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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 holdthe 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.
    â€œIf 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.
    â€œWould 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.
    â€œThank you again for coming with me,” he said as the cool bubbles tickled their way down her throat. “Ialready feel more