Ultimate Warriors (27 page)

     
Her
stomach executed an Olympic grade back flip. This guy outshone every last
poster on her wall. God, he was hot.
Scorching.
Just
touching him would probably give her third degree burns.

     
"Did
you want me for something?" she asked.

     
"Oh, yeah."
He let the words hang there in the air
between them until she blushed. "Can I join you?"

     
"Me?"
He had to be kidding. No man in his league had ever even blinked in her
direction.

     
His gaze
drifted over her, sending little tingles zapping all over her skin. "I saw
you sitting here," he said. "And I
thought,
what a crime such a beautiful girl has to eat lunch alone. I’ll buy you lunch,
babe."

     
She
stared at him for a good five seconds before she realized he was waiting for
some kind of reply. "Sure," she said, waving toward the empty booth
seat opposite.

     
Oh,
wait. What about Clark? She gave another glance toward the door. Well, heck. He
was late. It would serve him right to find her with another man. Not that it
mattered. After all, it wasn’t as if she and Clark had anything going on.

     
She
swallowed a little pang of guilt as the hottie’s perfect butt slid across the
vinyl bench seat.

     
She
shoved a menu at him. "What would you like?"

     
He held
her gaze. "I’m looking at it, babe."

     
"Oh,"
squeaked Blossom, her throat suddenly dry. She licked her lips. His incredible
eyes darkened.

     
Oh, God.

     
"What
did you say your name was?" she asked.

* * * *

     
Saturday, 12:31 p.m.

     
Eleven
hours, twenty-nine minutes, and counting...

     
The key
to success in any venture, Clark decided as he hurried to his lunch date with
Blossom, lay in careful research and meticulous planning. Of course, promptness
didn’t hurt either. He checked his watch and winced. He was late, late,
late
. He hoped Blossom didn’t think he’d stood her up.

     
He
clutched his laptop case in one hand, thinking of the extra items it held.
Items he’d purchased, then promptly hidden in the zippered and Velcroed
pockets. The store he’d visited was the kind that didn’t open until noon, and
it had taken a little time--after he’d recovered from pure shock--to sort
through its offerings. After all, the fate of the world depended on his
choices.

     
He hurried
the last few steps to the Burger Shack and shoved open the door.

     
And stopped dead in his tracks.

     
Shit.

     
Bruce
Wynn was in town.

     
Clark
plowed through the knot of customers at the door. He’d known Bruce was coming
to hit on Blossom, but the fact hadn’t registered until now. His stomach
lurched as Bruce’s manicured hand crept across the table to stroke Blossom’s
fingers. He said something. She laughed.

     
No way
was this happening, Clark thought darkly. Blossom was much too nice a girl to
get caught by a predator like Bruce. Clark pushed his glasses up the bridge of
his nose and squared his shoulders. His grip tightened on the handle of his
laptop case.

     
He
marched to Blossom’s rescue.

     
"Clark,"
Blossom said, not quite meeting his gaze.

     
"I
thought we had a lunch date," Clark said tersely.

     
Bruce
lounged back, draping one arm over the back of the booth seat, an amused smile
playing on his lips.

     
Blossom’s
eyes sparked with annoyance. "You were
late,
Clark, but luckily I got another invitation for lunch." She waved a hand
across the table. "This is Bruce."

     
"Pleased
to meet you," Bruce said.

     
"Bruce
thought it would be a shame if I had to eat alone," Blossom said.

     
"I’m
sure," said Clark dryly.

     
"A
word of advice," Bruce said, talking to Clark but keeping his gaze trained
on Blossom. "Never leave a beautiful woman waiting."

     
Blossom
giggled, soaking it up. Puh-lease, thought Clark. How could an intelligent girl
like Blossom not see through Bruce’s act? It was incomprehensible.

     
Clark
shifted his laptop to his other hand. "I’m sorry I’m late," he said
to Blossom. "But I really couldn’t help it. Come on. Tell this joker to
get lost."

     
"I
can’t," said Blossom. "We’ve already ordered. Maybe you and I could
get together some other time."

     
"Fine,"
said Clark. "I’ll wait until you’re done lunch and walk you back to
campus."

     
"Oh,"
said Blossom, looking nonplussed. "That won’t work. Bruce said he’d drive
me."

     
"Dinner, then?"

     
"I’m
working late."

     
"I’ll
pick you up."

     
She
shook her head. "No. Bruce and I--"

     
"Forget
it," Clark cut in. "Just forget it."

     
He
turned on his heel and strode off, seething.

     
"Clark..."
Blossom called.

     
He
paused, hopeful, not daring to turn.

     
"Let
him go, babe," Bruce said. "He’ll cool off."

     
"I
guess you’re right," he heard Blossom say.

     
Clark
trudged on, toward the rear of the restaurant. He couldn’t afford to leave the
building, not with Bruce drooling over Blossom like a condemned man over his
last slice of cheesecake. He banged into the men’s room, deep in thought. He
needed help, and fast.
But who...

     
That’s
it. He tore open a pocket on his laptop case and slid out his cell phone. No
signal. Well, it freaking figured, didn’t it? He just couldn’t catch a break on
this assignment.

     
He
climbed up on a sink and held the phone near the single window, high up on the
wall, trying to catch a satellite beam.

     
The door
creaked open, admitting an elderly man. He gave Clark a startled glance, then
shuffled over to a urinal and unzipped his pants.

     
The
phone beeped. Yes! Clark punched in a number and waited grimly for an answer.

     
"Hello?"

     
He
didn’t beat around the bush. "Diana. You’ve got to help me."

     
"Clark?
Is that you?" Diana’s breathless little laugh wafted over the wireless
connection. "I thought you were on assignment."

     
"I
am. And it was going fine. But now Bruce is in town and he’s going to blow it
for me. He’s going to have Blossom in bed before dinner."

     
The old
codger at the urinals looked up from his business and shot Clark an interested
glance.

     
Clark
lowered his voice, trying to keep his footing on the edge of the sink.
"You’ve got to help me, Diana."

     
He could
almost see her inspecting her long, red fingernails for flaws. "I don’t
know, Clark..."

     
He
wasn’t in the mood for her games. "Come on. You know you owe me."

     
The old
man zipped up.

     
"Owe
you?
For what?"

     
"Programming your DVD player, for one thing.
Updating the virus protection on your PC.
And what about
last spring when I reset every clock in your house for Daylight Savings Time?
What are you going to do in October when you have to set them all back
again?"

     
A long silence, broken only by the flush of the urinal.

     
"Diana..."

     
She gave
a little sigh. "Oh, all right. I guess I can help you out, if it doesn’t
take too long. I’m in the middle of something."

     
"What?"

     
"Shopping.
In downtown Megalopolis.
And you know how hard it is for a superheroine to get a free afternoon."

     
"Megalopolis?"
Clark laughed out loud.
Finally, a break.
"Perfect. How far are you from
MPI?"

     
"About
ten minutes," Diana said. "Why? What do you want me to do?"

     
The old
man shuffled up to the sink next to Clark’s and cocked his eyebrows.

     
"Get
lost," Clark told him.
"No, not you, Diana."

     
"Hmph,"
Diana said.

     
Clark
waited while the old man dried his hands and creaked out the door.

     
"Clark?
Are you still there? I haven’t got all day, you know. I have a facial at
four."

     
"You’ll
be done way before then," Clark assured her, and proceeded to outline his
plan.

* * * *

     
Saturday, 12:57 p.m.

     
Eleven
hours, three minutes, and counting...

     
Clark
had to admit, Diana really had a flair for the dramatic. And she showed up
right on cue, just as the Burger Shack waitress brought Bruce the check. She’d
outdone herself with the costume. Clark barely recognized her.

     
He
watched as Diana, garbed in a shapeless, colorless housecoat, waddled through
the restaurant. He wasn’t sure what she’d stuffed under her dress to simulate
an eight-and-a-half month pregnancy, but from his position at the door to the
men’s room, her round stomach looked pretty damn convincing. Pink foam rollers
stuck out all over her head and fuzzy pink slippers encased her feet.

     
Clark
had lusted after Diana for years, but in all that time, he’d never seen her
without makeup. Amazingly, without cosmetic assistance, Diana’s looks hovered
around average. Blossom’s fresh, unadorned complexion was much more appealing.
Clark mused over the discovery. Who would have guessed it?

     
Diana,
clearly enjoying herself, waltzed halfway down the aisle. She stopped, made a
big show of spotting Bruce and Blossom, and let out an earsplitting shriek.

     
Every
head in the place turned.

     
"You!"
she cried, marching up to Bruce and jabbing him on the shoulder with one
finger.
"You ... you ... worthless, low-life, two-timing
excuse for a man!"

     
"Diana?"
Bruce said.

     
Clark
chuckled. Old Bruce was pretty slow on the uptake. He didn’t even have the
presence of mind to pretend ignorance.

     
Blossom
gasped. "You know this woman?"

     
"Know
me?" Diana yelled. She smoothed her hands over her impressive girth,
arching her back and thrusting her belly in Bruce’s face. "I’d say my
husband knows me pretty damn well, wouldn’t you?"

     
A
purple-haired lady at the next table looked up from her lemon meringue pie.
"I’d say so, honey."

     
Bruce’s
eyes bugged out. "What the hell--"

     
"Oh.
My.
God."
Blossom scooted down to the end of
booth seat. "You’re married?"

     
"No,"
said Bruce, grabbing her wrist. "I’m not. Don’t go. I don’t have anything
to do with this." He glared at Diana. "It’s a set up."

     
"Don’t
you believe him, girlfriend," the lady with the purple hair advised.

     
"Right.
Whatever." Blossom slapped Bruce’s arm
with her backpack. "Let me go."