by Heidi Betts
“No, it’s not that,” he said instead. “We, um…didn’t use a condom, and now there’s a chance she might be pregnant.”
Ethan didn’t trip over his own feet at that pronouncement, but he did let loose a string of curses blue enough to turn the heads of other gym patrons. Peter cringed and waited to hear what his friend of ten years would say about his responsibilities and failure to practice safe sex.
“Damn. She’s not stringing you along, is she? Buy one of those tester things or take her to the doctor and find out for sure, but don’t let her sucker you into anything.”
For a moment, Peter let his anger at Ethan’s low estimation of Lucy’s character simmer through his veins. And then he realized it wasn’t really Lucy his friend thought so little of, it was all women.
Ethan met too many frivolous, promiscuous women at his club and was dumb enough to go home with them. He’d probably never met a tasteful, genuine woman like Lucy. To Ethan, women were gold diggers, or party girls, or steel-heeled bitches who would as soon emasculate a man as look at him. So, of course, his first thought would be that Lucy was using a pregnancy angle to trap Peter.
Thankfully, Peter didn’t believe it for a minute.
“It’s not that. Lucy wouldn’t do something like that. And before you ask—” he lifted a hand to stop his friend’s tirade before it began “—I know because it isn’t Lucy’s style. My problem is a hell of a lot bigger than ‘is she or isn’t she?’ or what her motives might be.”
Ethan wiped sweat from his forehead with the back of his arm, his mouth turned down in a frown at Peter’s refusal to consider ulterior motives. “Oh, yeah? What’s that?”
Peter swallowed, trying to put the thoughts that had been swirling around in his brain for the past week into words. “The problem,” he said, “is that I’m kind of hoping she is.”
Five
Two Mondays later, Lucy knew what her future held…and it wasn’t Peter or a baby. The knowledge hurt more than she’d anticipated, sending a low throb of disappointment through her entire system.
Shaking off the light sprinkling of rain from the short walk to Peter’s brick-fronted row house, she stepped inside and braced herself for his immediate appearance. Surprisingly he didn’t materialize at the top of the stairs to greet her, but she heard the sounds of movement coming from the kitchen.
After hanging her raincoat in the hall closet and stowing her purse in the bottom drawer of her desk, she headed for the back of the house. Peter stood at the counter, scooping coffee grounds into a filter.
She leaned forward against the island, her fingers clutching the edge of the cool marble. Taking a deep breath, she said, “I’ll take a cup of that when it’s ready.”
He fixed her with a laser-sharp gaze as he finished what he was doing and punched the button to start the coffee brewing. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
She nodded. It was an odd way to break the news to him, but easier than anything else she’d come up with.
“It’s fine. I got my period this morning,” she admitted with more than a little embarrassment.
A minute ticked by while he stared in stony silence. It wasn’t quite the reaction she’d expected. A sigh of relief or maybe a few handsprings. Instead he seemed almost…reticent.
“I don’t know what to say,” he finally replied. “‘I’m sorry’ doesn’t seem quite appropriate, but then neither does ‘I’m glad.’”
“Are you?” she asked softly. “Glad or sorry?”
He stepped forward, rolling his shoulders as he stuffed his hands into the front pockets of his jeans. “I honestly don’t know, Luce. A part of me feels like we dodged a bullet. But another part of me…You know, it might have been nice to be a father.”
Lucy felt the same way, but was dismayed to hear Peter say as much. And then her eyes began to mist, surprising her even more. She blinked quickly and cleared her throat, moving to the refrigerator to hide her sudden rush of emotion.
What was wrong with her? For the past two weeks, she’d been worried she might be pregnant from a spontaneous intimate encounter with her boss…a man she’d been attracted to for years, but who had never shown a trace of attraction himself before the night of the charity dinner. And now she was getting weepy because she wasn’t carrying his child? If that was the case, she seriously needed her head examined.
Grabbing the orange juice jug from the top shelf, she stalked across the kitchen and retrieved a glass from the cupboard, careful to give Peter a wide berth. She poured a few inches of juice and swallowed it.
“At least things can go back to normal now,” she said when she thought her voice was steady enough not to shake.
“Yeah.” His reply was low and dispassionate. He turned, starting out of the kitchen without the coffee he’d spent so much time preparing. “I’ll be upstairs, working.”
She watched him go, wondering about his strange behavior. When had he started thinking about family and fatherhood? And had he really been considering having them with her?
It didn’t make sense. Peter had never shown the least bit of interest in her before, and she knew for a fact that what had happened in the elevator was merely a result of his claustrophobia. If he hadn’t been desperate for an escape from his panic and she hadn’t been so readily available, there was no doubt in her mind that matters between them would have continued in the usual pattern. She would have shown up on time for work each morning, trying to ignore the sweet ache of longing that coursed through her every time she looked at Peter, and he would have continued to treat her as nothing more than a valued and competent employee.
Instead he’d caught her at a weak moment, when she’d let her longtime attraction to him merge with her concern over his reaction to the blackout, until she’d convinced herself that he wanted to make love to her as much as she did to him.
A person was entitled to make one mistake in her life, wasn’t she? One huge, throbbing, monumental mistake.
The coffeemaker on the counter sputtered and Lucy poured herself a cup, doctoring the dark, fragrant brew with a sprinkle of sugar and dollop of milk.
The funny part was that, despite everything, Lucy thought they probably would have been able to put the weekend’s incident behind them and return to their normal routine…if it hadn’t been for that little pregnancy scare.
And that’s what confused her the most. Peter should be relieved; dropping to his knees, thanking God their one indiscretion hadn’t put an end to his carefree bachelor lifestyle. But when she’d told him she wasn’t pregnant, he’d acted almost…disappointed.
Could that be right? Could he have wanted a baby?
No. She shook her head, carrying the steaming mug back to her office in the den. It was silly to think Peter might have wanted a child. Especially now, especially with her.
If he was beginning to consider settling down, then he would want to find a nice woman to marry and have children with. He wouldn’t be hoping a one-night stand with his assistant—a woman he’d never looked at twice before—would result in surprise fatherhood.
She must be reading the situation wrong. For all she knew, he was upstairs right now, dancing a jig and e-mailing his buddies to tell them about his near brush with disaster.
Which is exactly what she should be doing. She didn’t want to be a single mother any more than she wanted to be the wife of a man who’d only married her because they forgot to use a condom.
Taking a sip of the still-warm coffee, she pulled her chair closer to the desk and doggedly decided to put this entire fiasco with Peter and their nonexistent baby behind her and get down to business.
But that didn’t keep her heart from squeezing or her eyes from growing damp at the thought of what might have been.
Peter sat in front of his blank computer monitor, struggling to wrap his mind around what he was feeling.
Lucy wasn’t pregnant. There was no baby. And damned if he didn’t think he might be sorry about it.
He pro
bably shouldn’t have projected so far into the future, but he’d let himself imagine, let himself plan…Lucy, pregnant from their single encounter the night of the city-wide power outage. Taking responsibility for his actions and asking her to marry him. Watching her grow round as a pumpkin with his baby inside her.
He’d pictured her in his house, living here, belonging here. Making love to her every night. Holding her in his arms in a tangle of sheets while they slept and then waking the same way every morning.
For a man who’d sworn he would never tie himself down with a wife and family, those images had gotten pretty damn specific.
And while he wouldn’t mind having Lucy in his bed—just once or twice more to get his fill—he supposed he should be glad things were working out this way.
Having a child at this point in his life just wasn’t feasible. He wasn’t a man to neglect his responsibilities, and if he’d married Lucy and had a child with her, he would have felt the need to spend time with them. Lord knew he’d want to be a better father to his children than his father had been to him.
And a better husband. He might not have planned it, but he genuinely liked Lucy, and if they’d made a baby together, then he would have done his best to treat her right, too. Which meant he could kiss Reyware and Games of PRey goodbye.
A wave of dread washed over him, followed by the cool, cleansing breeze of relief. Yes, it was definitely better this way.
If Lucy had wound up pregnant, he’d have married her and turned his focus on her and their child…maybe even someday children. But his own lousy childhood had taught him that he couldn’t have a family and run a successful business, so he would have had to give up his thriving software company and look for some other, less demanding job. Probably computer repair, which was about all he thought he’d be good at.
He shuddered at the thought. He’d have changed diapers and played horsey and done everything in his power to let his children know he loved them, but he would have been miserable working nine to five for someone else just to keep food on the table.
Maybe someday, after he’d made a few billion dollars and could afford to hire a staff of corporate go-getters to run things for him, then maybe he’d start thinking about finding a woman to settle down with and having a couple kids. If Lucy was still available at that point, he might even consider hooking up with her again.
But for now…For now, this was good. Hell, it was freaking fantastic. He’d really lucked out. Slipped the noose, so to speak.
And it probably wouldn’t take long at all for Lucy and him to get back to their old camaraderie, their old habit of working together like a well-oiled machine. She already looked more recovered from their encounter than he felt, thank goodness. He’d have hated to have her hanging on him, expecting their relationship to change, take on new meaning.
If it took him a while to get the memory of her warm, writhing body out of his head, well, that was nobody’s problem but his own. No one needed to know he still felt her beneath him at night while he struggled to fall asleep. Or that just the sight and smell of her sent a shock of awareness through his bloodstream.
Those things would haunt him, Lucy would haunt him the rest of the time they worked together. Maybe even forever.
Days turned into weeks as Peter and Lucy functioned around each other like virtual strangers. She came to work every day on time, went through the motions, took care of him as well as she ever had. Anyone looking in at them would think they had the perfect employer/employee relationship.
Only Peter—and Lucy, if she were being honest—knew that was far from the truth. The air between them fairly sizzled with tension and sexual electricity. He expected sparks to shoot from his fingertips every time she sauntered into his office and handed him the morning mail or a fresh cup of coffee, and he couldn’t remember the last time he’d had a decent night’s sleep.
Lucy might look like a model stepping straight off the runway, more beautiful every time he looked at her, but he was beginning to feel like something the dog dragged in. Exhaustion and hot, ceaseless desire were taking their toll.
He leaned back in his desk chair, rubbing his eyes and running a hand through his hair. The letters, numbers and symbols making up the codes on his computer screen jumbled together as his vision blurred.
Even his work was suffering, he thought with frustration, though he tried hard to not let it show. And Lucy, bless her, was a pro at fielding questions and making excuses for how busy he was.
But William Dawson, a client in New York, was a different story. He’d been badgering Peter to fly up, look over his company’s computer system and design a plan to upgrade and get things running more smoothly and cost-effectively. It was a reasonable request, one he’d honored numerous times in the past.
Peter had worked with Dawson before and knew him to be a good guy who would pay Peter’s hefty fee on time and use his powerful influence and word-of-mouth to send more business Peter’s way.
Darned if he could work up the least bit of enthusiasm about it, though. Getting far away from Lucy would probably be the smart thing to do. Give them both some breathing room, hopefully help to dispel the taut, sensual awareness buzzing around them like a hive of horny little honeybees.
But something in his gut, in the back of his brain warned against it. A niggling sense that if he left town, Lucy might not be here when he got back.
She’d been acting strangely since that night at the Four Seasons. Keeping to herself as much as possible, avoiding his gaze when she couldn’t.
Not that he blamed her, but she was a talented, educated woman who could get a job with anyone, doing almost any kind of work in the city. And he was afraid if he went somewhere, left her alone for even a short amount of time, she would decide things between them had grown too strained and would begin looking for a position elsewhere.
He didn’t want that, and if he had any say at all, he wouldn’t allow it. Which meant he couldn’t take off for Manhattan without knowing what Lucy planned to do while he was gone.
Unless…
He blinked and sat up straighter in his chair, halting the swivel motion.
The trip to New York would be business-related, and Lucy was his assistant. He could ask her to go along. No, insist. They could fly up, stay a couple of nights in a nice hotel, then fly home. That way, he’d know where Lucy was at all times and she wouldn’t get the chance to do something stupid like leave him.
Now he just had to figure out how to convince Lucy that her presence was required on a job he’d always before accomplished on his own. He sat there, spinning back and forth in slow circles, biting his way through a small stack of pencils while his mind raced.
She was going to balk. She probably would have even before they’d slept together, but now that they had, she’d be less inclined to travel with him in such close confines and possibly share a hotel suite or connected rooms.
At the thought of spending so much time with her, his blood thickened and things began to stir below the equator. Lucy, however, would probably have the exact opposite response. At least, she’d shown no signs so far of being attracted to him or wanting to repeat that night’s performance.
He didn’t know whether to take that as an insult against his sexual prowess or simply her way of distancing herself from what she considered a lapse in professionalism.
Well, this was getting him nowhere. Slapping his hands on his knees, he stood and headed for the hall. He heard the almost musical tap of Lucy’s keyboard drifting upstairs from her office and started down the steps, one hand on the smooth mahogany banister.
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 annoyed 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.