Blame It on the Blackout. Heidi BettsЧитать онлайн книгу.
Peter would be damned if he’d burden another woman with that type of lifestyle, the way his father had burdened his mother. Especially a woman he cared for.
Marriage, family, happily ever after…they weren’t for him. His entire focus was on building his business and designing software to rival the competition. Which meant he had little or no time to devote to a relationship.
Even if he did…even if Reyware and Games of PRey were well-established enough to relax a bit, to go out and enjoy a healthy social life…he still wouldn’t.
For Peter, it was all or nothing. He could concentrate all of his efforts on business, or he could concentrate all of his efforts on finding a wife and starting a family. He couldn’t do both. And for now—probably for the next ten or twenty years—he chose to concentrate on his work.
It was a damn shame, though. Spending a few hours in the sack with Lucy might just have been worth losing time on a project or two.
The night of the charity event, Peter arranged for a limousine to pick Lucy up at seven o’clock. That gave her two and a half hours to get home from work, shower, change clothes, fix her hair and do her makeup.
It probably shouldn’t have taken her half that long, but she wasn’t used to attending high-priced dinners and fancy fund-raisers. And the thought of going with Peter, perhaps being mistaken for his latest bit of arm candy, had her stomach in knots.
Her apartment, only a few blocks from Peter’s town house in downtown Georgetown, was small, but served its purposes. She’d bought several paintings from a local art gallery and framed some pictures of her family and friends to decorate the otherwise sparse white walls. Small area rugs added color to the brown pile carpeting, and the African safari images on her full-size bedspread made her room feel—in her opinion, anyway—wild and exotic.
And, of course, there was Cocoa, her beautiful, long-haired calico cat, who always rushed to the door to greet her, but ran from anyone else.
“Hello, baby,” she cooed, heedless of the hairs covering her skirt and jacket as she swept the cat into her arms. Cocoa began to purr and nudge Lucy’s chin with the top of her head.
“All right, all right. You’re hungry, I know.”
As was their habit, she set the feline on the kitchen table while she opened a can of Deluxe Dinner and chopped it up into bite-size pieces on a platter with pastel pawprints and Cocoa’s name painted in flowing script.
“Enjoy your liver and chicken,” she said with a kiss to the top of the cat’s head. “I have a big party tonight and need to get ready.”
Every item she intended to wear to the benefit lay strewn across her bed, for fear she might forget something. After a quick shower, she rubbed moisturizer into her steam-warmed skin and dabbed her pulse points with her favorite perfume. Then she blew her hair dry and began the painstaking process of getting dressed.
She started with the matching bra and panty set she’d bought to go with the red satin and black velvet gown before sliding on the black silk thigh-highs the saleslady had talked her into. Thigh-highs or stockings and a garter belt, the woman had assured her, were much sexier than panty hose.
Personally, Lucy questioned the need for sexy lingerie for a nondate with her boss. She could walk out to the limo naked and doubted he would spare her more than a glance before once again burying his nose in his laptop.
With the expensive gown molding to every curve of her body, she swept her hair up and fixed it into a loose French twist at the back of her head. Makeup and jewelry came next, and she pretended not to notice the slight tremor in her fingers as she applied mascara and lipstick.
This was ridiculous. She was a grown woman, attending a charity event to raise money for domestic violence victims and hopefully stir up interest in Peter’s company. Not a geeky teenager attending the home-coming dance with the captain of the football team.
Steeling her spine with renewed determination, she slipped into high heels, grabbed the tiny sequined clutch with little more than a compact and lipstick inside and headed for the front door.
A glance at the microwave clock showed she was five minutes early, but if she headed downstairs now, she could meet the limousine when it arrived instead of making the driver buzz up for her.
She gave Cocoa one last stroke as the cat continued to lick her plate clean. “Be a good girl. I’ll be home as soon as I can.”
To her surprise, the limo pulled up just as she reached the double glass doors of her building. Draping a fringed black shawl around her shoulders, she went out to meet the car.
She half expected the driver to come around and hold the door for her, but instead the door opened on its own. Her steps faltered as a foot emerged, followed by a leg, an arm and finally a head of sandy-blond hair. She’d thought Peter was simply sending a car for her, that she would meet him at the hotel where the dinner was being held. Now, it looked as though she would have to ride there with him. In the back of the limo. In close proximity.
He stood on the curb, waiting for her, looking like the California version of James Bond in his black tuxedo, and she had to remind herself to breathe, then put one foot in front of the other until she reached his side. He smiled brightly, letting his gaze slide over her as he reached out a hand for hers.
“If possible,” he said, giving her fingers a gentle squeeze, “you look even more amazing tonight than you did yesterday.”
The compliment washed over her like a warm breeze, causing the corners of her mouth to lift.
And then, from behind his back, he produced a single long-stemmed red rose. “For you. I thought you might appreciate it more than a corsage.”
Although a small lump filled her throat at his thoughtfulness, she laughed. Peter could be incredibly charming when he wanted, but until this moment, she’d never been the recipient of that seductiveness.
She knew it wasn’t real. He was only being polite for this one night because she was doing him a favor by accompanying him to the fund-raiser.
Still, for her, for now, it was real. And there was no reason she shouldn’t enjoy it while it lasted. Soon enough—like first thing Monday morning—it would be back to work, back to their usual employer/employee relationship.
She lifted the bloom to her nose and inhaled its rich fragrance. “It’s beautiful, thank you.”
When their eyes met over the top of the rose, she thought she saw something deep and meaningful flash across his features, but it was just as quickly gone—if it had been there at all.
Clearing his throat, he moved away from the limousine and waved an arm for her to precede him. “Shall we?”
She nodded, stepping into the plush rear of the limo. Peter slid in beside her and the car rolled forward.
“Would you like something to drink?”
A bottle of champagne, already open, sat chilling in an ice bucket on the opposite seat. He poured a few inches of the golden liquid into a cut crystal glass and handed it to her before filling a flute for himself.
Lucy wasn’t much of a drinker, and normally she never would have started in the car on the way to an event where she knew she would probably consume even more alcohol. But tonight, her nerves were jumping like kernels of corn over an open fire. Maybe a few sips of champagne would calm them down.
“Thank you again for coming with me,” he said as the cool bubbles tickled their way down her throat. “I already feel more relaxed about the evening than if I were going alone or with a practical stranger.”
If the majority of Peter’s dates were “practical strangers,” he certainly cozied up to them enough to invite them in at the end of the night.
She took another gulp of wine to wash away the depressing thought. Peter’s love life was none of her business. His personal life was none of her business. Only his professional