Disclaimer: One Tree Hill and its characters belong to Mark Schwahn, The CW, etc. I'm simply whoring them for my own amusement.

Spoilers/Warnings: I'm screwing with pretty much everything in the OTH verse. For now if you've seen S1, you're golden.

Summary: AU. A one night stand blossoms into much more than Lucas and Peyton originally bargained for.

A/N: I love AU. I always have. Do I usually write AU? No. Though canon usually sucks major ass, I never feel compelled to tweak the world that the creator has built. But this fic kept plaguing me, and well... here we are. This takes place after high school and college, when everyone is either pursuing their careers or is already successful in them. Mostly this fic will follow Lucas & Peyton as they meet and fall in love, a fic I've been dying to write. Plus, it's going to be happy and shiny and not angsty (at all, if it can be helped). It starts off in L.A. but will eventually wind up in Tree Hill.

P.S. Yeah, I know I shouldn't be posting a new fic since Fault & Fracture is still nowhere near complete. But I needed something fun and not so... depressing. I'll do my best to even out the updates. If you guys like this, that is.

—

01. Just a Numbing Charade

I hate networking parties, Lucas Scott thought as he slipped through the door behind a pair of cackling women, nodding and exchanging handshakes as he made his way deeper inside the room filled with paparazzi, actors, models and musicians. Not to mention those of his ilk: authors. It was the last place he wanted to spend his last Friday before his book tour, but here he was, threatened and cajoled by his publicist as if he had no control of his own life. Which he didn't.

Stopping at the bar, he grabbed a Heineken then began to hobnob. The quicker he made his presence known the quicker he could get back to his hotel for a little Madden NFL action on the Wii, which was no doubt the reason that Alicia, his publicist, goaded him into attending the party tonight—to get him away from his gaming system.

He didn't have many friends in Los Angeles so whenever he was in town on business, he stayed in, ordered room service and attempted to master a new game on the Wii. That is, when he wasn't writing a book, which, at the moment, he was not.

He'd promised himself an hour—tops—to mingle, show his face, converse with people he didn't know and didn't care to know. Now that he was here, he had the overwhelming urge to turn tail and run back to his hotel. Like a little girl.

Meandering through the crowd, Lucas stopped to talk to a fellow author, one who commended Lucas's latest book, inquired to a sequel. Lucas simply smiled; it was all he could do, since a sequel wasn't neither planned nor plotted. Much to his editor's chagrin.

"Lucas Scott!"

Lucas heard his name in that nasally voice belonging to Janice Mitchell and schooled himself to be polite and personable—even if conversing with her made him want to cut off his ears, just to spare himself the unpleasantness of listening to her speak. Plastering a smile on his face, he turned to face the aspiring model, the bane of is existence, the woman that he literally wanted to squash with his shoe—if only it were possible.

"Janice, hey. Hi. How are you?" She did the air kiss thing that annoyed him beyond comprehension then proceeded to stick her left hand in his face, a glittering princess-cut diamond the size of Cuba adorning her ring finger. "Well. How about that? So, you're engaged?" He silently thanked God and any other deity that had brought a man to Janice to distract her attention from him. The woman had been chasing him since his first book had been released, during his first year of college. She had pursued him relentlessly yet somehow he had dodged all of her long-winded efforts for six long years.

Janice nodded vehemently, dropping her gaze to her finger. She sighed, the sound content, happy. "Stuart is a movie producer. It was love at first sight, if you can believe it."

He couldn't, he didn't. Lucas believed in many things—the Bermuda Triangle, the afterlife, ghosts—but love at first sight? There was no way that one could look at a person and simply know that they had found the one. It wasn't possible. Love came from getting to know a person—their family, their faults, their habits and quirks. Love developed over time, not in the space of a few seconds, from merely a look.

"Congratulations," he told her. Although he felt sorry for the poor sop who was planning to marry the woman, annoying as her voice was.

Janice gave him a sickeningly sweet smile. "Really, Lucas, I couldn't continue to wait for you. Surely, I'd die an old maid." She punctuated the barb with a nasally laugh and a nudge to his chest.

Lucas snapped his fingers. "Damn my bad luck. Another woman lost. My loss, I guess." Thank God. He couldn't picture himself—or any man in possession of all his faculties—that would tie himself to Janice. Willingly.

After another few moments of listening to her talk through her nose, Janice left his side, finding someone in the crowd more worthy of her company, an acquaintance of her soon-to-be-husband's, she'd said. Lucas found himself not bereaved of the loss one whit. He should probably be ashamed of himself. But he was not.

As he made his way back to the bar for a fresh beer, having digested the majority of his in an attempt to block out Janice's voice, his phone vibrated in his pants pocket. He fished it out, quickly flipping it open. Unsurprisingly, it was Haley.

"Lucas, it's Friday night, tell me that you're not at home in front of that useless video game." Though, he didn't see much of his longtime friend as he liked to, he always looked forward to her calls, even if the bulk of them were to chastise him or lecture him. Half the time while talking to her, he felt like he was having a conversation with his mother. One was plenty.

He rolled his eyes, gesturing to the bartender, thankful that these things had an open bar. "Of course not. I'm being productive, just like my publicist told me to. I am nothing if not an obedient puppy."

"Wait. Where are you?"

"At the Balsam in Hollywood Hills. I'm bored out of my fucking mind, too. I should've just said to hell with what Alicia wanted and stayed home. I could be packing. I should be packing." He usually hated when his book tours took him overseas, but this time he was actually looking forward to his itinerary. He was scheduled to stop in Paris, Rome, London, places that he'd always dreamt of visiting, but had never found the time to.

"You're here? At the Balsam?" Haley said, incredulous.

Lucas looked around, looking for the familiar brunette. "Are you here?" Though, he couldn't imagine what Haley could be doing at an industry event. In California.

"Yeah. Hold on. I see you. Stay at the bar."

Lucas snapped his phone closed, sliding it back into his pocket. He glanced into the crowd, saw Haley pushing her way through toward. She appeared at his side as the barkeep handed him his beer. "You're a sight for sore eyes!" she told him, hugging him tightly.

"As are you." She let him go, placing her drink order with the bartender as he asked, "What are you doing here?"

Haley didn't miss a beat. "Brace yourself. Are you braced? I've signed a record deal." Before Lucas could explode into congratulations, Haley went on to say, "My producer made me tag along with her tonight in an attempt to get my face out there. She's already hooked me up with a photographer that's going to do the photo shoot for my album and my first single is going to be remixed by will. i. am."

"Wow," Lucas gaped, at a loss for words. "Congratulations doesn't even fully convey how happy I am for you, Haley. I didn't even know that you were still pursuing music." He'd been away from home for awhile, having spent the last few months in Montana, researching and writing a book. Phone calls with Haley had been frequent, but a lot had went unsaid. Too much.

"I wasn't really," she confessed, "but I had sent out some demos a while back. I had despaired of ever hearing anything from anyone. But there I was sitting at one of Nathan's games and I struck up this conversation with the girlfriend of one of his teammates. She's the friend of a friend of this producer who is known for signing really obscure acts. Up-and-comers. Everyone knows everyone in this business, it seems. Anyway, I had to email her another demo and within a few days she was flying me out here—first class, might I add—to start recording. Isn't that something?"

"Yeah. So, um... what does Nathan say about all of this? I'm sure you've told him."

Haley smiled at Lucas, thankful for his attempt to remain civil in regards to his brother. The two had had a falling out a few years before and only conversed when it was absolutely necessary. She didn't dare intervene, but had remained close friends with the both of them. "I don't think he's processed it all yet, but, yeah, he's happy for me. He's a little disappointed that I won't be at his games anymore, though. As if I was the only one in the crowd cheering for him." Haley rolled her eyes.

"I'm sure you were the only one whose cheers meant anything, Haley." The words burned his throat on the way out, but they were the truth. Lucas knew how his brother felt about Haley and vice versa. Nathan and Haley hadn't been able to make a relationship work, but somehow they'd maintained their friendship. He knew that it meant a lot to Nathan to have Haley there, supporting him.

Their conversation was upended by the loud beeping of Haley's phone. He watched as Haley read the message, telling him, "That's her. I gotta go. She wants to introduce me to her fashion designer best friend who I'll be wearing for my album art." A delighted giggle escaped her mouth. With a kiss to his cheek, Haley disappeared into the crowd, leaving Lucas to his own devices.

After Haley had disappeared, he checked his watch, promising himself that he'd stick it out for another hour, then head back to his hotel. He stood at the bar, striking up a conversation with the woman next to him, watching the clock like it was a ticking time bomb.

—

A half-hour later Lucas found himself taking a reprieve outside. He was nursing a glass of Scotch, standing on the balcony, overlooking the gardens. He set his half-empty glass down on the stone railing, breathing in the warm air, reveling in the silence. That, however, was disturbed when he heard the door open behind him. He barely smothered a groan.

"Are you hiding, too?"

Lucas turned to the voice. A soft, seductive purr that sent chills through his body. She was pulling the door closed, clutching a small purse, her cell phone and a glass of wine in her hand. He didn't notice much about her appearance, cloaked in the darkness she was. But as she stepped near him, he noted her hair was dark, pulled back away from her face, accentuating high cheekbones and a pair of mesmerizing eyes whose color he couldn't discern despite the moonlight.

"It's quiet out here. I can't think in there," he told her, nodding his head to the ballroom that they had both vacated.

"I know what you mean," she said, setting her bounty on the railing, all her items in a neat row. Lucas would've laughed had she not begun talking. "In there every time you turn there's someone vying for your attention, some peon wanting to introduce you to his best friend's cousin's sister's great-uncle, twice removed who has this knack for singing or dancing or can act their way out of a wet paper bag. They all want something from you, whether it's your attention, your bed, or to turn them into the next Brad or Angelina." She sighed, lifting her glass to her lips. "It's overwhelming and taxing and not to mention very, very annoying."

"It goes with the territory."

She took a sip of her wine, swallowing as she nodded. "Yes. Yes, it does." Leaning her hip against the railing, she said, "You're not one of them, are you? Because you don't look one of them."

"One of them?" Lucas questioned. "Aren't you one of them?"

She gave him a condescending look and answered, "I look like one of them, but I assure you that I am not." She almost sounded disgusted at being his premature selective criticism.

"Then the same could be said for me," Lucas told her, wondering why he was chatting up a complete stranger. If he wanted to be honest with himself, he would admit that it was because he was lonely and not because he was simply biding his time until he could catch a cab home. It didn't bother noting that since this woman had joined him he hadn't checked his watch.

"I'm Peyton," she told him by way of introduction.

"Lucas," he said in kind.

"You're not much of a talker, are you, Lucas?" Peyton took another sip of wine. "I don't mind holding up most of the conversation, but some guys don't like their women chatty. It's all just a personal preference, really. So, tell me. How do you like your women?"

Well, that was a loaded question, now wasn't it? And Lucas was pretty certain she had intended it to be so. Before he could stop himself, he supplied, "Submissive."

"Hmm," Peyton said, tapping her chin with a perfectly manicured nail. "That's quite naughty. I like that in a man."

Lucas laughed, unable to help himself. "I don't know why I said that. I've never been into bondage or whips or chains or any of that stuff." Though, the prospect of her tied to his bed, at his mercy, suddenly held some appeal. He quickly banished the thought before it could take root and spur him into action.

Peyton stared down into her dwindling glass of wine. She had come to this party not only to show off her new client, but to find entertainment for the night. Not necessarily someone to take home, but someone that could engage her in conversation and not have her falling asleep standing up.

Though, a one night stand did sound appealing. After all, she didn't have time to date. The more clients she procured, the less time she had to find a man and keep him interested. And the ones that she did manage to lure and keep on the hook ran fast and far away once they got to know her. Plus, she was usually more successful than them—and most men didn't want successful women.

The man standing in front of her intrigued her. He was handsome, a boyish cute, really, and had that wholesome look to him. She wasn't normally attracted to that type of man. Maybe that was the point. Maybe the universe was giving her a hint that since her relationships with bad boys, slackers, and musicians, didn't pan out, she should leave herself open to the possibility of something worthwhile happening with a decent, honest guy.

"Yeah, me neither. I always figured that when I wanted to be that adventurous, it would happen once I got really serious—but probably not until I was married."

Lucas noted to himself that this was a bizarre conversation to have with a virtual stranger. Not to say that he'd initiate such a conversation with a woman he was dating—because he wouldn't. Hell. Maybe that's why his relationships ended so abruptly, because he wasn't so forthcoming with conversation. Food for thought.

"So, Lucas. Tell me… are you single? I don't see a wedding ring, or a line from one." Peyton had been casually checking out his hands as they'd talked. He had nice hands. Not those manicured, lotioned-up things that most guys in L.A. had, but a real man's hands. She wondered how they'd feel against her skin, plucking her nipples, sliding between her legs. She shook her head to get rid of the images that arose, but once they were planted they were there to stay. She stepped around Lucas, needing to move her suddenly warm body.

"Not married, no. Not dating anyone either. You?"

"Me? No, no, no," she answered. As an afterthought, she added, "Unfortunately," wanting to kick herself afterward. She didn't want to marry tomorrow, but eventually she did. Happily, if she could manage it. Her relationships were few and far between and those that she did manage to prolong only lasted a few weeks at most. Jake had been the exception, but that was high school. A lifetime ago.

Lucas cocked his head to the side, regarding her curiously. "But you want to be?"

"Doesn't every woman?"

"Most, yes," Lucas agreed, "but something tells me that you're not like most women."

She gave him a broad smile that had his heart singing. Never had a woman bestowed him such a gift. Peyton opened her mouth to say something, seemed to think better of it, then just shook her head. A moment later, she said, "I was thinking about a walk. Would you mind escorting me? One never knows what one may encounter in the dark."

They both knew that she wasn't talking about the walk in the garden, but their chance meeting out here. Lucas stepped back, waving his arm. "After you."

"A gentleman," she scoffed. "How depressing."

Lucas followed her down the steps, onto the stone path that led into the gardens. Peyton grew quiet, her face upturned towards the sky, the moon playing against her skin as it shifted in and out of the clouds. "I don't make a habit of this, you know," she disrupted the silence by saying. Lucas gave her a blank look. "I don't pick guys up. They pant after my heels, pursue me. I let them. I get lonely, I work long hours, I don't… I don't know why I'm telling you any of this."

"Sometimes it's easier with strangers. I've heard that from friends who have… well, anyway. I've heard that it's easier to talk to a stranger than to tell someone you know that you're lonely or that you secretly want to be tied up and spanked."

Peyton attempted a glare, but wound up smirking instead. "I never said I wanted to be spanked. I could be coerced into being tied up, though. With silk ties." They stopped walking as Peyton reached out to finger his tie. Silk. "Mmm. Well. Maybe this is a sign."

"Don't most guys in L.A. have silk ties?"

"Yes, but not all the guys in L.A. are standing here with me talking about spanking and tying me up."

"True," he conceded. "So, very true."

Curious, Peyton asked, "So, would you be interested?"

"In what? The tying up or the spanking?" It had been a long time since Lucas had openly flirted with a woman. However, this kind of flirtation was dangerous. Especially when the other party seemed extremely intent on broadening his bedroom activities. Not that he had a problem with that. He was kind of rusty with the whole one night stand scene. He hadn't engaged in one since high school and that itself had been a disaster.

Peyton grinned, liking this Lucas with every second that passed. She thought about his question for a second. "Do I warrant the spanking? Have I been a bad girl?"

"Truthfully?"

"Of course."

Lucas held her gaze for a long moment before he replied. The air was charged around them and he just couldn't help his reply. "No, you haven't been bad. There's still time for that to change."

Peyton felt a shiver travel up and down her spine in response to his words. She licked her lips. "Do you have to go back inside?" she asked him, having a hard time getting her breathing under control.

Lucas shook his head. "Nah. I was leaving soon anyway."

"Want to leave now?"

Lucas followed Peyton into her posh studio, taking in the open space, the various art supplies that were strewn about, the mounds and mounds (and mounds and mounds) of albums that congregated an entire wall. Speaking of walls, they were red. Bright red, at that. The color spoke of Peyton's personality, hinted that she'd been hurt in the past. On the far side of the room, a huge black contemporary bed sat in front of a bevy of windows, unmade, begging to be filled. He pulled at his collar.

"I know it's a mess. Please don't judge. It's not usually like this." Lucas grinned at her, as if he didn't believe her. She threw up her hands. "Okay. Alright. So, it's always like this. Just… please… ignore everything."

Lucas bent over, plucking a scrap of material off the floor. "Even this?" he asked, swinging a black lace bra pinched between his fingers.

Peyton quickly snatched it from him, clutching it behind her hand. "Yes. Even that. Keep this up and you'll be choking on it, instead of pulling it off with your teeth."

Peyton spun on her heel, leading him into the kitchen. She threw the bra into a cabinet under the sink while Lucas looked on with amusement. Then, crossing to the refrigerator, she pulled open the door to survey its contents, all of it meager and outdated. Finally, she found two beers stashed toward the back from the last time Brooke had been in town and dropped in unannounced, as she was known to do. Just hopefully not tonight, Peyton silently prayed.

Lucas took the proffered beers, snapping off the caps easily. He handed Peyton back hers, turning around to take stock of Peyton's place. "This is nice."

"Messy," she corrected, moving to stand beside him. "You meant to say messy."

"I did not," he insisted, turning his head so that she didn't see him smirking. "This is nice. The chaos and destruction notwithstanding."

"I work a lot. I don't have time to clean. When I am home, I'm in bed."

Lucas felt his heart stop in his chest—and he had a heart condition! He tried not to visibly choke on his beer, but it was hard not to when she was throwing around comments like that. After all, it was only a matter of time before they found themselves rolling around in that bed with their clothes off.

Peyton pounded on his back when it looked as if Lucas was going to choke on his drink. She hadn't touched his skin, but she was still shocked by the electricity that scorched her hand, her fingers, and spread through her entire body. It had never been like this, like a need, a craving. Not even with Jake and she'd had it pretty bad for him. No this was different and that should scare her. It didn't.

"I'm a pretty nice guy, but if you keep talking about bed, I might have to haul you over there and throw you down on yours," he said, nodding to the bed in the far corner of the room.

Her hand still on his back, Peyton breathed heavily, "Well, I was hoping to corrupt you," she admitted, jokingly. Kind of.

"You're doing a fine job of that. I've thought of little less but stripping you naked and bearing you down on the floor." Or the bed, he wasn't really particular. The floor was closer, though. And Lucas was a big fan of easy access.

"This floor?" she said, dumbly, feeling her intelligence slowly slipping away with every word they exchanged.

"Is there another floor you prefer? The bathroom floor, perhaps?"

Peyton frowned. "Definitely not. It's tile. Cold. Plus, there's the bathtub. I don't fancy smacking my head on it while you're—" She snapped her mouth shut.

"Oh, no. Don't stop. Finish that sentence," Lucas urged, curious as to what it was that she was about to say. No doubt it was something very, very interesting—and delightfully naughty.

"I'd rather not," she replied meekly, her bravado having fled.

Lucas tipped up her chin with one hand, his other hand curling around her hip to pull her close. "It's been awhile since I've done this, you might have to help navigate me."

"I'll be gentle," Peyton murmured just before Lucas swooped in and took her mouth, licking and nibbling her lips until her mouth parted on a gasp and his tongue swept inside to tangle with hers.

Everything happened in a flurry. Within the span of a few seconds, Lucas had her dress pooled around her feet, her bra undone, his hand cupping her breast in his warm palm. Neither of them stopped to think, to breathe, they were too focused on the physical, the feeling.

His hands were everywhere, warming skin that previous lovers had left cold, skin that had gone untouched for days, weeks, months. Lucas worshipped her body with his hands and mouth, making her moan, beg, plead.

Peyton barely comprehended the tearing of fabric, Lucas tossing what had formerly been her panties over his shoulder, she was so consumed by her hunger, her want, her need. She barely recognized Lucas's intent when he grasped her hips, lifted her up, and planted her on the countertop. Not until he pushed her legs wide and fell to his knees did she realize what he was about. Then his mouth touched her intimately and she fell backwards with a silent scream.

Lucas wasn't the type of man to worry just about himself, about his own pleasure, finding his own orgasm. He'd listened to locker room talk in high school, listened to his classmates brag about getting theirs, leaving their girlfriends to find their finish themselves. He always thought it a selfish practice, which was why when he started having sex, he focused on his partner first. The women he was with always appreciated it afterward, like Peyton was appreciating it now. She was moaning and writhing beneath his mouth, her hips thrusting upwards to meet his flicking tongue. He pulled away, kissing her thigh, reveling in her cry of distress.

"You can't just stop!" she cried.

"Of course I can."

Peyton spluttered. But then his mouth was on hers again and there was no further need of her complaints. She laid back and concentrated on what the wild and wicked things Lucas was doing to her with his mouth, reaching and reaching for her climax, caught off-guard when light exploded behind her eyes and her entire body caught on fire.

Her body was still calming down when Lucas lifted her from the countertop, spreading her out beneath him on the floor. "Are you alright?" he asked her, looking at her, a bit perplexed.

"Just having a little trouble catching my breath, is all. I'll be fine." Reaching between them, Peyton enclosed his erection in her fist, enjoying the hissing of Lucas's breath when she squeezed him.

Lucas dropped his head onto her chest as she began to stroke him—hard, steady and slow. Torturously slow. He wouldn't be able to take much more or else he was going to make a cake of himself all over her tiny little hand. When her thumb grazed the head of his shaft, he pushed her hand away. He pushed her hands above her head, holding them in place with one hand while his other took his shaft in hand and pushed inside her.

"Oh, God, Lucas!" Peyton cried when Lucas pulled out and slammed back into her. They both moaned with pleasure. Lucas settled more firmly between Peyton's legs as her legs circled his waist and she dug her nails into his back as he thrust inside her over and over again, pushing her toward a climax that had her biting his shoulder to muffle her screams of rapture.

—

Hearing Lucas moving around the room, Peyton stirred from sleep. Her dreams had been filled with recollections of the past night with Lucas, the sex, the conversation. Mostly they were snippets of events that hadn't happened yet… but could—if she asked him to stay, told him that she wanted more. Doing so would leave her vulnerable, open to disappointment if Lucas didn't feel the same.

Peyton searched the darkened room for Lucas; she could hear him moving around, so she knew that he hadn't left—yet. She spotted his silhouette beside the kitchen counter, where he was pulling on his shirt, straightening the collar. "I didn't mean to wake you," she heard him say from across the room.

She turned over, pushing her back up against the headboard, tucking the sheet around herself as she switched on the beside lamp. She rubbed her sleepy eyes, insisting, "It's okay. I wasn't really sleeping anyway."

Lucas approached the bed, sitting down beside her once she scooted over to make room for him. He picked up her hand, brushing a kiss to her knuckles. "I'm leaving this morning, Peyton. To go on tour."

Peyton felt her face fall. No. He couldn't be. He didn't look— "You're a musician?" She heard the accusation in her voice and secretly hoped that she was the only one that noticed.

"Hardly," he scoffed, setting her straight quickly. "An author." Lucas watched her visibly brighten. Peyton didn't like musicians. Noted.

"So when you say tour… you mean a book tour?"

Lucas nodded. "This is the last leg of my tour for my most recent book. I'm headed overseas. I'll be gone six weeks." Peyton said nothing in response. "I'd like to see you again when I come back."

Peyton felt her entire body tighten and warm with his words. Last night had been remarkable and she hadn't wanted it to end. She would have let him go, though, if that had been what he'd wanted, if he'd wanted to just turn and walk away. Somewhere between last night and this morning, she'd come to want more, hope that he wanted more, too. Now, she didn't know what she wanted. So, she did what she normally did when something like this happened—she opted for excuses.

"Is that wise?" she asked him. "Wanting more from what was supposed to be a one night stand?" Here was this really great guy, who liked her and wanted to pursue a relationship with her and she was letting her neurosis, her fear of intimacy, interfere. God, she was such a coward. It was no wonder she was alone and miserable.

"No, it probably isn't wise," Lucas agreed. "It's probably stupid as hell, but I just know that if I walk out that door and never look back, I'll always wonder, What if? So, I'm not going to do that—walk away. Instead, I'm going to tell you that I like you and want to see you again. I want to see where this leads, Peyton. If it leads anywhere at all. I mean… if you want to."

A hundred rejections formed on her tongue. She should say no, just tell him to go, that it was best that they end things here. She didn't know much about him, but she wanted to. She wanted to be in a relationship, see it blossom, fall in love… Yes. She wanted the same thing that he did, whether it worked out or not. She had to at least try. Her mind made up, she said, "Okay."

"Okay?" Lucas repeated, a little surprised that she'd agreed so readily. He'd been prepared to talk her into it. "Okay. Okay. Well, then. I should go. Because I have a plane to catch," Lucas babbled. He leaned forward to kiss her—a kiss goodbye, a kiss to seal the promise that they'd just spoken—why, he couldn't be sure. Either way, he hadn't anticipated Peyton taking the kiss a step further, pushing her tongue into his mouth, pulling him down on top of her. Her fingers danced across his skin, making him burn. "You're going to make me miss my plane," he told her, breaking the kiss as she pushed his shirt from his shoulders.

"So you'll take a later one."

Objections died on his tongue when she ground herself against his erection. With an invitation like that, how could he refuse?

Lucas let Peyton tease him back under the sheets, ignoring the clock and the incessant ringing of his phone. He wouldn't see her for two months, therefore he wanted to make the most of the time they had together.

When he finally made his way out of her loft four hours later, it was with a huge grin on his face, her email and phone numbers programmed into his Blackberry. Two months was a long time to be apart entering a new relationship, but technology was a great thing, he thought when he received her first text message as he was returning to his hotel: How do you feel about phone sex?

Christ.