Blame It on the Blackout. Heidi Betts

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      “No? What do you mean no?”

      His voice, raised in surprised indignation, followed her down the steps. As she rounded the newel post and headed for the kitchen, she noticed he was hot on her heels.

      “Lucy, you can’t possibly mean to leave me to my own devices. I’ll drown in a sea of shiny, happy people. You know how much I hate crowds and public speaking.”

      “You should have thought of that before you agreed to be there.” She set the trash from his office on the countertop and began separating it into the plastic recycling bins set in one corner.

      “God, that coffee smells good,” he murmured, tossing a longing glance at the pot that had just finished dripping. “Look, I can’t go alone. I need you with me. There are going to be some very important people in attendance. People who could turn into future clients or help get Reyware and Games of PRey off the ground. You’re my assistant. You know our software programs and intentions for the company almost as well as I do. And no one works a room like you do. People love you.”

      When she didn’t respond, he continued, sounding more desperate by the second. “Consider it in your job description. I’ll pay you overtime. You can take the appointment book and set up a dozen meetings with potential backers for the next month.”

      Ah, yes. She was, indeed, his assistant. And if he was making this into a work-related affair, then she had no choice but to go with him.

      But she didn’t have to make it easy for him.

      Turning from the recycle bins, she leaned back against the counter and crossed her arms beneath her breasts. “You won’t be so impressed when I show up in jeans and a ratty sweatshirt. I don’t have anything appropriate to wear to a high-priced charity dinner.”

      Relief washed over Peter’s features and he slapped his hands down flat on the marble island as the corners of his mouth turned up in a grin. “Not a problem. I’ll take care of everything. Or rather, you’ll take care of everything, but I’ll foot the bill. Here…”

      He reached back, as though digging into a hip pocket, then realized he was still in his boxers. Shaking his head, he rushed to assure her. “Don’t worry, I’ll get you a credit card. I’ll get you two credit cards. Buy whatever you want.”

      Then he came around the island, reached her in three long strides, and wrapped her in a hug tight enough to crush her ribcage. “Thank you, thank you, thank you.” He punctuated each adulation with a kiss to her temple.

      Lucy’s knees grew weak and she let her eyes drift shut as the heat of his body seeped through the thin material of her white blouse, short navy skirt and stockings.

      Oh, sure. She could spend the evening with this man and remember it was nothing but business. No problem. And maybe after performing that small miracle, she’d practice turning water into wine.

      Peter slugged back his sixth cup of coffee since Lucy had awakened him this morning and punched the computer mouse to send the cache of e-mails he’d composed in the last half hour.

      He was learning that it wasn’t easy taking care of himself. She’d only been gone two and a half hours, but she was usually around during the day to answer the phone and come when he called, so he was finding it difficult to carry out his normal routine.

      He’d finally given up answering the telephone when it rang every five minutes, and was now letting all calls go directly to voicemail. Lord knew Lucy would be better able to deal with the messages when she got back. And even though she often went through his electronic mail for him, forwarding only those that required his personal attention, today he’d done it himself. He wasn’t completely helpless, after all.

      The snail mail, however, was a different matter. No way was he going anywhere near that pile of paper cuts. Lucy would let him know if there was anything he needed to see.

      From his office upstairs, he heard the front door open and a wash of relief poured over him. Thank God. Now he could lock himself in his room and concentrate on his real strength—program design—instead of dealing with the other odds and ends of getting through the day.

      Crossing his office threshold, he stopped on the second floor landing and watched as Lucy struggled to close the door while balancing assorted shopping bags and boxes in both arms.

      Looking up, she spotted him and blew a stray strand of straight black hair out of her face. “You could offer to help, you know.”

      “Oh. Right.” He spent more time with computers than people, and Lucy would be the first to point out that he sometimes lacked social graces. But the minute she called him on it, he rushed into action, bounding down the stairs and grabbing up her entire load.

      “Sorry about that. It looks like you had luck shopping, anyway.”

      She shrugged out of the lightweight jacket that matched her dark blue skirt, tossing it over the banister and leaving her once again in a soft white blouse that showed off her feminine attributes to perfection. It didn’t help that he could see the outline of her black lace bra through the gauzy material, either.

      Peter’s blood thickened and a lump of temptation formed in his throat. But a moment later, he tamped down on both, refusing to let his mind wander a path he had no business exploring.

      Lucy was a beauty, no doubt about it. From the moment they’d met, when she’d first interviewed for the job as his personal assistant, he’d been fascinated by the silky fall of her long ebony hair, the smooth complexion of her porcelain skin, the bright, sharp blue of her doe-shaped eyes.

      Of course, there was no chance of anything happening between them. Peter had long ago put a mental block on the possibility of building a relationship with any woman, let alone one who worked for him. God forbid he turn out like his father…. He had too much in common with the old man already and had no intention of making a wife or children as miserable as his father had made his mother and him.

      But he’d hired Lucy in spite of his attraction to her, simply because she was the best damn applicant on the list. She typed, took dictation, had a phone voice that could make a saint fall to his knees, and knew her way around computers almost as well as he did.

      So, if he found himself staring at her ripe red lips most of the time while she spoke, or taking an unnatural number of cold showers after she’d gone home for the day, he had no one to blame but himself.

      Dressed now in a clean pair of tan chinos and dark green polo shirt, he noticed the curve of her mouth and wondered what she found so amusing. Lord knew he was in too much physical pain to mimic her contented smile.

      “I hope you still think it was a good idea to make me go with you tomorrow night once you see your credit card statement.”

      That gave him a moment’s pause, but then he shrugged. The tissue paper in several of the boutique bags rustled with the movement. “How bad could it be?”

      Her brows shot up. Holding a hand out like she expected him to shake it, she quipped, “Hi, let me introduce myself. I’m a woman with carte blanche to charge anything I want on a man’s account. I also happen to know your net worth. Any questions?”

      He chuckled. Her sense of humor had always been machete sharp, but that was just one more reason he enjoyed her company.

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