Dance with a Stranger

by Meredith Knight

Lois caught a waiter's eye and he changed direction instantly, threading his way expertly through the knots of chattering guests towards her. He held out his tray and bowed as she exchanged her empty glass for a full one; not so much from an excess of politeness, she suspected, as to hide the direction of his glance.

She turned away, resisting the urge to check that her costume was still covering her decently. Decent, she reminded herself, was a matter of opinion; she was showing less actual skin than she normally did at the beach, and far less than Cat Grant was as she twirled about the dance floor in the mayor's sweaty grasp. And what were those strips of leopard skin intended to portray, anyway - you-Tarzan-me-Jane?

The orchestra ended the waltz with a flourish and the couples on the dance floor halted, applauding politely. Lois lifted the gauze away from her mouth to sip her sherry and cast another glance around the room, wondering whether her partner had seen fit to turn up yet. She'd passed Jimmy earlier, failing miserably to live up to his Rhett Butler costume as he stammered something incoherent into the ear of a giggling Rapunzel, but so far she hadn't spotted Clark. Not that she was guaranteed to recognise him instantly, in costume... but someone his size was hard to miss, and she had a sinking feeling he'd be wearing some awful home-made getup which would make him stick out like a sore thumb in this glittering throng.

Why, oh why, had she yielded to the impulse to ask him out tonight? It wasn't as though being on his arm was going to make her look good, and so far he hadn't even been useful for fending off the amorous and inebriated - speaking of which...

"It's Angelique, isn't it? You must remember me, my dear - we met in the harem of the Turkish sultan. The name's Hood, Robin Hood."

And why, in the name of heaven, had she allowed Lucy to persuade her that a pair of gauze pyjamas, however ornately spangled, was suitable attire for Metropolis's social event of the year? That blue-white Ice Queen dress would have been perfect for freezing out the sort of oaf who thought any unattended woman would be delighted to be pawed at by drunken strangers... instead, she'd let herself be talked into looking like something out of the pages of Playboy.

Lois drew a breath - not too deep, or she'd find herself popping out of her top - and turned, marshalling her resources for a withering blast of sarcasm, but it proved unnecessary. The hapless Robin was sweeping off his feathered cap and bowing low; a second later, his quarterstaff had become inextricably tangled with his legs and he'd landed in a Lincoln-green heap on the floor. Lois let out a contemptuous snort and moved away, hoping his loss of dignity would at least make him think twice about trying to introduce himself again.

The lights flickered as she made her way out of the ballroom into the relative quiet of the entrance hall, and thunder rumbled ominously: the storm that had been threatening all day was finally breaking, right above Metropolis. Then there was a burst of conversation and Lois looked up to see the elite of Metropolis, those wealthy and privileged enough to have attended the Gala Dinner before the ball itself, cascading down the stairs, escorted by the man Lois had come here to meet.

The most eligible bachelor in Metropolis, and the most secretive. The man Lois was dying to interview.

Lex Luthor.

He was wearing a historical costume with a short leather tunic and a metal breastplate, a sword belted at his side and a crested helmet on his head. His legs were bare below the tunic except for the leather thongs of his sandals. Most men would have looked silly in what amounted to a skirt; Luthor looked barbaric and magnificent.

Lois drained her glass in one swift gulp and set it down on a nearby table, then moved towards the stairs, composing herself for her big moment. As she did so, a brilliant flash of lightning lit up Luthor's face and an almost simultaneous crack of thunder startled gasps from several of the female guests.

Even the weather was cooperating to give him a grand entrance...

Lois gave herself a swift mental shake. She had to make an impression on the man, and star-struck awe was not going to give her the right result.

She'd always imagined herself calling out Luthor's name from several yards away and having him turn in answer to her summons, but the yashmak over the lower half of her face made a commanding tone difficult. She had to settle for standing in his way and trusting that he'd notice her before he knocked her over. He was speaking to one of his guests as he approached, and for a moment she thought he was going to brush past her, but then his head turned and he stopped dead in his tracks.

Score one for Lucy, Lois thought triumphantly, forgiving her sister in that instant. The effect of her costume on the jaded businessman was, indeed, everything she could have hoped for. She saw his fascinated gaze take it all in: the yashmak, the tight, low-cut satin bodice with its full gauze sleeves in matching rose, her exposed midriff with its dusting of glitter and the huge fake jewel that Lucy had managed to glue into her navel, and the brief satin shorts which turned into long, loose gauze pantaloons.

As Luthor's gaze drifted upwards again, Lois bent and touched her fingertips to her heart, lips and forehead. "Lex Luthor," she said, straightening. "You haven't returned my calls."

His eyes widened. He nodded to his guest without taking his eyes off her, then stepped forward and took her hand.

"Lois Lane, Daily Planet," she said formally.

His mouth quirked. "I'm charmed to finally make your acquaintance," he said. He bowed over her hand and she thought he was going to kiss the back in the conventional fashion; then he turned it over in his grasp and pressed a kiss into her palm instead. His lips were warm and slightly moist - or was it her hands that were sweaty from nerves?

She fought the impulse to wipe her palms on her costume and gave what she hoped was a cool smile as he straightened up and stepped closer to her. In the ballroom, the orchestra struck up another waltz. "Shall we dance?" he said, and without waiting for a response swept her through the double doors and into his arms.

He was a skilful dancer, she noted; but it wasn't to dance with him that she'd come here tonight. "I've been hoping to set up an interview with you, Mr Luthor," she said.

"Please, call me Lex."

She smiled. "Lex, then. I know you very seldom give interviews -"

"I'm sure you can understand, Lois, that a businessman in my position has to be careful. And I've had one or two bad experiences with the press -"

"But not with me."

Lex tightened his hold on her waist, drawing her closer against him, and executed a series of swift turns that left her breathless and slightly dizzy. "Why don't we make it dinner," he murmured into her ear, and suddenly dipped her.

As she choked back a gasp and relaxed into the dip, she caught sight of his eyes sweeping down her body. The lascivious gleam in them took her quite by surprise.

Was it possible he'd got completely the wrong impression about what she wanted from him? Damn Lucy and her scheme for getting Luthor's attention by looking like something out of an adolescent wet dream!

He lifted her back to her feet, his arm tight around her waist. The embrace was suddenly too close; his hand felt clammy against the naked skin of her exposed waist. Lois felt herself stiffening, their formerly effortless dancing becoming awkward, as she tried to think what to say that would make it clear her interest in him was purely professional, without sounding either priggish or insulting. She was still at a loss, though, her heart starting to pound claustrophobically, when his grip suddenly loosened and they halted.

"Mind if I cut in?"

A man had tapped Luthor on the shoulder, a man clad all in black - flowing black silk shirt and tight black trousers with a sash around his narrow waist, black leather boots, a square black hat and a black mask over his eyes. He, too, had a sword at his waist. He was a little taller than Luthor, and broader in the shoulder; he looked lean and muscular. Luthor took a step back, and Lois saw him draw himself up in an instinctive male response to the challenge.

"And you are?" he said smoothly.

The man in black glanced at Lois for an instant and seemed to hesitate. Then he gave a sudden blinding smile, and Lois felt her heart flutter for a wild moment. "They call me Zorro," he said with a slight Spanish accent, looking back at Luthor. "I'm sure you'll understand if I don't give my real name." He swept into a deep and elegant bow - just the effect that Robin Hood had so disastrously failed to achieve earlier, Lois thought wryly.

There was a moment's uncertain pause, then Luthor laughed. "Alexander of Macedonia, at your service," he said, inclining his head.

"It is not your service I require, but a dance with the lady," Zorro riposted, his white teeth gleaming impudently. "Please forgive me." He stepped forward, drew Lois unresisting into his arms and swept her into the waltz.

If she was about to be pawed by another arrogant male, Lois thought ruefully, at least this one had considerable style - and she need have no compunction about hauling off and slapping this one's face if he got too fresh with her. But Zorro was holding her lightly, at a respectful distance, and after a minute she relaxed into the movement of the dance. Her partner seemed graceful enough; he wasn't twirling her about the floor or dipping her the way Luthor had done, but she had a feeling it was out of consideration rather than lack of ability, and she could only be grateful.

He hadn't made any attempt to engage her in conversation, and Lois suddenly wondered if he was expecting her to thank him for rescuing her from Luthor's clutches. But no - he surely couldn't have guessed that she'd been finding Luthor so oppressive, and it wouldn't do even to mention the misunderstanding between herself and her host to a perfect stranger.

The dance ended and Zorro released her and bowed. She gave a little curtsey and shot a glance around the room. She was glad to see they were at the opposite end of the dance floor from where they'd left Luthor; she'd have the chance to regain her equilibrium before she saw him again.

"Gracias, senorita," Zorro said. He was smiling at her again, his brown eyes twinkling, and again her heart seemed to beat a little faster. "It was a pleasure dancing with you." He hesitated, then spoke again, the Spanish accent slightly stronger. "Can I get you anything? A drink, perhaps?"

She was certainly feeling heated after the dance - or perhaps it had more to do with her encounter with Luthor, Lois thought, nodding gratefully. "Yes, please. Something long and cold." Perhaps she'd have managed the conversation with Luthor a little better without a couple of glasses of sherry beforehand, she thought ruefully, watching from under her lashes as Zorro's rather appealing rear view disappeared into the crowd.

She settled herself in a chair nearby to wait, wondering who the mysterious man in black could really be. Nobody she could recall noticing before, certainly, and she was sure she'd have remembered that killer smile. She'd have to probe for more information when he came back - for an experienced reporter like herself, it shouldn't be hard to get the truth out of him. Her eyes roved the room, looking for other friendly faces in the crowd. Cat was now dancing with a congressional senator, and closer at hand a portly Elvis and a woman in an hooped skirt and powdered wig were, Lois was fairly sure, Perry and Alice. Jimmy was trying to chat up a Little Bo Peep over the other side of the room; but there was still no sign of Mr Green Jeans. Perhaps finding Luthor Towers had been too much for the country hick, Lois thought scornfully; or perhaps he'd simply decided to stay in and get an early night after all. Well, she wasn't going to miss him, that was for sure.

A door opened nearby in the panelled wall, and Lois turned her head in time to see a dark-skinned footman push the door shut behind him. The room on the other side of the door was dark compared to the glittering ballroom, and Lois's curiosity stirred. She hesitated for a moment, loath to miss another opportunity to witness Zorro's smile, but then her reporter's instincts won out. She had, after all, come here specifically to find out as much as she could about the reclusive Lex Luthor.

She rose to her feet and moved unobtrusively to the door. It opened at a touch and she slipped through and closed it carefully. She seemed to be in some sort of study, though it might have been a museum: what looked like ancient artifacts, many of them weapons, were ranged on the walls and disposed in glass cases in every direction. There didn't seem to be any sort of labelling, though, so this must be Luthor's private collection.

Lois moved to the window and peered out at the rain, watching as a momentary flash of lightning illuminated the city sprawled at the feet of Metropolis's tallest building. Then a burst of sound from the ballroom alerted her, and she turned with a sinking heart to see Luthor closing the panelled door behind him.

"I hope you don't mind my looking around, Mis... Lex," she said gaily, trying to sound as though being caught sneaking around someone's private home was a trivial, everyday occurrence. "You have some beautiful things."

He was smiling urbanely as he strolled across the carpet towards her. "The reporter's curiosity at work? Of course not, my dear. Make yourself at home. In fact..." He reached out and slipped a casual hand under her elbow, swinging her round to face a door in the far wall. "... you may find what you're looking for in here." He opened the door and urged her forward.

"What I'm looking for? I don't think..." Lois took a few unwilling paces and then stopped dead in the doorway as she realised that the room Luthor was ushering her into contained a fireplace, a few chairs and a table... and a large, luxurious bed. "Lex, you've got completely the wrong idea! I apologise for intruding on your privacy, but I'm going back to the party right now."

She swung around and took a step, only to find herself confronting a very solid bronze breastplate. Luthor's hand shot out and gripped her arm. "The wrong idea? Oh, I don't think so." He brushed the gauze of her yashmak to one side and then his head bent and his lips fastened on hers.

Lois froze for a long moment, her head bent awkwardly backwards, dismayed at his effrontery and her own foolishness. His lips probed insistently at hers, trying to gain entrance to her mouth, and a flood of anger rose inside her. She twisted her head to one side to evade his lips and, remembering his open-toed sandals, stamped her foot down hard on his. Her embroidered felt slipper merely skidded harmlessly over his foot, though, and he laughed.

"Playing hard to get, are we? Relax, my dear, I guarantee you'll have a good time -"

"The answer is no!" Lois choked out through the nausea rising in her stomach. She flung her arms up in a circle to break his grip, feeling the yashmak tear away from her face as she pulled free, and brought her knee up sharply between his legs.

His reactions were lightning fast. He twisted to one side as her weight shifted so that his thigh took the force of her kick, and as she turned to run he clutched at her shoulders. In any case, into the room was the last direction she wanted to go - and as she hesitated, her eyes sweeping the walls for another exit, he lunged forward. She twisted and kicked out, felt the rug slip beneath her feet, and landed heavily with him half on top of her.

"You little bitch," he snarled into her ear as she gasped for breath, his breastplate digging heavily into her ribs. "You're going to pay for that." His face had gone pale with fury, she realised, and for the first time she felt a jolt of real fear. Just how far would he go?

"Scream all you like," he added silkily as she drew a deep breath. "My private rooms are soundproofed, and the servants aren't going to interfere." It was true - there wasn't a whisper of sound from the ballroom, only a few precious yards away. Nevertheless, Lois let out a short scream - and as he winced, she drove an elbow into his solar plexus, rolled out from under him and onto her feet, and ran for it.

At least, that was the plan. In reality, her elbow clanged painfully into his breastplate and her roll only pulled him further on top of her, his legs scissoring around hers to clamp them in place. She twisted like a fish and felt her bodice rip with a soft, ugly sound; then his hand was grasping hotly at her suddenly naked breasts, his triumphant chuckle fanning the hair at her temple. Her martial arts training deserted her as she fought, panic-stricken, to beat his hands away from her flesh, but his superior weight and strength held her pinned under him, his groin pressed against her hip, and she realised with growing horror that her struggles were only exciting him.

She let herself go limp, quelling her panic and marshalling her strength for a better opportunity, and he chuckled again. His mouth trailed wetly across her cheek and she closed her eyes with a shudder, biting her lip to stop herself screaming fruitlessly. "Had enough of the rough stuff? I agree - we could be spending our time far more pleasantly."

He pushed himself to his feet and grasped her wrists to draw her towards the bed, leering at her as her torn bodice gaped open. Then his face changed as he looked past her towards the open door behind her.

"Let her go."

The voice was soft, but there was a hint of steel in it all the same. Lois's shoulders sagged with relief. As Luthor released her wrists and stepped past her, she gathered her torn bodice together with trembling fingers, then turned to look at her rescuer.

The man in black was leaning against the door frame, arms folded negligently.

"You think you can give orders in my home?" Luthor's light, amused tone didn't quite come off; his voice was shaking slightly with suppressed anger.

The man in black smiled faintly, but his eyes were cold and watchful. "I don't think the lady wants to play your little games," he drawled. "Let her leave now, and..." His eyes flicked to Lois's face and then to where her hands were spread across her chest, and his face changed in an instant. "Did he hurt you?" he snapped, striding forward into the room, his hand falling - accidentally, Lois suspected - to his sword hilt.

"Not so fast!" With a ring of metal, Luthor had drawn his own sword and was pointing it at the stranger. Lois blinked at it, stupefied by the turn of events. It looked like a serious weapon - probably part of Luthor's antiques collection, but no less lethal for that.

The man in black had halted, his eyebrows flying up. "Are you proposing a sword fight? Are you serious?"

Luthor gave a harsh bark of laughter. "We can duel if you wish. Or you can simply leave now, before you get hurt."

"Oh, I don't think I'm likely to get hurt." The white teeth flashed in a grin, though Lois couldn't see anything remotely funny about the weapon pointing in his direction. Luthor was holding it like a fencer, she noticed - he probably had considerable training to talk so casually about a duel.

The man in black drew his sword, and Lois's brow furrowed. This was no serious weapon, just a prop which had no doubt come from the same place as the rest of the Zorro costume. As the men crossed swords, taking up a fencing stance, Lois could see that it was longer than Luthor's weapon but much thinner - a sabre to Luthor's short sword. Was it even metal, or just chromed plastic?

Then the swords kissed and the ringing sound relieved one of Lois's fears. The two men started to circle, testing each other's reactions, and Lois watched them, wondering if now was a good time to sneak away. She could hardly go back to the ballroom with her costume in its current state, though, and she was still concerned about the stranger's safety - if Luthor had been prepared to assault her, perhaps even rape her, he might be quite willing to injure the man, no doubt trusting to his riches to avoid the story leaking out. Lois's mouth set ominously - had he forgotten that she was a reporter? Let him just try to buy her silence, and he'd be sorry he'd ever laid eyes on her!

Luthor took the offensive, swinging his sword swiftly and moving forward. The stranger dodged out of the way rather than parrying, and Lois's eyes narrowed. Either he wasn't a very good swordsman, or he was well aware that his sword wasn't strong enough to withstand much force from Luthor's. By the satisfaction spreading over Luthor's face, he'd reached the same conclusion.

"Not much of a sword, is it?" he taunted, lunging forward.

The stranger deflected the blade this time and aimed a slash at Luthor, who parried it easily. "Not as good as yours," he replied calmly. "Macedonian, isn't it?"

"Very good. It belonged to my namesake, Alexander the Great." Luthor's teeth showed for an instant in a feral grin. "The sword with which he defeated -" He feinted to the stranger's left and thrust to the right, but the man in black was gone, twisting away like an eel.

"- Darius the Third," the man in black completed, "and was proclaimed king of Asia." The accent was pure Midwestern now, Lois suddenly realised, not Spanish at all; in fact the voice sounded faintly familiar, and she stared at the stranger moving so deftly in front of her, struggling to remember where she might have heard it before.

She almost missed the end of the fight. Luthor feinted and lunged again, and the tip of his sword slashed across the front of the black silk shirt with a sound like ripping paper. At the same moment, the stranger's sword came whipping round in a lethal arc and the flat of the blade struck squarely across the back of Luthor's hand. Luthor cried out, and his sword flew across the room and embedded itself point first in the back of an armchair.

"A bronze sword is far too heavy for fencing, though, wouldn't you say?" the man in black remarked, stepping back and lowering his sword. He didn't even sound out of breath.

Luthor stood panting and nursing his hand for a moment, then cast a look of pure venom at the other man. "Very impressive, my friend," he snarled. "You'll be hearing from my lawyers if you've broken any bones!"

"Count yourself lucky if you don't end up in court for indecent assault, Luthor." There was more than a hint of steel in the stranger's voice this time.

Luthor dredged up a smile. "Well, to the victor the spoils. I wish you joy of her." His eyes flicked to Lois, and she paled at the hatred in them. "I'll leave you two together, if you don't mind - I have to get back to the ball. I have to make an important announcement." He strode across the room, pulled his sword from the chair and sheathed it awkwardly, left-handed.

"Not so fast, Luthor." The stranger moved to block his way, sword still in his hand. "You don't want your guests to be seen leaving your apartment with their clothes in tatters, do you? We need our coats."

"Of course." Luthor was swiftly regaining his poise. He moved across the room and pressed a button on the wall. Instantly, the door opened and the same dark-skinned footman Lois had seen earlier entered. Lois clutched more tightly at her bodice, hoping she was decently covered but refusing to glance down to check. "Asabi, fetch the guests' coats and escort them to my private elevator." The footman nodded and effaced himself. "And I will, of course, pay for the costumes, if you can tell me the store where you hired them."

"Fletcher's," Lois said. Her voice sounded rusty - she hadn't spoken since she'd screamed, what seemed like a lifetime ago.

The man in black nodded. "The same."

Luthor looked the man in black straight in the eye. "And I'll need your real name, Don Diego."

That devil-may-care smile lit up the man's face once more, and Lois caught her breath. He sheathed his sword and stepped forward, holding out his hand. "Clark Kent, Daily Planet."

Lois choked. Luthor automatically put his hand out to take Clark's and then winced, drawing it back and shooting a murderous glance at Lois as though she'd laughed at his discomfiture. "No doubt our paths will cross again, Kent." He turned on his heel and stalked out of the room.

"Clark?"

He turned, raising his hands to pull off the mask. His shirt gaped open where Luthor's sword had slashed it. "I'm sorry I didn't tell you earlier, Lois." His eyes met hers apologetically. "It seemed amusing at the time."

"Sorry?" She moved towards him, staring at him in bewilderment. "Clark, that was the bravest thing I've ever seen! Luthor could have killed you! Are you all right? Did he cut you?" Holding her bodice together with one hand, she peeled back his shirt with the other to look for a wound, but his skin was unbroken. She sagged against his shoulder in relief, and felt tears start to prickle at the corners of her eyes.

His arm came around her shoulders, and she felt the muscles bunch under his skin as he covered her hand with his. "Lois, please believe me - I was never in any danger."

"Only because you're so fast! I never would have believed - Clark, I'm so sorry, I had you pegged as a useless country shmoe, and you rescued me from that... that..." Tears were pouring down her cheeks now in an uncontrollable flood.

"Shh, Lois - it's okay. You're quite safe - I won't let him lay a hand on you again. Hush, Lois..." He was cradling her in his arms, rocking her slowly from side to side, and it seemed natural to turn her face up to his. His lips covered hers in a gentle, comforting kiss which stirred something inside her, something that had lain buried for years. Something she'd thought she'd forgotten how to feel.

He pulled back and turned his head to lay his cheek against her hair, but she murmured in protest and let go of her bodice to pull his face back down to hers.

"Lois, what are you -"

"Shh, Clark. Just kiss me." She raised herself on tiptoe and felt his mouth meet hers tentatively, then with growing assurance as she pressed her body against his, losing herself in the delightful sensations of what felt like her first kiss. Their first kiss together.

Heat leapt between them, and she spread her hand over the smooth skin of his chest, feeling his heart beating thunderously so close to her own. The kiss was deepening, their tongues meeting shyly and then with increasing boldness. Lois spread her hand through the hair at the back of his neck, below the black hat, thrilling at the softness of the thick strands between her fingers. Her other hand was exploring beneath the silk shirt, around his back, wrapping around his narrow waist and pulling him closer against her. She could feel her bodice gaping, her breasts spilling out to press against the naked skin of his chest, and she gave a soft moan of delight.

A slight cough at the door of the room brought them to their senses, and they broke apart, breathing heavily. Lois pulled her bodice hastily together over herself, blushing furiously, as Clark took two coats from the silent footman. He helped her into her coat before putting on his own, and she buttoned the harem costume safely out of sight. When she lifted her head again, Clark looked safe and normal, only the black hat reminding her of the bizarre duel that had been fought and the terrifying struggle with Luthor before that.

Clark gestured towards the door. "Shall we go?"

She nodded, and they followed the footman out of the room and down a corridor to the elevator. He waved them inside and pressed a button, then stepped back into the corridor. The doors closed and they were alone again.

There was an awkward silence, broken only by the faintest of hums from the elevator. Lois stood with her eyes lowered, awash with embarrassment at the way she'd thrown herself at Clark. Coming after her encounter with Luthor, he must think she had morals like Cat's. No doubt he was looking forward to resuming their earlier activities as soon as he got her home - and she was tempted, oh so tempted, just to go along with it. For those few brief moments in his arms, she'd felt alive in a way she hadn't been in years. She should fling caution to the winds and...

No. It was madness - Claude all over again. Clark would love her and leave her, and even if there was no story to steal this time, there'd be whispers in the newsroom again, eyes following her every move, conversations breaking off when she entered the room... no.

Clark cleared his throat. "Lois... it's been a pretty bizarre night. I'll get a cab and take you home, and then... well, you know I was going to get an early night. I'll see you at work tomorrow, and, well, maybe..."

She looked up at him, startled. He was looking embarrassed, half hopeful, half fearful. "... maybe we could go out to dinner tomorrow? You're probably busy, of course, but maybe this weekend? Some time?"

He genuinely expected her to turn him down. How was that possible, after the way she'd been behaving back there in his arms?

She found her voice at last. "Clark, what happened in there..."

"It's okay, Lois, you don't have to explain. I know it probably didn't mean anything - you'd just had a shock, first Luthor attacking you and then that ridiculous duel... I bet your grandchildren are never going to believe that you actually had men fighting a duel over you with swords..."

He was doing his best to make it easy for her. How could he know she'd been working up the courage to tell him to take a hike?

Or... was it possible that she'd found the last man on earth who had genuine, old-fashioned morals? And, if that was so, was it actually possible he was still interested in her? The woman who'd made it perfectly clear this morning that he was scum, as far as she was concerned, and he'd better not get in her way or he'd regret it? He'd still risked life and limb to protect her from Luthor...

"Clark, I'd love to have dinner with you. Tomorrow, if we're not working."

His face lit up in that brilliant smile, and she felt the now familiar jolt in the pit of her stomach. "It's a date."

She moistened her lips with her tongue, saw his eyes snap downwards and follow the movement, darkening slightly. She made up her mind.

"But, Clark... when we get to my place, will you come in for some coffee, and we can talk? Just talk. Okay, maybe talk and kiss - I want to know if that kiss back there was just a fluke or if I can expect fireworks every time." She saw his eyes widen at the admission, and stepped closer to him, adding in a softer voice, "You see, I know myself too well - if I let you go home now, I'll spend the night convincing myself that I was drunk and I made a complete fool of myself this evening, and that I'd be mad to go on a date with you. And I think that would be a serious mistake."

She lifted a hand and he caught it and carried to his lips, looking earnestly into her eyes. Then he smiled and nodded, just as the elevator pinged and the doors slid open. "Okay. But just one cup, mind."

Laughing softly together, they walked out of the elevator and into the night.

The End.

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