Irresistible You. Barbara Boswell
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had her big pale-brown parka, he had a navy-blue winter jacket that deepened the color of his eyes. Both carried their coats instead of putting them on.
Luke held the elevator doors open with his arm until she was safely inside the car. And then a group of people appeared, seemingly from nowhere, and pushed inside, shoving Brenna hard against Luke.
“Hey, people, quit rushing like a herd of stampeding buffalo,” Luke ordered sharply. “This woman is practically nine-months pregnant, and she was almost knocked down. Every one of you owes her an apology, and if she doesn’t get one, I’m getting your names. And this is a courthouse, so just use your imagination as to what I’ll do next.”
“Luke!” whispered Brenna, dismayed.
Everybody in the crowded elevator began offering her abject apologies, making sure that Luke saw and heard them. She stood pressed against him, her back molded to his chest and the cradle of his thighs. His hands rested on her shoulders. They felt heavy and warm, just like his body felt against hers. She had to fight to keep from relaxing against him and melting into him. It seemed like the most natural thing in the world to do.
Heat permeated through her, and it felt good, keeping her warm even when the doors opened to a blast of the chilly November air that filled the first floor of the courthouse. The drafty entrance foyer, the source of the unwelcome cold, was just ahead of them.
“Every single one of those people told you they were sorry,” Luke said, sounding awestruck. “And I think they genuinely were sorry, too. Sometimes people surprise me.”
“The unanimous apologies aren’t surprising at all. Everybody in that elevator knew you were watching them. They probably considered you dangerously prone to filing lawsuits. If you had told them to sing Christmas carols to me, they would’ve launched into a chorus of ‘Joy to the World.”’
“You have a tendency to overanalyze. I suggest that you simply accept things at face value, Brenna.”
“I suggest you stop making suggestions, Luke.”
“That’s the first time you’ve said my name,” he murmured, staring down at her.
“So what?” Brenna didn’t look at him; she kept her gaze focused well over his shoulder. “It was the first time you’d said my name, too,” she added defensively.
“So you called me Luke in retaliation for me calling you Brenna?” The glint was back in his eye, the drollery in his tone. “You really go for the jugular, don’t you, babe?”
She made no reply.
“I do have another suggestion to make,” Luke instantly filled the silence between them. “I suggest you thank me for defending you against those boors in the elevator. I stood up for you, remember?”
“I didn’t ask you to. I didn’t want you to. I don’t like to make a scene, and you certainly turned that elevator ride into one.”
“Well, for one who doesn’t like to stand out, you sure picked a helluva way to get pregnant, honey. Taking the sperm-bank route inspires curiosity, which means lots more attention than simple, old-fashioned procreation ever would’ve.”
They stood a few feet away from the doors while they donned their coats. Luke easily shrugged into his, then helped Brenna, who was struggling with hers while also shifting her purse from side to side.
He let his hands linger on her shoulders while she fumbled with the zipper.
“I’ve never told anybody about—about how I got pregnant,” she said, so quietly he had to strain to hear her. “And I’d appreciate it if you would keep it to yourself.”
Brenna gave up on the zipper and hurried to the double doors. Luke was right behind her, and this time he pushed them open, holding them for her.
“You haven’t told anybody else?” He was incredulous. “Nobody knows the truth but me?”
“No. It’s a fact, I really don’t like making a scene or being the center of attention. And as you pointed out, something kind of…unconventional, like the donor catalog and bank, pretty much guarantees…speculation and gossip.”
A blast of wind hit them as they stepped outside. Shuddering from the cold, Brenna clutched the sides of her coat together.
“Come on, my car’s right down there.” Luke pointed to his enormous black Dodge Durango truck parked along the curb, almost directly in front of the courthouse.
He took Brenna’s arm and walked her through the wind to his truck. She ducked her head, letting him guide her, the cold air stinging her eyes, making them tear. Moments later she was seated in the front passenger seat while Luke revved up the engine.
“Isn’t this spot reserved for a VIP or something? How did you park here without getting ticketed?” Brenna flexed her icy fingers, pulling on her knit gloves. “Yesterday they told us to park two blocks down—if we could find a place in the free lot there. Otherwise, we were on our own and good luck.”
She zipped up her coat just as the heater began to work, quickly warming the interior.
“One of my cousins is a cop,” explained Luke. “He suggested this spot and said he’d pass the word that my truck was right where it should be.”
“I thought your relatives didn’t like you—except for your favorite aunt who enjoys grisly murders.”
“Well, some of the younger cousins, especially the guys, think I’m cool.” Luke swung the truck into the sparse flow of traffic. “And I shamelessly buy their friendship by taking them out to lunch or dinner or whatever.”
“Are you trying to get back in your family’s good graces?” Brenna asked curiously. “Is that why you came back here after…” Her voice trailed off.
“After my brother fired me and my family told me I was insufferable and full of myself, a sleazy showboat, and a vain big shot who was in danger of losing my immortal soul?” Luke chuckled wryly. “Mixed metaphors don’t bother the Minteers, and they freely fling them.”
“But why—” Brenna stared out the window. “Where are we going?”
“To lunch, remember? We have a little less than an hour.”
“I’m not going to your place in…in the mountains!” Her voice rose in panic. “Let me out right now!”
“I’m not going home. You were right, there’s not enough time.” Luke cast her an inquisitive glance. “You’re scared,” he observed thoughtfully. “Of me?”
“I admit that I do have issues with being taken somewhere against my will by a man I hardly know,” Brenna replied tersely.
“Issues,” he scoffed, his dark brows narrowing. “The current buzzword. An annoying one, too. Nobody has problems anymore, everybody has issues. Although it seems to me what you really have going on is an overload of hormones. You were operating in high maternal-protection mode.”
“Maybe so.” Brenna folded her arms and rested them on the shelf of her belly. She tried to will her pounding heart into beating a little slower.
“Were you freaked when I touched your belly in the courtroom earlier?” Luke blurted out. A flush of heat spread up his neck to his face. “I didn’t intend to scare you, but when I saw the baby moving, it—I—”
“It’s happened to me before,” she said briskly. “People wanting to touch my belly to feel the baby move, except it’s always been elderly women, and they always ask.”
Once again she tamped down the swell of feelings the touch of his big hand on her belly had elicited within her. They meant nothing; they were a physiological reaction, she reminded herself. Insisted to herself. Hormonal overload and nothing else.
“It really was an irresistible impulse,” explained Luke. “You see, I have a scene in my new book where a pregnant