleared her throat and said, “Thank you, but I'd rather not. There's more than enough work to be done here, and you've gone on plenty of these types of trips by yourself before. I'm sure you don't need me.”

“Of course I do. Dawson is a big client. I want you there to help me charm him, but also to take notes and keep me in line. You know how distracted I get. I'll probably get up there, see what a mess his system is and offer to update it for free.”

She gave a small snort. Peter wasn't quite that bad,
but probably close. When he saw something that needed to be done to a computer to bring it up to speed, he became almost entranced and lost sight of the fact that he was running a business and trying to make a living with his skills.

And he had been more distracted than usual lately. She'd found herself cleaning up after him and reminding him of daily tasks more often than in the past.

Of course, she couldn't blame him. She'd been feeling a little off her game, too, ever since letting her guard down in that elevator. They couldn't seem to find their stride again, regain the easy friendship and comfortable rapport that had made the workplace so peaceful in the past.

Curling her fingers into the palm of her hand, she fought the urge to reach out and stroke the firm line of his sculpted calf and pinned him with a sober glare. “You wouldn't be doing this just to get me alone, would you? Because we both know that night at the charity was a mistake and—”

He threw his head back and laughed loudly enough to startle her. “Are you kidding? That was ages ago,” he said, waving a hand in dismissal. “This is business, Luce, and you're my right hand gal. I need you there. Besides, if I had any thoughts along those lines, we're alone now and are just about every day. I haven't tried to jump you yet, have I?”

Not giving her a chance to respond, he hopped off the desk and silently crossed the oriental carpet in his
sock-clad feet. At the archway, he stopped and turned his attention back to her. “So what do you say? Do you trust me enough to help me out on this? I'll put you up at a great hotel,” he added with a wink.

Tiny ripples of wariness caused her stomach to contract, but he looked and sounded so sincere, she felt almost guilty for thinking he might be trying to trick her into going along.

Darting her tongue out to wet her suddenly dry lips, she tipped her head in acquiescence. “Fine, I'll make the arrangements. But I have to find someone to watch my cat before we can leave.”

“That's right, you have a calico, don't you? Chocolate, Mocha…”

“Cocoa,” she supplied, surprised he remembered that much about her personal life. And she didn't think he'd ever noticed the tiny framed photo tucked away on the far side of her computer monitor.

“Cocoa,” he repeated. A warm smile curled the corners of his mouth. “You'll have to introduce me sometime.”

She let that comment pass for a moment. “I can't leave her home alone and I'm not sure any of my friends will be available to check on her.”

“How about a kennel or a pet sitter?”

She frowned slightly. “A pet sitter would be okay, as long as she's reliable, but I won't even consider a kennel. Cocoa is much too skittish and set in her ways. She's never been out of my apartment, except to visit the vet.”

“So you're a protective pet owner,” he teased with a grin. “I don't blame you. How would you feel about a male pet sitter, though? Would that be okay?”

She studied him carefully, wondering what he was getting at to show such interest in Cocoa's well-being. “Of course. Why?”

“I know a guy…” he told her cryptically, shrugging one shoulder. “If you can't find anyone else you'd be satisfied with, let me know and I'll see if he's available.”

“All right.” She wasn't sure what to think of Peter's helpfulness, but it seemed he was willing to call in a few favors with his friends just to get her to go to New York with him.

He kept his gaze on her for several more seconds, then shot her a last gentle smile before heading upstairs and returning to work. She watched him go, exhaling lungfuls of stale air and inhaling fresh as she collapsed backward in her chair. Life was never going to be simple again, she thought wearily and with more than a hint of sadness.

His assurance that this trip would be devoted to business only made her feel more secure about making the arrangements and going along, but it still stung to know their heated, impulsive night together meant so little to him.

Not that she'd expected anything less. In truth, it's what she'd hoped for—that a single indiscretion wouldn't put her job or their friendship in jeopardy.

She couldn't be happier, she told herself; she'd gotten exactly what she wanted.

But for some reason, her father's voice sounded in her head, warning her to
be careful what you wish for, you just might get it.

“S
o let me get this straight. You were worried Lucy'd be pregnant from your night of hot sex in a hot elevator, but she isn't. Then you were afraid she'd misinterpret what happened between you and expect more of a relationship than you're ready for, but she didn't. And now you're making her go with you to New York on a so-called business trip with the flimsy excuse that you might need her to take notes, so
I
have to baby-sit her
cat.
”

“It's a legitimate business trip,” Peter said, doing his best to ignore Ethan's deep, animated scowl from the passenger seat of his sleek silver Infiniti.

“I think you're missing the point,” his friend argued. “I've been relegated to a damn cat-sitter.”

“What's the big deal? You like animals. And you do owe me for setting up the club's computer system and teaching your employees how to work the software.”

A growl worked its way up from Ethan's throat. “I knew you'd make me pay for that, even though at the time, you claimed it was nothing. ‘Just a friend helping a friend,'” he mimicked.

“That's right, and now I'm the friend who needs help.”

Peter sighed, his fingers tapping nervously against the steering wheel as he drove in the direction of Lucy's apartment from The Hot Spot, where he'd picked up Ethan.

“Look, all you have to do is check in on Cocoa a couple of times a day, stick around for an hour or so to keep her company, if you can. You said yourself it wouldn't be a problem, and that you could get someone to cover for you at the club, if you needed. Lucy would really appreciate it, and I'll owe you one.”

Ethan slouched down in his seat, crossing his arms over his chest. “You'll owe me more than one if the thing scratches or pees on me.”

“It's a cat, Eth, not a rabid toddler. And you'd better not let Lucy hear you talking like that or make faces in front of her, or she'll call off the whole thing.”

“You're that desperate to get into her pants again, huh?”

It was Peter's turn to glower. “I told you to not talk about her like that. I'm just looking for someone
responsible and reliable to watch her cat while we're away.”

“Just what I've always wanted to be—responsible and reliable.” Ethan pouted.

“Oh, come on, you're a decent guy when you're not trying to charm some sweet young thing out of her thong panties.”

Ethan grinned, flashing a row of sparkling white teeth. “Can I help it women find me irresistible?”

Peter rolled his eyes, but refrained from commenting, considering he needed Ethan in a good mood so he would do this favor for him. “Remember that when it comes to convincing Lucy you're head over heels about watching her cat, okay?”

“Hey, by the time I'm finished, she'll be asking you to watch the cat and me to whisk her away for a weekend of sweaty monkey sex.”

The thought of the two of them together was so ridiculous, Peter nearly laughed out loud. But if there'd been a chance Ethan actually had a shot with Lucy, he'd be smiling around Peter's fist right this second.

He found a spot not far from Lucy's building and parked, then checked his watch. They had plenty of time for Ethan and Cocoa to get acquainted, Lucy to feel comfortable with the arrangements he'd made, and still get to the airport for their scheduled flight.

Lucy answered the door looking slightly flustered. “I'm almost ready,” she said, waving them inside.

“Take your time,” Peter offered.

She slipped back into the bedroom to finish packing, reappearing several minutes later.

With her bags by the door, she finally stopped moving long enough to take a breath and relax. “Thank you so much for doing this, Ethan. I know it can't be your first choice of ways to spend the better part of the week.”

“Nonsense,” he replied with his patented, full-points grin. “I'm happy to do it. This might even give me the chance to catch up on my stories. I just hope Cocoa likes soap operas.”

Lucy's eyes narrowed cautiously and Peter cleared his throat, trying to warn Ethan that he might be laying it on a little thick.

Taking the hint, Ethan rubbed his hands together and glanced around the small kitchen. “So where is Cocoa, anyway? I'd like to meet her before you take off, see if she minds me staying with her for a while.”

“She's afraid of strangers, which means she's probably hiding under the bed.”

They moved in the direction of the bedroom, in search of the cat.

“You don't have to stay here the whole time, though,” Lucy told Ethan. “She's used to me being gone a lot of the time for work. If you could just stop in once or twice a day to make sure she has enough food and water, that would be okay. I realize you need to be at the club at night, when I'd normally be home with her, but if you could stick around a while when you're
here during the day, I'd really appreciate it. That way, she'll get some company and not feel quite so abandoned.”

“No problem. Like I said, I'll watch some television, and Cocoa can sit on the couch with me, if she wants. At the very least, I'll keep up a steady stream of conversation so she knows someone is in the apartment with her.”

Lucy beamed at that and Peter shook his head. Ethan in action was a sight to behold. No wonder women fell at his feet. Fifteen minutes ago, he'd been turning Peter's ears red with complaints about lowering himself to this task, and now he had Lucy gazing up at him like he was king of the damn universe.

If Peter hadn't known his friend was putting on an act for her benefit, he probably would have been annoyed. At the very least, he thought, he should be taking notes.

At the foot of the bed, made up with a thick safari comforter covered with lions, elephants and giraffes, Lucy got on her hands and knees and crouched down to peer beneath the raised bed frame.

“Cocoa, baby. Don't you want to come out and meet Ethan before Mommy leaves?”

Ethan's head lifted, one dark eyebrow quirked comically as he shot Peter a look that seemed to say,
You're sure this girl is sane, right?

He nudged Ethan in the side with his elbow, afraid Lucy might look up and see the expression on his
friend's face. And though Ethan might not be one to use baby talk to converse with another species, Peter knew his friend liked animals well enough and would take good care of Lucy's cat while they were away.

It was no less than he'd have expected of Lucy, though, to be so devoted to her pet. She was a caretaker, inside and out. Lord knew she took care of him better than anyone he'd ever known, including his own parents.

He wasn't surprised that she treated her cat like a child, the same way he wouldn't be at all amazed if she turned out to be the best mother in the world when she decided to have children of her own. Those kids and her family would come first above everything else.

Peter had never known love like that. His mother had tried, and he knew she loved him, but he'd always felt like an afterthought growing up. And he'd
never
been a priority in his father's life. For all the attention the old man had shown him, he might as well have not even existed.

Peter shook off the maudlin thoughts spiraling and multiplying in his brain like gnats when Lucy climbed to her feet, a fluffy ball of multicolored fur in her arms. The cat looked angry and put-out, her body arched, ears pressed flat against her head. But she let Ethan pet her with little more than a low growl from deep in her belly.

And Ethan, big, bad bully that he'd been in the car, seemed completely enraptured. He scratched the fe
line's ears and clicked his tongue. Peter thought he might even have cooed at one point.
Pushover.

Once introductions were made and it was clear Cocoa and Ethan would get along like peas in a pod, Lucy showed him where everything was, gave him emergency phone numbers, then took a last glance around the small apartment before turning to Peter.

“All right, I think I'm ready.”

He inclined his head, collecting her bags from near the door. “If you need anything,” he told Ethan, “call us. You know where we're staying and you have my cell and pager numbers.”

Ethan nodded, cat cradled under one arm like a football. “Have fun,” he said, closing the door behind them.

Peter led Lucy out of the apartment building and across the street to his car, stowing her luggage in the trunk with his own. Once they were on the road, heading for the airport, Peter chanced a glance in her direction, noting the attractive but professional purple suit she'd worn to impress William Dawson, along with sleek high heels and dangling silver earrings.

“I hope Ethan meets your approval as a cat-sitter.”

She tipped her head in his direction and gifted him with the ghost of a smile. “I like your friend. He's a bit of a smooth talker, but deep down, I think he's just an old softie. Cocoa will have him rolling around on the floor, dangling a string from his finger in no time.”

“You're probably right.” Peter chuckled, impressed that she'd pegged Ethan so quickly. Of course, his
friend had been coming by the house ever since she started working for Peter, plying her with his good looks and playboy attitude.

Luckily Lucy had so far seemed immune to Ethan's advances. And Peter wasn't exactly the Hunchback of Notre Dame; he could hold his own with a group of pretty women—even up against Ethan. And especially where Lucy was concerned.

Ethan hadn't been completely right about his reasons for wanting Lucy along on this trip, but he hadn't been far off the mark, either. A part of him hoped they might end up making love again. He couldn't get the memory of being inside her out of his head, and if he got half the chance, he thought he would probably do his best to lure her back to his bed.

On the other hand, if she made it clear she wanted nothing more to do with him—at least in that respect—then he would have to take a step back and come to terms with her decision. He might not like it, but he would deal. And in a way, maybe it would be for the best.

But Lucy would have to be the one to throw her hands up and say no, because he honestly didn't think he had the strength to do it himself anymore. He wanted her too damn much.

 

Lucy turned slightly in her cozy, leather-upholstered business class seat, leaning against the plane's tiny rectangular window to watch Peter as he stowed his brief
case and her laptop computer in the overhead compartment. His broad chest and flat stomach rippled beneath the fine fabric of his shirt, pulling the material taut and making her mouth go dry.

Not for the first time, she wished she'd fought harder not to come along on this trip. It was too much to ask that she be required to work with him on a daily basis
and
travel out of town with him on business.

Sitting so close to him in the car on the drive to the airport, she'd felt like a sardine, stuffed into a tiny steel can next to the only other sardine who sent her pulse throbbing and her blood pressure skyrocketing out of control. And now she would be forced to endure the same type of conditions for the flight to New York.

Her stomach did a pitch and roll at the prospect. And then Peter settled into the seat beside hers, adjusted his seat belt, stretched his legs out in front of him, and Lucy thought she might have to reach for the airsick bag. Her poor nervous system was about to revolt.

Thankfully, the flight attendant came by then, asking if they'd like drinks before the plane took off. The woman smiled, her gaze lingering on Peter as she patted his shoulder and leaned so far over his seat, her breasts just about popped the front of her blue uniform.

Lucy was used to such blatant displays around Peter. Women flocked to him, and he usually flocked right back. The fact that he seemed oblivious to the flight attendant's current flirtations surprised her, but perhaps he was simply preoccupied by his upcoming business meetings.

“Excuse me.” She cleared her throat and tried again, speaking more loudly until the blonde dragged her attention away from Peter. “Yes, I'd like a glass of Chardonnay, please.”
A large one, and maybe later the bottle.
It was the only thing she could think of to slow her runaway heartbeat to a mere gallop.

It was small consolation, she supposed, that she wasn't alone in having this reaction to him. She was just the only one who'd apparently been driven to drink.

Once her wine and his scotch and soda had been delivered, they settled back in their seats to relax. Lucy noticed again that Peter took his drink and thanked the flight attendant, but otherwise ignored the woman's attempts to gain his masculine attention.

“What's the matter?” she asked, taking a sip from her glass. “Not interested in blondes this month?”

Peter shot her a confused glance. “What?”

“The flight attendant. She did everything but sit on your lap and wiggle.”

His brows knit in a frown. “I don't know what you're talking about.”

“Didn't you notice?” But to herself, she muttered, “That would be a first.”

Over the rim of her glass, she saw Peter studying her intently. She knew she was being irrational and snippy, but she'd spent the past two years watching him parade around with one woman after another, and lately it felt like more than she could handle.

A tiny voice in the back of her head told her he
hadn't been hitting on the flight attendant. Hadn't even reacted to the woman's giggles or bounce. And as far as she knew, he hadn't been out—or in—with a single pretty girl since they'd been together. But that didn't seem to matter when the memory of dozens of other lovely young ladies were traipsing through her brain, getting her dander up.

“Are you angry with me, Lucy?”

“Of course not,” she replied with a scoff, even though a part of her was.

“Then what's wrong? I've never seen you like this before. I've never seen you drink during a flight, either, let alone before we've gotten off the ground,” he pointed out, flashing a look to the wine in her hand.