Blame It on the Blackout (9 page)

They floated back down to earth slowly, hearts pounding, bones the consistency of vanilla pudding. She fell across him, limp and sated. Her hair covered them like a blanket, hiding her eyes and getting in her mouth, but she didn't care.

She'd never felt anything in her life even close to what she'd just experienced. The things Peter did to her, the heights and emotions he wrung from her. He played her like a well-tuned instrument, and she sang in response.

His chest rose and fell as he struggled to draw air into his lungs, and his heart beat erratically under her ear. Both made her feel safe, as though she never needed to move again. She could die right here, right now, and not suffer a single regret.

Her eyelids were too heavy to open when he smoothed a hand over the back of her head. She purred in contentment, but remained wilted.

“Are you okay?” he asked, his mouth moving against her temple.

Her only answer was a noncommittal grunt.

He chuckled, the sound vibrating along both their bodies. “Well, I have to say I'm surprised the bed held up. Halfway through, I expected the springs to give out and the two of us to find ourselves on the floor.”

“Halfway through, I'm surprised you could think at all,” she muttered lazily. “But the floor might not be a bad idea for the next time around.”

“God, I love a woman who plans for the future.”

He shifted, sending aftershocks of desire through her lower regions where they were still intimately connected. With a small groan, he rolled to his side, depositing her on her back on the mattress and kissing her brow.

“I just need to take care of this,” he said, sitting up on the edge of the bed and removing the used condom. He made his way to the bathroom, closing the door all but a crack behind him.

Lucy lay there as the seconds ticked by, staring up at the ceiling. It was too much effort to move, though she knew she should. And Peter's last words were humming through her brain, sending nerve endings that were previously numb with pleasure into unpleasant awareness.

Love.
He'd used the word, but he didn't mean it…not the way she wished he would.

A part of her knew she shouldn't be upset. She should shrug off his comment as the simple turn of phrase it had been. But another part of her was reminded in living color of the problems that still stood between them.

Great sex was one thing…if they handed out awards for outstanding performances in the bedroom, Peter would have a wall full of gold medals. With him, she might even win a few of her own.

She'd let herself pretend nothing else mattered for the chance to be with him again, but the fact remained that he still didn't want a wife or family. And she still did.

They could remain lovers for an unspecified amount of time, enjoy each other's company and the magic they created together between the sheets. But it wouldn't last, and she had to decide whether to delude herself for a couple months, then deal with the pain of his eventual rejection, or take the handful of blissful memories they'd created already and cut her losses.

Peter returned then, breaking into her thoughts as the mattress bowed beneath his weight. She rolled into his bare thigh, finally forcing her eyes open to stare up at him.

“You look like a Greek goddess, replete after an afternoon of being pleasured by her love slaves.”

The back of his hand dusted the length of her arm,
sending shivers down her spine. “Just one love slave,” she corrected. “But he's very talented.”

“Thanks.” One corner of his mouth quirked in a sexy half-grin. “I aim to please. Speaking of which, we need more condoms if we hope to repeat the performance on the floor, or in the tub, or anywhere else. I'm going to run down to the gift shop and see what they have. Don't move, okay?”

She didn't move, but neither did she nod in agreement.

He retrieved his slacks and shirt from the pile on the floor, shrugging into them as he headed for the door. Checking for his wallet, he threw her a wink and wave from the hallway just before the door slammed shut.

Lucy lay there for a minute, letting her mind race and trying to decide what to do. Then she slowly got out of bed and began to dress in the same purple business suit she'd worn for the trip up.

Dragging her suitcase from the closet, she threw her belongings inside in no particular order, her movements becoming more and more hurried the longer she took, afraid Peter would return before she'd completed her task.

If he caught her trying to sneak out, there's no telling how he would react, and she wasn't sure she could explain. She just knew she couldn't stay here a minute longer.

She double-checked the drawers and bathroom counter, then quickly used the automatic checkout on
the television set to let the hotel know she was leaving. No sense letting them charge him for nights she wasn't even using.

Peter would be crushed when he came back and found the room empty. She knew that, and yet she couldn't spend the rest of the night with him, no matter how much it might hurt his feelings not to. She couldn't finish out their trip as his lover when there was no hope of ever being more.

As she passed the door that connected their two rooms, she stopped and took a deep breath. Pressing a kiss to her fingertips, she then touched them to the cool panel.

“I'm sorry,” she whispered, as though he could hear her and might someday understand her decision and the price she paid in making it.

With tears gathering along the rims of her eyes, she hurried out of the room and down the carpeted hall toward the stairwell exit.

P
eter was whistling as he returned to the room and knocked on the faux wood panel. He had his key card, but it wouldn't work on her door. And as lovely as Lucy had looked when he left, stretched across the bed gloriously naked, he knew she wouldn't mind jumping up to answer his summons. After all, he came bearing gifts…the kind that would allow them to make love at least a dozen more times before morning.

The thought brought a wide smile to his face. He continued whistling and waited.

Maybe she'd fallen asleep. He rapped again and then listened for noises that would mean she was moving around inside.

Okay, so maybe she was really,
really
asleep. No problem. He'd go in through his room, crawl into bed with her, and proceed to wake her with long, wet kisses up and down the line of her bare body. The thought turned him hard and caused the blood to rush heatedly through his veins in anticipation.

Or maybe she was taking a bath. In which case, he'd strip down to his birthday suit and join her in the warm, sudsy water. This hotel had nice, roomy tubs with plenty of erotic potential.

Deciding to leave her to whatever she was doing, he took a few steps to the side and opened his own door, the gift shop bag rattling as he juggled it to get the job done. He crossed the room and went through the connecting door, noticing right away that she was no longer in bed.

She must be in the bathroom, then. He didn't hear the water running, but that only meant she wasn't taking a shower. She had probably run a bath as soon as he'd left and was even now luxuriating beneath a layer of fluffy bubbles.

He dug inside the brown paper sack and pried a single condom out of the box.
Always be prepared.
He recited the Boy Scout motto with silent amusement, clasping the protection in his tightened fist.

When he reached the bathroom, though, the door stood wide open. The lights were off and the room was empty.

Peter frowned, turning his head to search the entire
hotel room, even as he realized the effort was futile. The rooms weren't that big, and it wasn't like she'd be hiding in the closet or under the bed.

Still, just to be sure, he checked both places. Then he stalked over to his room, repeating the process. Lucy was nowhere to be found.

Maybe she'd thought of something she needed and run down to the gift shop herself right after he'd left, and they'd simply missed crossing each other's paths.

Figuring that was the most likely scenario, Peter stuffed the loose condom in his pocket and moved to the mini-bar for a drink. She'd be back any minute now, and he didn't want to be dehydrated for their next bout of mind-blowing, teeth-rattling sex.

God, but Lucy turned him on. It wasn't just her long, luxurious black hair or the red-hot come-and-get-me lipstick she normally wore. Not just her body or the way she moved it, which could tempt a saint to sin. It was so much more than that, even if he couldn't quite put it into words.

She made him feel good—aroused as hell nine times out of ten, but also happy, comfortable, safe, accepted. When she was around, he just felt…better, in every way imaginable.

He looked forward to her arrival at his house each morning and knew she'd have everything under control while she was there. But it was more than just his reliance on her as a personal assistant, more than simply her extreme competence in the workplace.

He could have hired anyone to answer the phone, deal with his correspondence, and charm his associates. Lucy was exceptionally talented at those things, he'd be the first to admit, but he doubted any other employee would plague his thoughts the way she did or make him break his own iron-clad rule about not getting seriously involved.

He was involved, all right. Dammit. And he didn't know quite what to do about it, except to go with the flow until a solution came to mind.

Slugging back the last of his bottled water, he raided the small refrigerator for something a little stronger. This time, he grabbed a gin and mixed it with a splash of tonic in one of the glasses that the hotel provided.

He was on his fourth trip back from the mini-bar, drinking scotch straight from a tiny plastic bottle, when he realized Lucy had been gone for over thirty minutes.

Where the hell was she?

The gift shop had been on the verge of closing when he was down there, so she couldn't still be shopping. He racked his brain, but couldn't think of anywhere else she might have gone, especially without leaving a note.

With a curse, Peter stood, smacking a hand to his forehead. A note. He'd checked the rooms for Lucy, but hadn't thought to look for a note. Duh!

Leaving the half-full bottle of scotch on the nightstand with his growing collection of empties, he went back to her room. The scratch pad on the bedside table
was blank, as was the hotel letterhead in the desk drawer, and he didn't see a slip of paper anywhere.

The only other place he could think of where she might have left a note was the bathroom mirror or countertop.

The reflective sliding doors of the closet stood open as he passed and what he saw from the corner of his eye froze him in his tracks.

The closet was empty. He hadn't noticed before, or at least it hadn't registered in his otherwise preoccupied brain, but the closet was completely and utterly empty, except for the bare wooden hangers and plastic dry cleaning bag provided by the hotel. No suitcase, no bright, tailored business suits, no sign of Lucy's presence whatsoever.

A sinking, slimy feeling began to uncoil low in Peter's gut. Bleak, heavy footsteps carried him to the dresser, where he discovered the drawers to be as vacant as the rest of the room.

My God, she was gone. Not just off on an errand, but dressed, packed and checked out.

He sat down heavily on the end of the unmade bed, disbelief washing over him.

Why? Why would she leave when things had been going so well between them? His mind couldn't even begin to wrap itself around the concept.

Where could she have gone? To another hotel? The airport? Back to Georgetown? He wasn't even sure how to find out.

And then he had to wonder if he
wanted
to. She'd taken off just when he thought they were closer than ever, which meant his radar was seriously skewed.

What if he located her, only to have her tell him she never wanted to see him again?

A hard fist squeezed around his heart at the very thought.

He wasn't sure he could handle not having Lucy in his life. Holding her at arm's length, sure. Fantasizing about her but not being able touch her, or being allowed to make love to her and then having to stop…well, it wouldn't be fun, but he could deal with it.

But not having her around, not seeing her on a daily basis, not hearing her sexy, throaty voice and watching the sway of her hips as she walked down the hall…

No. He refused to contemplate such a thing.

Lucy's mindset was a mystery to him. He couldn't possibly know what she was thinking or what had driven her to leave him this way, but he could certainly find out and take steps to rectify the situation.

If that meant promising to put their relationship back on a strictly professional keel, so be it. It might turn him into a hollow shell of a man or send him into the arms of a dozen faceless women for some semblance of meaningless intimacy, but if it kept Lucy around and feeling secure, then he would do it. Happily, regardless of his own personal suffering.

Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet, then blew the air out through his nose. Fine. She'd sneaked out
five minutes after making love with him, so it was obvious she wanted to be alone. He'd let her. He'd finish up his business here in New York with William Dawson, which should only take another day or so, then he'd head back to Georgetown and see how Lucy acted toward him. Try to feel her out about how she wanted their relationship to progress from there.

That would give them both a little time to cool down and think things over. Then maybe they could decide together what to do. Lord knew he'd bungled the situation enough on his own.

 

The wheels of Lucy's suitcase rolled over the toe of her shoe as she came to a stop in front of her apartment door and she swore in pain. She was tired and stiff from the sudden trip home, and on the way to being depressed about her decision to leave Peter alone at the hotel.

But it was for the best…or so she kept telling herself.

Fishing the keys out of her purse, she unlocked the door and let herself in, careful to guard the entrance in case Cocoa got it into her head to slip out. The last thing she needed was to spend the night searching the corridors of the building for her runaway cat.

She flipped on the kitchen light and was surprised to find Cocoa nowhere in sight. Usually the kitty met her at the door and couldn't wait to be scratched behind the ears or given a quick snack.

Lord, she hoped Ethan hadn't dropped the ball and let her cat either escape or starve to death.

But Cocoa's food dish sat in the middle of the table, looking freshly licked clean. And the water bowl in the corner was full.

With a frown, she started tiptoeing through the apartment, looking for signs of life. And as she rounded the corner into the living area, she had to bite down on a chuckle to keep from waking both the man and feline asleep on her couch.

Cocoa lay perched on Ethan's gently rising and falling chest while Ethan's hand rested over the calico's mottled back. An infomercial playing on the television in the background, casting blue and yellow shadows over the two forms.

Sensing her presence, Ethan slowly came awake, blinking to bring her into focus. “Hey,” he almost croaked. “I didn't expect you back so soon.”

“Obviously.” She grinned and moved closer to give Cocoa a pat.

“Where's Peter?” he asked, glancing around as though he expected his friend to suddenly appear behind Lucy.

At the mention of Peter's name, her lips thinned. “He's still in New York,” she told him, averting her gaze and taking several steps away.

Ethan sat up, careful not to jar the sleeping cat unnecessarily. Unperturbed, Cocoa jumped from Ethan's stomach to the couch cushion, then stopped to yawn and stretch before curling up and going back to her nap.

Getting to his feet, Ethan brushed the stray fur from his shirt front before turning his attention back to her. “Did something happen between the two of you?”

She lifted her head, meeting his eyes once again. His insight stunned her, but then, he was Peter's best friend, so maybe she shouldn't be surprised by how well they knew each other.

“You could say that.”

He stuck a thumb into the waistband of his jeans, cocking his hip to the side. “Was it good or bad?”

“First it was good,” she said, remembering their lovemaking as not just “good” but spectacular. “And then it was bad.”

“I take it Peter did or said something to upset you.”

Lucy sighed, rubbing the spot between her brows where a headache was forming. “Actually, he didn't. I just…”

Her throat closed with emotion and she turned away to get hold of herself. Crossing the kitchen, she pulled a container of orange juice from the fridge and poured a glass. She offered to do the same for Ethan, but he shook his head.

“I love him,” she admitted, the words going down better with a sip of juice.

A beat of silence passed and then he said simply, “I know.”

She glanced up at him, standing on the other side of the kitchen table, jaw slack in astonishment.

“Come on, Lucy, I've seen the two of you together.
I didn't notice anything at first, but lately… Lately, it's become more obvious,” he finished.

A flush of heat crept over her features as she realized she hadn't hidden her feelings for Peter all this time as well as she'd thought.

“Don't worry,” he told her, practically reading her mind. “I don't think anyone else has noticed, least of all Peter the Oblivious.”

Wetting her lips, she turned and made a production of putting her empty glass in the sink and returning the orange juice to the refrigerator. “So the fact that he feels nothing for me is also…obvious.”

“I don't know about that.”

Ethan came up behind her, placing his hands on her shoulders and giving them a light squeeze.

“Like I said, Peter tends to be oblivious. I think he feels plenty for you, he just won't admit it, even to himself.”

She didn't know how to respond to that or where to begin with the questions clamoring in her brain.

“You could still go out with me,” he suggested, blowing in her ear. “I've been asking you out for months. So maybe now you'll cut Peter loose and give me a shot.”

She spun around, spearing him with an annoyed glance. “You would do that? To your best friend?”

“For a pretty woman?” He gave a snort. “Hell, yes.”

“Let me clear this up for you once and for all,” she snapped, physically removing his hands from where
they rested on her upper arms. “Not on your life. Not even if you were the last man on earth.
Especially
if you were the last man on earth because I would never want to take the chance of letting you breed and spread your reprehensible DNA on to another human being.”

Stalking across the tiled kitchen, she put her hand on the doorknob before turning back to him with a scowl on her face. “I think you should leave.”

Ethan held his hands up in surrender. “Whoa, there, take it easy. I was testing you.” He moved back to the table, straddling one of the spindle-back chairs as he held her gaze. “You gave exactly the right answer, by the way. And I may talk tough, but for your information, I
wouldn't
move in on a friend's girl. At least not one he's genuinely interested in.”

Some of the fire went out of her at his admission and she dragged herself over to take the chair opposite him, feeling even more tired and weary than when she'd arrived.