Blame It on the Blackout

by Heidi Betts

  She could feel the pulse at his throat beating out of control and knew she was losing him. But what else could she do? How did you calm someone who was on the brink of a breakdown?

  The answer came to her in a flash and she didn’t give herself time to second guess. Leaning up on tiptoe, she pressed her lips to his, kissing him as she’d always imagined. Her fingers slipped from his cheeks to his nape, tangling in the slightly long hair growing over his collar.

  He tasted of scotch and heat and just plain Peter, and she wondered why she’d waited two years to do this. It was crazy, it was wrong, but it was also so darn good, her skin was threatening to melt right off her bones.

  And best of all, Peter’s panic seemed to have subsided. He wrapped his arms about her waist and dragged her closer, opening his mouth to let their tongues parry and thrust.

  Their bodies rubbed together like two pieces of flint, all but shooting sparks. Her breasts, crushed to his chest, grew heavy and sensitive with desire, her nipples beading to nearly painful points. Lower, the hard line of his arousal nudged the area between her legs.

  In the back of his mind, Peter knew he was supposed to be thinking about something. The dark, the broken-down elevator, getting out, or dying before anyone discovered them. But damned if he could find it in him to care about anything other than the warm, willing woman in his arms.

  Lucy. He shouldn’t be kissing Lucy…his assistant, his friend, the one person he didn’t want to offend because, as he often joked, she knew where the bodies were buried.

  But, God, she felt good. She smelled good, like flowers in springtime, with an overlaying scent of musk that made him think of hot, sweaty sex. And she tasted amazing.

  Since puberty, he’d had his share of fantasies about making out with beauty queens and X-rated starlets; sometimes both at the same time. But no dream, no matter how erotic, could ever live up to what was happening right here, right now. She made steam rise from his pores and every drop of blood in his veins rush straight for the equator.

  His hands slid from her waist to her buttocks, drawing her up and crushing her against the straining evidence of his enthusiasm. If they didn’t stop soon, it would be too late.

  But he had no intention of stopping. The ground would have to open up and swallow him whole. This elevator that had trapped them so securely would have to break from its cables and crush them like pancakes. Because unless an act of God pulled them apart, he was going to make love to Lucy Grainger.

  Finally.

  The lack of light heightened every sensation, the fireworks exploding behind his closed eyelids almost more than he could bear. He’d wanted her far too long to take things slow.

  Letting his lips trail from her mouth to her chin, to the tender flesh of her throat, he found the zipper at the back of her gown and slowly dragged it downward. His knuckles grazed her spine with each click of the zipper’s teeth and she moaned, sending shivers of awareness through to his nerve endings.

  As the barrier of her dress fell away, he unhooked the clasp of her strapless bra and cupped the two glorious globes of her breasts in the palms of his hands. His thumbs teased the nipples, drawing a gasp of pleasure from her parted lips.

  Peter kissed her again, wanting to devour her, absorb her into his every pore. Her hands on his chest felt like iron brands. She fumbled with the buttons of his shirt until the tails came free of his pants. He reached up and yanked the bow tie from his neck before it choked him as she pushed the shirt off over his shoulders.

  Her soft, delicate hands explored his body like a blind man exploring a work of art. Her sharp, manicured fingernails left trails of fire along his skin, making him want to growl low in his throat and take her like an animal. Only the knowledge that this was Lucy, a woman he cared about and would never intentionally hurt, kept him from throwing her down and driving into her right that second.

  Instead he wrapped an arm around her back and lowered her slowly to the carpeted elevator floor. The shirt caught at his elbows hampered his movements, but he didn’t want to waste time removing his cuff links and stripping down completely. Cradled in the hollow of her thighs, the gown bunched now around her hips, he let her thread her fingers into his hair and pull him down for a soul-stealing kiss.

  Circling her ankle first, and then the sleek curve of her calf, he ran his hand over the satiny stocking encasing her leg. When he reached the top of her thigh, he found a wide band of elasticized lace and groaned. No panty hose to deal with, just sexy, convenient thigh-highs and a pair of barely there French-cut panties that could be slipped off in one quick motion or simply pushed aside when the time came.

  Which would be soon. He couldn’t last much longer, being this close to her, feeling her breasts with their pebbled peaks and the dampness of her desire soaking through her panties.

  A muscle in his jaw jumped as his hand encountered that moisture and he rested his head against her brow for a moment, praying for the restraint it would take not to lose it then and there. But either God was on a break or Lucy was determined to shatter his self-control because she arched her back, ground her pelvis into his throbbing erection, and panted his name on a whisper of sound.

  It was the name that did it. If she had only moaned or muttered nonsensical words, he might have kept it together. Hearing his name on her lips, though, realizing that she knew exactly who was touching her, making love to her, and that she had no intention of coming to her senses and asking him to stop, sent him straight over the edge.

  Reaching between their hot, writhing bodies, he undid the front clasp of his slacks, shoving them down just enough to free his rigid length. At the same time, he stripped the flimsy satin triangle from her hips and spread her legs farther apart. With his hands on her bottom, he found the tight, feminine opening that beckoned him like a siren’s song and entered her in one long, solid thrust.

  Lucy cried out as Peter filled her. Her lungs felt ready to burst, her body burning with rising lust. She lifted her legs, crossing them at the ankles behind his back, and dug her nails into his shoulders, imploring him to move, to put an end to this torture.

  “Please,” she begged, surprised she could speak at all. Every fiber of her being vibrated with desire, pulsed with need. If he didn’t bring her to orgasm soon, she thought, she just might die.

  “Yes, please. Now.”

  His voice rasped like sandpaper as he pressed into her, then slowly began to retreat. In and out, his movements sending delicious shock waves through her system. The faster he thrust, the more rapid her breathing became. The tighter her insides wound. And when he slipped his fingers over the mound of curls, into her pulsating heat, to toy with the tiny nub of pleasure nestled there, she went wild.

  Hips bucking, arms clutched around his back, her inner muscles spasmed, milking him until he gave a low, guttural shout of completion and came inside her.

  For long minutes after the most powerful climax of his life, Peter could do little more than lie there, sprawled across Lucy’s supple body. Her heart pounded against his chest, keeping time with his own. Her nails clung to his back like talons, much as his dug into the cushiony flesh of her hips and buttocks. Her harsh breaths beat out a staccato rhythm in his ear and the pitch-black confines of the elevator car, echoing his own struggle to suck air into his deprived lungs.

  And all he could think was that he’d just had earth-shattering, mind-blowing, rock-my-world sex with the one woman he’d sworn he would never touch.

  The walls were beginning to close in on him again, but in a whole different way. Yes, the elevator felt stuffy and too small for his large frame. He wondered if they’d even have enough oxygen to survive until power was restored. But all of that drifted to the far reaches of his mind as he imagined the repercussions of what they’d just done.

  He could lose her as his assistant, which would be more than a personal loss—it would be a blow to Reyware and the future of his program designs. She not only often gave him fresh ideas, but made it possible fo
r him to work long hours without interruption.

  He could lose her as a friend. He wasn’t sure how to feel about that, since he didn’t have many women friends and had never worried about forfeiting one of them before. He did know, though, that it would be tough not having her around. To talk to, to joke with, to ask for her opinion about everything from names for his latest games to which socks to wear with which shirt.

  On the opposite side of the coin, he could be stuck with her. She might think this spontaneous bout of passion meant more than it did and expect him to feel the same way. She could want a relationship…commitment…marriage…

  The very possibility sent fear stabbing through his bones like ice water. Wasn’t that exactly what he’d been trying to avoid? He would be a terrible husband, an even worse father. He didn’t think he had it in him at this point to be even a decent boyfriend or significant other.

  If that’s what it took to keep her from running, from leaving him for either another job or another man who could give her what she needed, then he would try. But he already knew he’d fail. It was in his genes.

  He’d play the part of attentive lover…and relish every minute of the loving, he was sure. But soon enough, she would get tired of the hours he kept. Of being neglected when a new software program claimed more of his attention than she did. And that’s when the resentment would begin, quickly turning into hate, and finally indifference.

  Hadn’t the exact same thing happened with his mother and father?

  Lucy’s sigh and the feel of her arms and legs falling from around his sweaty body brought him back to the present. He was probably crushing her. Lord knew he hadn’t been as gentle as he could have been.

  “I must be suffocating you. I’m sorry.” As reluctant as he was to move, to draw away from her, he rolled to the side.

  “It’s all right,” she said in a low voice. “I kind of liked it.”

  Her comment hit him like a punch to the gut. He wanted so much to be pleased by her words…but at the same time couldn’t avoid worrying that it was simply the first step of an attitude that would soon become clinging.

  Reaching out, he found her bare arm in the darkness and stroked from elbow to shoulder. “Did I hurt you?”

  He heard a gentle tinkle and thought it must be her earrings as she shook her head.

  “No,” she answered aloud. “Did I hurt you?”

  His bark of laughter bounced off the mirrored walls. That was Lucy for you; self-confident enough to believe she was just as capable of rough lovemaking as any man.

  “Only in a good way, sweetheart.”

  As soon as the endearment passed his lips, he cringed. Bad move. What if she took it wrong? What if she thought he was inviting her to a whole new level of their relationship?

  When she didn’t respond, however, the moment of alarm passed. Beside him, he heard her moving around and pushed to his feet.

  “We should probably get dressed,” he said, holding out his hand to help her up, and then leaning down to make contact when he realized she couldn’t see the offer. “Never know when the power will come back on and the elevator doors will open.”

  “Wouldn’t want that,” she murmured.

  Her removed tone reminded Peter that she was probably having second thoughts about their encounter, as well. Regrets.

  That didn’t sit well with him. As unsure as he was about what they’d done, about what the future might bring because of it, he didn’t want Lucy to be sorry she’d let him make love to her. Hell, he wanted her eyes to still be glazed over, wanted to be the best lover she’d ever had.

  But he couldn’t have it both ways, could he? He had to either curl her toes and be ready for the possibility of building a relationship with her, or chalk it up to hot sex under duress and deal with the blow to his ego when she didn’t fall at his feet, begging for more.

  Patting their way around the floor of the car, they collected discarded pieces of clothing. It was impossible to identify them all, but they managed to zip up and rearrange their clothes just as the lights and buttons inside the elevator began to flicker.

  Peter’s stomach turned over in relief. He’d been okay, distracted as he was by this newest turn of events with Lucy. But if they’d been trapped much longer, he honestly couldn’t be sure the claustrophobia wouldn’t have come back and sent him hyperventilating again.

  Eyes slowly adjusting to the return of fluorescent brightness, he stuffed an extra garment—likely his tie—in the pocket of his tuxedo jacket, watching Lucy tug at her gown, run a smoothing hand through her long black hair, and slide her toes back into a high-heeled shoe as the car gave a giant lurch and once again started its descent.

  When the doors opened, he was relieved to find the lobby level fairly empty. A few people milled around, looking disoriented by the unexpected blackout, but in the process of going about their business.

  As Peter and Lucy stepped out of the elevator, the hotel’s manager raced up to them, offering effusive apologies for the inconvenience of being stuck between floors for so long. Peter waved off the man’s worries. It wasn’t the manager’s fault he was claustrophobic, after all. And being trapped, even for such a short time, had given him the chance to finally make love to Lucy, which he couldn’t bring himself to fully regret.

  Instead Peter asked for the limo to be brought around. As they walked, he helped to arrange the shawl over Lucy’s bare shoulders to protect her from the late-night chill.

  Inside the limo, the air was warm and he instructed the driver to take them to her apartment first. The silence between them was stifling, growing more uncomfortable by the minute, and he racked his brain for something to say.

  Thank you didn’t seem quite appropriate. Nor did I’m sorry.

  He wanted to ask her to come home with him, to stay the night and let him touch her again the way she had in the elevator. Only this time, he would go more slowly…explore those luscious curves in more detail, study every nook and cranny of her beautiful body.

  Stealing a glance at her still form out of the corner of his eye, he felt himself grow hard with wanting her again.

  So much for scratching an itch or thinking once would ever be enough when it came to Lucy Grainger.

  The car pulled to a stop outside her building, and Peter escorted her to her apartment. She didn’t speak as they climbed the stairs, and he couldn’t think of any way to fill the awkward quiet.

  At her door, he touched her arm, tried to take her hand, but she pulled away. “Lucy…” he began.

  “Good night, Peter,” she said, cutting him off and making it clear she wasn’t interested in conversation. “I’ll see you on Monday.”

  And then she turned the key in the lock and disappeared inside.

  With a heavy sigh, he slid his hands into the pockets of his jacket and let his forehead fall against the cool grain of her mahogany paneled door. His brows drew together as his fingers burrowed into a strange silkiness.

  Pulling his hand back out of the pocket, he found himself staring down at Lucy’s lacy black panties. A shudder rocked his tall frame and for a moment he thought his knees might buckle.

  If her panties were out here, with him, that meant she had been naked underneath her gown on the ride home. God, he was glad he hadn’t known that then or he’d have been hard-pressed not to jump her a second time.

  He remembered being inside her. The hot, wet haven of her body, clasping and clenching, driving him insane.

  Hot. Wet. Skin to skin.

  His eyes fell shut as realization and dread washed over him. He hadn’t worn a condom. He wasn’t sure he’d had a condom with him to wear, even if the thought had occurred to him back in that elevator. Before she’d spun every sane notion from his head with her kisses.

  He hadn’t worn a condom and didn’t know whether or not she was on birth control. Which meant she could be pregnant. With his child.

  Oh, this night just kept getting better and better.

  Four

&nb
sp; When Lucy arrived at work Monday morning, she stood on Peter’s front stoop for several long minutes, key in the lock and hand on the knob, trying to convince herself it would be business as usual once she stepped inside.

  And why wouldn’t it? What happened Friday night in the elevator meant nothing, right? It had been a fluke. An intimate encounter brought on by crisis conditions, and not something that would have ever come about under normal circumstances.

  But that didn’t explain why Peter had called so many times over the weekend. Thank God she’d let the machine pick up the first time…and every time after that. With the volume down, she’d almost been able to survive those four rings each time without her heart jumping straight out of her chest.

  And then he’d shown up at her door Sunday afternoon. She’d stared through the peephole, bouncing anxiously on the balls of her feet, breathing hard, and biting the inside of her lip to keep from making a sound. He’d looked rumpled and ruffled, and more aggravated the longer he stood outside her apartment, waiting for her to answer.

  She felt like a coward, afraid to face her own boss. Which was the only reason she’d come to work today instead of calling in sick. If she didn’t, she was afraid she’d never be able to face Peter again.

  Taking a deep, fortifying breath, she turned the knob and stepped inside, closing the door silently behind her. On tiptoe, she made her way into the den that housed her work area, quickly but quietly putting away her purse and shrugging out of her linen suit jacket.

  With any luck, she wouldn’t see Peter for another few hours. Hopefully he’d had another long night and would sleep until noon. And maybe by then she could come up with an excuse to leave early or run some errands outside of the office.

  How long do you think you can keep that up? a voice in her head whispered. Sneaking around, avoiding him as much as possible.

  If she knew Peter…and after two years, she felt she did…he wouldn’t put up with that sort of thing for long. Unless—if she was lucky—he wanted to avoid her, too. Unfortunately, fifteen phone calls and an impromptu trip to her apartment told her that probably wasn’t the case.