Blame It on the Blackout. Heidi Betts

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СКАЧАТЬ in his direction, she leaned close enough to be heard and whispered, “Relax.” She covered his clenched fist with the palm of her hand, gently stroking his warm skin until his grip on the linen loosened. Setting the napkin aside, she slipped her free hand beneath the lapel of his tuxedo jacket and retrieved the stack of index cards she knew would be there.

      “Take a deep breath,” she ordered in a soft, soothing tone. “You’ve done this a million times before, you’ll be fine. And if all else fails, remember to picture everyone naked.”

      His head whipped around and his gaze, hot, green and intense, drifted over her, lingering a little too long on the area of her waist and breasts.

      “Not me,” she growled with a roll of her eyes, putting three fingers to his cheek and pushing him away.

      The City Women president smiled brightly as she finished her introduction and the spotlight swung to Peter. Lucy shoved the note cards into his hand and urged him to his feet before joining in on the applause.

      In the end, he had nothing to worry about. His speech was both funny and poignant, delivered with perfect pitch by a man who could flirt a nun out of her habit. Before he finished, Peter promised to continue refurbishing and donating used PCs for the organization’s use, earning him a standing ovation and another round of boisterous applause. The City Women then gifted him with a plaque in appreciation of his aid.

      From there, everyone moved across the hall to a second ballroom where an orchestra was set up to play for the rest of the night, as well as four cash bars that would split their profits with the hosting charity.

      Now that his speech was over, Peter was much more relaxed and willing to mingle with a crowd that obviously adored him. And Lucy knew this was her cue to spring into action. To approach some of D.C.’s wealthiest citizens and talk up Peter’s freshman software company, convincing them that any man who would volunteer so much time and money to such a worthy cause certainly deserved a modicum of support for his own interests. She would set up appointments for them to visit Peter at home, see samples of his work and discuss his plans for the future of Reyware.

      Two long, exhausting hours later, Lucy had set up twenty-odd meetings for the following weeks and was fighting not to yawn and offend all the people she’d just spent half the night trying to impress.

      Coming up behind her, Peter slid an arm around her waist, resting his chin on the slope of her shoulder. “Have we put in our time yet? Can we get the hell out of here?”

      “I thought you were enjoying yourself,” she said without turning around.

      “Making the most of a bad situation…it’s not quite the same thing. So how about it—wanna blow this Popsicle stand?”

      She checked her watch. Nearly midnight. “I suppose it wouldn’t be too terribly rude to leave now. We have been here for almost four hours.”

      “Feels like six. Besides, I want to get home and find a place to hang my new plaque.” He waved the chunk of wood and gold plating in front of her as they made their way to the outskirts of the ballroom and sneaked off—hopefully—without being noticed.

      The elevators were free, the doors sliding open as soon as Peter punched the down button. They were alone inside the carpeted, glass-walled car, and Lucy once again spotted signs of strain bracketing his mouth, his fingers clenching around the brass handhold that ran along all three sides.

      “Do you have a problem with elevators?” she asked, drawing his attention from the glowing red numbers above the door.

      “Elevators? No, why?”

      “Because you seem awfully uncomfortable. I noticed it on the ride up earlier, too. We could have taken the stairs, you know.”

      He shook his head. “I’m fine. I just like getting off elevators more than I like getting on them.”

      That was an understatement, she thought, but didn’t say anything more since they were only going from the fourth floor to the lobby. But then the lights flickered and Peter glanced up in alarm. A second later, the entire car went dark, lurching to a stop somewhere between floors as the cables and computerized panels groaned in protest.

      “What’s going on? Why aren’t we moving?” Peter wanted to know, banging on the controls as though hitting all the buttons at once would miraculously send them back into motion.

      “I think the power might be out,” she told him, waiting for her vision to adjust to the pitch-black.

      “Oh, God. How long do you think it will take them to get it back on?”

      She shrugged and then realized he couldn’t see her. “You know how these things are. Sometimes the electricity only flickers off for a few minutes, other times it takes all night.”

      “Oh, God,” he groaned.

      Peter’s breathing echoed off the walls, heavy and exaggerated. She reached out, feeling for him, until her fingertips encountered the soft fabric of his tuxedo jacket.

      “Take it easy, Peter. The elevator isn’t even moving now.”

      “That’s the problem,” he gritted out, punctuating each word with a hard rap to the metal doors. “The damn thing isn’t moving!”

      A shiver of dread skated down her spine. “I thought you didn’t like being in elevators because of that weird up-and-down sensation you get in your stomach.”

      “Ha!” The sound came out strangled and his breathing grew even more ragged. Beneath her hand, the muscles of his arm bunched and released.

      “It’s not elevators,” he snapped. “They haven’t invented an elevator yet that moves fast enough for me. It’s enclosed spaces. I can’t stand small, enclosed spaces.”

      Three

      Uh-oh.

      “You’re claustrophobic?”

      How could he be claustrophobic? And how could she not know about it?

      She’d been working with him for two years now. She knew his favorite foods, his favorite color, his favorite pair of boxer shorts, for heaven’s sake. How could she have missed the fact that he was claustrophobic?

      “Just a little.”

      His response came out on a wheeze and she realized he was seriously downplaying just how upset he was by this sudden set of circumstances.

      “All right, let’s not panic,” she said, as much to herself as to him. She moved closer, rubbing his arm, his shoulder. “The power will probably come right back on. Until then, why don’t you tell me how long you’ve had this little problem.”

      “Forever. Long as I can remember.” A beat passed while he sucked in air like a drowning victim. “Is it hot in here? It’s too hot in here.”

      She felt him struggling to shed his jacket even though she didn’t think the temperature had gone up a single degree since the lights went off. His high level of anxiety probably had his internal thermostat going haywire.

      “Here, let me help.” She took the suitcoat, folding it in half and setting it aside in СКАЧАТЬ