Blame It on the Blackout Read Free

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.
    â€œI 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.
    â€œRemind me to have a couple of drinks before I open the bill,” he returned. “In the meantime, how about a little fashion show?”
    Eyes wide, she shook her head. “I don’t think so.”
    â€œCome 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 becausehe started up the stairs without her. “You can use my bedroom to change. And this way, I’ll know what color corsage to order.”
    â€œCorsage?” 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.
    â€œGive 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