by Heidi Betts
“Lucy?”
Peter’s voice, raised and eager, floated down to her from the second floor. Then she heard his weighted footsteps as he jogged down the carpeted stairs and let her head fall forward over her computer’s keyboard. Oh, boy, here it came. The confrontation.
She straightened in her chair a moment before Peter appeared in the doorway, looking even more scattered and unkempt than yesterday when he’d shown up on her doorstep.
He was in his stocking feet and wore a pair of faded jeans that rode low on his narrow hips. The denim was wrinkled, as was the cotton of his plain white T-shirt, making her wonder if he’d slept in his clothes—and for how long.
“Lucy.” Her name came out part huff, part sigh. He ran both hands through his hair, leaving sandy-blond spikes sticking up here and there.
“I’ve been waiting for you all day,” he said, apparently unaware that it was only nine in the morning. “I called your apartment a dozen times over the weekend. I even ran over to see you on Sunday. Where the hell have you been?”
She opened her mouth to tell him it was none of his business, but he shook his head, waving a hand in the air to cut her off.
“Never mind, it doesn’t matter. We have to talk.”
Her stomach fell to her knees as he dragged a chair over and sidled up to her desk, getting right to the point.
“Lucy,” he began, elbows balanced on his thighs, hands clasped between his spread legs.
But she couldn’t stand to hear him talk about what a lapse in judgment that night in the elevator had been, how they were employer and employee, and he didn’t feel that way about her.
“Peter,” she cut him off, not quite meeting his gaze. “I know what you’re going to say, and I agree one hundred percent. What happened the other night was a mistake. We were caught off guard by the blackout and being unexpectedly trapped in that elevator. Neither of us would have indulged in such behavior otherwise, and I’m sure we never will again. Let’s just forget it and go back to business as usual.”
Peter sat back, intently studying Lucy’s face. The alabaster skin, the sparkling violet shadow shading her black-lined eyes, the red-hot lipstick glossing her full, kissable mouth. She had a small beauty mark to the left and a little above the corner of that mouth, making him want to lean in and swipe his tongue across it for a quick taste.
Speak for yourself, he thought. She might believe their sexual encounter after the charity dinner was brought on solely by the lack of electricity and his unfortunate bout of claustrophobia, but what she didn’t realize was that he’d been fantasizing about making love to her for a very long time.
Sure, the city-wide blackout had spurred him into taking actions he probably would have otherwise managed to control, but he wouldn’t go so far as to say it never would have happened. And he most certainly wasn’t going to forget it anytime soon.
As if that was even possible.
Still, it was a relief to hear she was prepared to brush the incident under the rug rather than turning it into something it wasn’t or expecting more from him than he was willing or ready to give. That made one element of the situation easier, but not the portion he’d spent the weekend working up the courage to discuss with her.
“That may be easier said than done.” He kept his tone low and serious enough to catch her undivided attention. Finally she raised her head and met his gaze directly.
“What do you mean?”
Instead of blurting out his primary concern, he tried to broach the subject in a more delicate way. “I don’t suppose you’re on the Pill,” he said, and then realized that was about as subtle as a bull in a china shop.
Immediately her hackles went up. She stiffened, leaning away from him and folding her arms beneath her breasts. Those luscious, mouthwatering breasts that he’d kissed and fondled only two days ago. It was enough to bring his body to full, highly aroused attention and force him to shift in his seat for a more comfortable position.
Brow furrowed, Lucy crossed her legs, driving her skirt up a good two inches and jiggling a high-heeled foot—which didn’t help one bit—before snapping, “What business is that of yours?”
“None,” he said carefully, “until Friday night. We didn’t, um, use any form of protection. Unless…”
He let the word hang, watching realization dawn in her sapphire eyes. Hoping against hope that she’d laugh and slap him on the back and tell him not to worry, she’d been taking birth control for years. Instead, the color washed from her face while at the same time two rosy flags of embarrassment bloomed on her cheeks.
Something cold and ominous settled low in his belly. “I take it that’s a no.”
The muscles in her throat convulsed as she swallowed. “No,” she croaked, giving an almost zombielike shake of her head. “There was no reason to be taking anything. And I always thought that if the situation presented itself, we’d both be smart enough to use a condom.”
A wry smile curved his lips. “Yeah, me, too. Guess we both went brain dead there for a while.”
Taking a deep breath, he got to his feet and began to pace. “As careless as we were, what’s done is done. Now we just have to figure out what to do about it.”
Silence filled the room for several long minutes, the only sound the tick-tock of the grandfather clock drifting in from the foyer. And then Lucy seemed to collect herself. She uncrossed her legs, unfolded her arms and stood.
“This is ridiculous, Peter. We’re jumping to conclusions, fretting over nothing. What are the chances of my becoming pregnant from that one short encounter?”
“Spoken like any number of single mothers just before the stick turned blue.”
She shot him a quelling glance. “All I’m saying is that we shouldn’t borrow trouble. I’m sure there’s nothing to worry about.”
“I hope you’re right,” he said slowly, “but all the same, when will we know?”
A blank expression washed over her features, and then it donned on her what he was asking. Once again, her cheeks blushed pink.
“I’m not, um…a few weeks, I guess.”
Weeks. Great. Peter made a mental note to stock up on antacid. Waiting days, let alone weeks, to find out if she was pregnant with his child was bound to give him the mother of all ulcers.
He wanted to demand an answer now. Drag her to the nearest drugstore for one of those over-the-counter tests and insist she take it. Of course, it probably wouldn’t tell them much. He knew next to nothing about women’s cycles and symptoms of pregnancy, but thought it took more than a few days to be able to tell about these types of things.
So he would be patient—swig his antacid, watch her like a hawk and wait until they knew for sure.
Lucy stepped out of the downstairs powder room tucked beneath the stairwell and nearly jumped to find Peter staring at her from the other side of the kitchen island. She rolled her eyes, tamped down on the annoyance that seemed to be brimming too close to the surface these days and headed back to her office.
What did he want from her? she wondered, not for the first time. It had been three days since he’d brought up the topic of an unexpected pregnancy. And since then, he’d followed her around like a shadow. He was always nearby, asking if she needed anything, watching her every movement. It was as though he expected her to sprout feathers or in some other way show outward signs of carrying his child.
If only it were that easy. Truth be told, the waiting was driving her crazy, too.
She’d bought a pregnancy test on her way home from work Monday, after spending the day on eggshells, pretending his pronouncement that they hadn’t used protection didn’t concern her a bit. The test had come up negative, but that only served to increase her sense of anxiety.
Maybe the test was wrong. Maybe it was too early for an over-the-counter method to show accurate results. Maybe one of these days—since she’d bought out the corner store’s supply and taken to running one each morning before she left the apartment—the stick would show
a plus sign instead of a minus one and her whole world would come crashing down around her ears.
That thought sent a lead weight of dread straight to the bottom of her stomach.
She should call her doctor and make an appointment so she could get a definitive answer once and for all. But, God help her, she couldn’t bring herself to do that. She was too frightened of what he might tell her.
What if she was pregnant?
Her initial response had been elation. Pregnant. With Peter’s baby. Wasn’t that the twist her overactive imagination often took when she pictured the two of them together? There were dating scenarios, seduction scenarios, marriage scenarios, family scenarios, even retirement scenarios for when their children were grown and they were once again alone in the house as the ripe old age of sixty.
Under the right circumstances, she would be delighted to be having a baby with Peter. The way things stood between them now, however, she couldn’t think of a worse development.
If it turned out she was pregnant, Peter would likely offer to marry her, or at least insist on being involved in the child’s life. That’s the kind of man he was.
But he would resent Lucy for locking him into a situation he wanted no part of. The child would be a constant reminder of the mistake he’d let himself make one night in an elevator in the middle of a blackout, and of the freedom he’d lost because of it.
She didn’t want that. It would be better, she thought, to leave. Go somewhere else, raise the child on her own, and never let Peter know he’d been right about their lack of birth control producing a child.
Not that she could ever bring herself to do such a thing. A child deserved to know its father…and a father deserved to know about his child. Besides, Peter could be like a dog with a bone. He wouldn’t rest until he knew for sure, and if she went away, no doubt he would track her down. With his computer skills and contacts all over the world, he would find her, if only to get a final answer to his question.
But she was getting ahead of herself. The smart thing would be to find out whether or not she actually was pregnant before making any drastic plans on how to handle the situation.
Without so much as a creak of the hardwood floor in warning, Peter appeared in the archway of the den, once again startling her out of her reverie. Lucy put a hand to her heart in an effort to slow its erratic pace. If he didn’t stop sneaking up on her, she was going to tie a bell around his neck.
“Is everything okay?” he asked.
He was wearing a pair of dove-gray dress slacks today, with a casual, light blue button-down shirt. His feet were bare, as was his habit, and which probably accounted for his ability to move silently through the house. Leaning a shoulder against the carved wood molding of the doorjamb, his green eyes ran over her intently, making her squirm.
Turning back to her computer screen, she did her best to act impervious. “Fine.”
“Is there anything I can get you?” he pressed. “Juice, water, a sandwich?”
She’d eaten lunch less than an hour ago, and she noticed he didn’t offer to bring her coffee or tea, which might be harmful to a growing fetus. Little did he know she helped herself to a cup or two each morning before leaving her apartment. Of course, she’d switched to naturally decaffeinated, just in case. She honestly didn’t believe there was any reason to be concerned, but on the off chance she was pregnant, she wasn’t willing to risk eating or drinking anything that might hurt her—possibly imaginary—unborn child.
“No, thank you,” she answered. And then a beat passed and she changed her mind. “On second thought, I could use a glass of milk. My stomach has been a little upset lately, so maybe that would help.”
Peter blanched, the muscles in his face going slack as he pushed himself away from the wall and stood there for a fraction of a second before nodding stiffly and darting toward the kitchen.
She shouldn’t have done it. It was cruel to play on Peter’s fears about an unplanned pregnancy. But his hovering and endless stream of inquiries about her health and daily well-being were beginning to grate on her nerves.
When he returned with her glass of milk, she would apologize and tell him she was fine—no outward hints of impending motherhood so far. But for now, she leaned back in her chair, let her head fall over the hard cherry wood edging, and laughed until every drop of stress and strain that had built up over the past few days drained out of her body and left her feeling much, much better.
“So, are you coming to the club tonight for a drink?”
Peter shook his head, his breathing labored as he fought to raise the hundred pound barbell over his head.
“Thirty-nine. Forty.” Ethan Banks, his best friend and spotter counted off for him. They tried to meet at the gym at least three times a week for a full workout and to catch up on current events…or in Ethan’s case, current conquests.
Ethan owned The Hot Spot, a local Georgetown nightclub that drew in a bevy of handsome men and lovely young ladies looking to party. It was the ladies Ethan liked the most, and according to him, he took a different one home with him every night. With his dark good looks and sparkling smile, Peter supposed it could be true.
“Forty-six. Wanna get together Sunday for the baseball game?”
Peter shook his head again. “Huh-uh.”
“How about letting me bring a couple girls over later and we’ll get a group thing going? Forty-nine. Fifty.”
“No.” His brows drew together as he sat up and wiped the sweat from his face and neck with a towel. “Wait a minute. What did you say?”
Ethan chuckled. “I thought that might get your attention. You’ve been distracted all night. Care to tell me what’s going on?”
With a sigh, Peter got up and moved to the bank of treadmills along the far wall. Ethan followed, stepping onto the machine next to him and adjusting his speed.
For long minutes, Peter said nothing. His relationship with Lucy was nobody’s business and he didn’t particularly relish the idea of telling his best friend he was waiting to find out if the rabbit died, so to speak.
But it was clawing at him. Every moment of his time with Lucy in that elevator. Every day since, wondering how that night would change things between them and whether he was about to become a father.
Maybe talking it over with his friend would help. Ethan might be a ladies’ man, but he had a good head on his shoulders. If he ribbed Peter too much about his indiscretion with his assistant, though, Ethan would find his teeth at the back of his throat.
“You know Lucy, right?” he said finally, after they’d both jogged at a leisurely pace for about half a mile.
“Of course,” Ethan replied with a wicked grin. “I’ve only been trying to get her to come work for me and eventually come to bed with me since the day you hired her. Has she changed her mind? Is that what you’re trying to tell me?”
“Hell, no.” Annoyed, Peter snapped his head around to glare at his friend’s cocky expression and nearly lost his footing. Regaining his balance, he said, “Lucy isn’t interested in you. Let it go.”
“Never say die, man. They all fall for my potent charms eventually.”
“You wish,” Peter answered with a snort. “Look, you wanted to know what was going on, so just shut up and listen, okay?”
“Okay, okay, I’m listening. Spill. What’s up with Lucy?”
“You remember the big blackout that hit last Friday night?”
Ethan swore. “How could I forget? The club was a madhouse, trying to find flashlights and keep everyone from panicking and causing a stampede.”
“Yeah, well, it wasn’t a shining moment for me, either.”
“Why, what happened?”
“I attended that City Women benefit with Lucy.”
“The one where they were giving you the award? Cool. How’d it go?”
“I’m getting to that.” Peter reached out to click the speed dial up another notch, making it harder to talk, but burning off some of the excess energy that had been c
rawling under his skin since he’d made love to Lucy. “Lucy and I sneaked out around midnight. We were in the elevator, on the way down to the lobby, when the power cut off.”
“Oh, man. I’ll bet you had fun. Did it get bad?”
Ethan had known about his claustrophobia for years, and since he wasn’t speaking loudly enough for anyone else in the room to hear, Peter didn’t feel embarrassed at having it brought up.
“It wasn’t fun,” he admitted. “But that wasn’t the worst part.”
“There’s a worst part?”
Peter shot him another aggravated glance at his continued interruptions. This was difficult enough to get out, both because of the topic and the workout he was getting.
“I slept with her,” he blurted.
“What?” Ethan stumbled, grabbing onto the treadmill’s sidebars and saving himself at the last minute. “Whoa,” he muttered in a low voice. “Are you serious?”
Peter’s mouth twisted. “As a snake bite.”
“So…was she good?”
The look Peter pierced his friend with this time was hot enough to burn. “None of your damn business. And don’t talk about her that way.”
Ethan threw his arms up in surrender. “Hey, take it easy. We always share the four-one-one about women and how they were in the sack.”
“Yeah, well, this is different. It’s Lucy. Don’t talk about her that way,” he said again.
Peter knew he was acting strangely. He didn’t want his friend thinking there was more going on between him and his assistant than a regrettable one-night stand, but defending her honor that way had definitely clued him in. He should have kept his mouth shut or simply shrugged and said she was great. Then maybe Ethan wouldn’t be eyeing him like he was afraid Peter’s skin was about to peel back to reveal some alien life form.
“Fine. Sorry. So you two did the dirty deed. Is there a problem? Is she getting all clingy and romantic?”
Ha! If this past week was Lucy’s idea of clingy and romantic, he’d hate to see her give him the brush-off.