Blame It on the Blackout. Heidi Betts

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      Eyes wide, she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”

      “Come on,” he cajoled. “I want to see what I paid for.”

      Furry, multilegged caterpillars wiggled inside Lucy’s stomach as she considered Peter’s request. The last thing she wanted to do was attend tomorrow night’s charity benefit with him, and the next to the last thing she wanted was to model her new evening gown before she absolutely had to.

      But—whether he knew it yet or not—he had spent quite a lot on the fancy ensemble, and if he wanted an advance viewing, she supposed it was only right to give it to him.

      He must have read the indecision on her face because he started up the stairs without her. “You can use my bedroom to change. And this way, I’ll know what color corsage to order.”

      “Corsage?” With a roll of her eyes, she began to follow. “Peter, we aren’t going to a high school prom.”

      He swung around at the balcony railing and flashed her the unwitting, thousand-watt smile that made her teeth sweat. “Too bad. It sure would be more fun than what we have to endure.” Then he spun back and walked into the bedroom.

      When Lucy arrived, the bags and boxes he’d carried up for her were scattered atop the chest at the foot of his bed. Peter rubbed his hands together and gave her a friendly wink before moving back toward the hallway.

      “Give me a yell when you’re ready. I’ll be in my office.”

      The door closed with a soft click, leaving her alone beside Peter’s bed…and Peter’s mattress…and Peter’s pillow. The covers were still rumpled from the last time he’d slept there and it took a great deal of effort not to throw herself across the bed and inhale his scent from every fiber of the tan, five hundred thread count Egyptian cotton sheets. She ought to know, she’d bought them for him.

      Sad, that’s what she was. Pathetic and sad and unworthy of being a member of the female race. What other twenty-nine-year-old woman spent her life mooning over an unattainable boss? A clueless man who never looked twice at her…at least not the way a man should look at a woman.

      Other than throwing herself down on his desk and screaming, “Take me, big boy!” she’d done everything she could think of to let Peter know she was interested. From the time she’d started working for him two years ago, she’d tried to drop hints that his advances wouldn’t be unwelcome. She’d worn her skirts a little short and her blouses a little low. She’d worn a dozen different perfumes, trying to find one that would pique his interest. She’d worn her hair up and down, short and long, straight, curly, braided…She’d leaned close while they talked and fabricated excuses to interrupt him while he worked.

      Finally, when nothing seemed to catch his attention, she’d given up. A girl could only take so much humiliation, and her breaking point came the day she’d arrived at work to find another woman, half-dressed, leaving Peter’s room. Her theory that he must be gay had been shot all to hell, and she’d vowed then and there never to make another move on him.

      Unfortunately that pledge didn’t keep her eyes from wandering over his well-muscled form, or her heart from skipping a beat when he said her name in that low, reverberating voice of his.

      Not for the first time, she thought about quitting. She really should. She was talented, good at her job, and could probably find another position anywhere in the city within the week.

      But she liked this arrangement. Despite the personal misery she suffered on a daily basis, Peter was a great employer. She believed in what he was doing and enjoyed being a part of it.

      Besides, what other boss would spring for a gorgeous new evening gown and accessories that she would probably never have occasion to wear again?

      Lifting items from their bags, she began to peel out of her practical skirt and blouse, ignoring the skittering of awareness that skated down her spine when she realized she was standing half-naked in the middle of Peter’s bedroom. If only he were here with her, and she was stripping down to her skin for something other than an impromptu fashion show.

      Instead of bothering with the fancy undergarments she’d purchased to go with the dress, she remained in her normal bra and panty hose, and simply slipped the gown on overtop. She did trade her plain pumps for the black, glitter-covered velvet stilettos, though.

      Sweeping her hair back off her shoulders, she left the bedroom and crossed the short, carpeted hall to Peter’s office. She stopped in the doorway, leaned casually against the frame and watched his fingers fly over the keyboard.

      “So,” she said, catching his attention. “What do you think?”

      Two

      Peter glanced up from the computer screen, wondering why she hadn’t called for him when she was finished. He’d have gone over to the bedroom to see her new dress instead of making her come all the way over here.

      And then his brain stopped functioning altogether. Every thought in his head flew out his ears as he stared at the vision before him.

      He slid the wire-rim glasses from his nose to get a better look, but she still looked stunningly beautiful. Her hair fell about her face in an ebony curtain and the red satin of her gown, overlaid with black velvet in an intricate flowered pattern, brought out the rosy tint of her alabaster skin.

      And that was just from the neck up. From the neck down, she made his eyes sting, his mouth go dry and his nerve endings sizzle.

      He’d always known Lucy had a fabulous body. All the straight skirts and tailored jackets in the world couldn’t hide that. But this dress, with its spaghetti straps and scallop-edged bodice, high-slit skirt and the three to four inch heels that made her legs go on for eternity, brought out every nuance of her drop-dead figure.

      His gaze drifted over the generous swell of her breasts, the slim line of her waist, the gentle curve of her hips, and up again. Her ice-blue eyes met his and for the first time in his life, he found himself at a loss for words. Speechless, when he’d thought that was something only movie stars suffered because a script called for it.

      After several long seconds of complete, utter silence, Lucy interrupted his total lack of thought and started blood flowing back to his brain.

      “What?” she asked, glancing down at herself as though something was wrong with the awe-inspiring concoction she was wearing. “Don’t you like it? Should I take it back?”

      “No!” he yelped, too fast and too loud. Taking a breath, he tempered his tone and added, “It’s perfect. I was just…” Admiring the view…thinking sinful thoughts…looking for a way to get you out of it… “Thinking of all the heads you’re going to turn tomorrow night. We may have to beat men off with a stick.”

      Her cheeks colored prettily and she lowered her eyes for a moment. “Thank you.”

      “You won’t have any trouble stirring up interest for Reyware in that outfit.”

      He regretted the words as soon as they left his mouth. What was he thinking, effectively equating her attending the charity soiree in that dress to prostitution? Hey, Luce, how about fixing yourself up and coming to dinner with me so you can give new meaning to “pressing the flesh” and drum up a little financial support for my personal corporation?

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