“You wanted to talk here so that’s what we’ll do. But I’m getting your order.”
“I don’t believe it. Are you protecting me by any chance, McNamara?”
“They’re being disrespectful.” He was back to glaring at the guys in the corner. “I don’t like it.”
The knot inside her loosened further. Uptight Luke McNamara. Whom she didn’t like and who didn’t like her was protecting her.
“I don’t get it,” she muttered. “Why should you care? You don’t like me.”
“You’re pregnant, Marisa. With my child.” As if that explained everything. “Now go sit down and I’ll order for you.”
…
There was nothing about Gianni’s that Luke liked. Not the decor, not the clientele, and most especially not the slightly sticky red vinyl of the booths on either side of the tables.
Putting Marisa’s laden bowl of ice cream down on the table, he sat down gingerly. He didn’t have a major problem with dirt, unless it offended his sense of order. Thing was, this whole place was an offense to order. Too cluttered, too noisy, far too chaotic, and being here put him in a foul mood.
Across from him, Marisa laid the napkin daintily across her lap and picked up her spoon, digging into the sticky brown mass in her bowl. She seemed impervious to the noise, as though she’d taken that rude wolf-whistling in her stride.
Luke frowned as she leaned forward to take a taste. In her red silk dress with her golden hair piled on top of her head, she was like a princess escaped from the palace, slumming it with the plebeians. And that offended his sense of order, too. She should be in a castle hung with silks and velvets and furs, not in a grimy ice cream parlor being hassled by drunken idiots.
The intense possessiveness that had gripped him earlier twisted a little tighter. No, she should be at his place, in his quiet, clean living room, where he could take care of her, not having a discussion about their baby in this…hellhole.
Luke frowned harder as Marisa gave a sigh. “Oh God, that’s heaven.” She took another spoonful and held it out to him. “Here, have a taste.”
He stared at the spoon. Chocolate sauce was dripping off it. Was she serious? He was willing to sit here and talk about the baby, but eat the ice cream, too? That was a step too far.
“No, thank you,” he said curtly.
“Not even a little taste?”
“I’m here to talk to you about the pregnancy and what we’re doing about it, not to eat ice cream.”
She shrugged. “Oh well, your loss.” Putting the spoon in her mouth, she closed her red lips around it. Her eyes fluttered shut as she savored the taste.
There was something feline and sensual about the way she did it that caused an unwelcome tightening in his groin. Okay, so maybe it was better to be here and not alone at his place. She’d made a good call with that. God knew they didn’t need sex making this situation more complicated than it already was.
“Marisa,” he began, wanting to get the conversation back on track. “We should be discussing the baby now.”
“I know, I know.” Her eyes remained closed. “Give me a minute for the sugar to hit.”
Luke shifted irritably on the seat. There were too many things about this place that rubbed him the wrong way, and he couldn’t shut them out. It was going to be difficult to concentrate, especially if she was going to start eating that ice cream, with the same look on her face and making the same sounds as she had the moment he’d kissed her throat in the stationery supply room.
Dammit, don’t go thinking about that again, you fool.
He gritted his teeth, forced the memory away. “Marisa,” he repeated, trying for calm. “I think you and the baby should move in with me.”
Her eyes popped open in shock. “Move in with you? Are you crazy?”
“Not at all. It’s the most logical solution.” He’d gone over it in his head while he’d been doing his discreet checking routine in the car and whichever way he looked at it, having Marisa and the baby move in with him was the best answer. There was simply no other way he’d be able to cope with the kind of compulsions a child would generate.
Besides, he liked having the things that were his close to him. Within his control.
Across the table, Marisa was staring at him as though he’d just dropped in from Mars. She put her spoon down with a clatter and held up a hand in a stop gesture. “Whoa and back up there a damn minute, boy. I’ve only known about this kid for all of four hours. Three of those hours were spent in denial, the last in hysteria. You’ve known half an hour and you’re already ‘let’s move in together, baby’? Have I missed something vital here?”
Luke put his hands on the table. The Formica was sticky underneath his fingertips so he instantly lifted them again. Dammit, this place was hideous. And the salt and pepper shakers down at one end of the table were out of alignment. He gave them a small tweak to give himself a moment to go over the reasoning he’d hoped she’d buy, then he said, “You have money issues. Major ones, correct?”
She eyed him dubiously. “Yes.”
“And I would imagine rent takes up a large part of your income.”
“Yeah, I guess so,” she acknowledged with obvious reluctance.
“So how much would you save if you lived with me?” He tried to keep the need to demand she live with him immediately out of his voice because, obviously, that wouldn’t help.
But even so, if he thought about it too much, his uneasiness with the whole situation intensified. The safety of the child and Marisa would be of paramount concern to him, and if they were living somewhere else that concern would be impossible to manage. He would have to check out the child’s room, make sure everything was safe. And he knew that he’d have to do it each time he went in there. Even if he didn’t, the urge to check would sit in his mind like a splinter, an ache that wouldn’t go away.
Of course having Marisa living with him would make hiding his OCD behaviors extremely difficult, but what other choice did he have? He couldn’t tell her. He hated explaining the OCD to people because invariably they didn’t understand the compulsions he managed. No one ever had, not even his parents. They’d thought he was crazy and, despite the fact that he was a successful CEO of a successful financial institution, they still did.
The only person who’d ever understood him was Joseph, who had the same kinds of issues with his ADHD.
She continued to frown at him, blue eyes narrowed, nibbling on a fingernail, processing his question.
He really didn’t like that expression in her eyes, though. It reminded him of the look people used to give him when he’d been a kid. His teachers. His parents. Looking at him as if he was crazy. It had made him ashamed of his condition. Made him want to hide the behaviors so no one would know.
“Okay, so I’d probably save a lot. But you’re going to have to give me some thinking space here,” Marisa said after a moment. “I mean, we don’t know if I’ll stay pregnant. Miscarriages can happen.”
A strange pain caught in his chest, an odd panic. “That is not going to happen,” he said, as if saying it would make it so. “But I think you should move in with me as soon as possible just in case.”
Her frown deepened. “Are you serious? I’m not moving in with you right now, Luke. I barely know you. You’re going to have to give me some time to think about things first.”
He’d known this would be difficult for her. Hell, it was difficult for him. But he had a responsibility to his child and a condition to hide. And this was the best solution.
“You can give me your decision tomorrow,” he said, having to force out the words because, God, how was he going to handle his need to check on her when she was living in a different house? Having him turn up on her doorstep every day would make her pretty damn suspicious pretty damn quickly.
“Tomorrow?” She rolled her eyes. “You mean I get a whole eight hours to figure out the course of my entire life? That’s so incredibly generous of you.”
“
It’s not the course of your entire life. You get to do all the things you want to do except you’ll be living with me.”
Marisa snorted. “What about work? There’s that little matter of you being my boss and the ‘no workplace relationships’ rule, which, FYI, is going to need serious revisiting if I move in with you.”
He shifted uncomfortably on the seat, aware that this was another problem he’d have to find a solution for. “Perhaps we could find a potential workaround.”
“You’re going to have to.” She gave him a pointed look. “And before you say it, I’m not quitting, nor am I going to marry you, so you can forget about either of those as potential ‘workarounds.’”
He hadn’t been thinking about it but now that she mentioned it…
Marriage. A family…
Normality of a kind he’d always thought he didn’t want, because none of that kind of normality worked with the OCD. And yet…
“Perhaps we should,” he said, trying to think it through logically because he didn’t understand the strange mix of emotions that went along with it. “It would give the child a secure home. And marriage would certainly be a solution to the work problem.”
“It was a joke, Luke. I wasn’t serious.”
“But it makes a certain amount of logical sense.” Not to mention appealing to his sense of order. Of course, again, he’d have to be totally on top of the OCD in order to keep that a secret, but he hadn’t had a bad episode for a while now. He could make it work, he was sure of it.
Her mouth dropped open. “Logical sense? To marry someone you don’t like?”
“It’s not about whether we like each other or not. This would provide both you and our child with some security, legally and financially.”
“But, but—”
“What if something happened to me? Where would that leave you? If you were my wife you’d be entitled to certain benefits you wouldn’t get otherwise.”
Marisa stared at him. “You’re so freaking logical sometimes it does my head in.”
“You see my point, though?”
She didn’t say anything, digging hard into her ice cream and scooping up a big lump of it. She stared at the spoon for a moment, then put it down again and stared at him. “Do my feelings not matter to you at all?
“We have to put our personal feelings aside in this instance and—”
“So what I want doesn’t matter? Only what you want?”
Luke found his hand at his tie, mindlessly twiddling the knot. He forced it down. “What do you want, then?” he asked stiffly. “You said something about a glass studio earlier.”
For a long minute she said nothing, staring at him. “Yeah, I did. I want to be a glass artist like my dad. Have my own glass studio. I want to be able to create art like he did.” She said the words with a kind of defiance, like a gauntlet thrown down.
“There’s no reason you can’t do that, is there? I can build you something down the back—”
“I don’t want you to build me something,” she interrupted. “This is my dream, not yours. I won’t be an adjunct to you, Luke. Not again.”
He frowned. “What do you mean not again?”
But she was already pushing away the bowl and throwing aside her napkin. “Never mind. Thanks for the ice cream, but I think this conversation is over, don’t you? I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”
What? Where the hell was she going? “Marisa,” he began, but she’d already slid out of the booth and was walking toward the entrance of the parlor.
Crazy woman. She’d forgotten they’d come in his car. Unless, of course, she was going to try to find a taxi. Which he was not going to let her do, not at this hour and with the whole waterfront area full of drunken louts.
He got to his feet and strode out to find Marisa standing outside with her arms folded, extremely annoyed.
“Don’t say it,” she said warningly.
“You forgot we came in my car.”
“Didn’t I tell you not to say it?”
He thought about pointing out he was only checking to make sure she knew that but there was a spot of bright color on her cheeks and dark circles under eyes. She seemed tired and fragile, and that protective, possessive feeling suddenly roared to life.
He was impatient to sort this out, but she was right. They could talk about this tomorrow. When the shock had worn off and she wasn’t so tired. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”
This time she didn’t argue.
Chapter Seven
Marisa woke the next day to the sound of someone knocking insistently on her door. She groaned, rolled over to glance at the clock. It was 9:00 a.m. Who the hell was knocking on her door at nine on a Sunday morning? She lay there for long moments hoping they’d go away. But they didn’t.
Crap. What she could really use was another couple of hours sleep, since she’d spent a good portion of the night before lying awake going over and over Luke’s insane plan that she move in with him. Oh, and not forgetting the further insanity of her marrying him.
She couldn’t get her head around it. She’d only just found out she was pregnant and yet he was all “move in with me, and hey, why don’t we get married?” as if it were a done deal.
She was sick of people doing that. Ignoring what she wanted or dismissing it as unimportant.
Yet, for all that it was a completely mad idea, there was a part of her that didn’t find it so objectionable. Because he was right, it did make sense from both a legal and a financial standpoint when it came to their child. And on a more personal level, it also meant that she wouldn’t again find herself in the position of being “the other woman.” This time, she would be the wife.
You can’t actually be contemplating this, can you? With Mr. Two Weeks only?
The banging on the door increased.
Well, one thing was for sure. She couldn’t think with that racket going on.
Slipping out of bed, Marisa grabbed her blue silk Chinese robe and put it on over her short cotton nightdress, belting it tightly as she went downstairs to the front door.
If it was door-to-door salespeople or Mormons, she was going to have a few choice words to say to them.
She pulled open the door, ready to let rip, only to have the words die in her throat as she met Luke McNamara’s gray eyes.
“Good, you’re up,” he said calmly, before she had a chance to say anything. “And don’t worry about breakfast, I bought some.” Then he put his foot on the step, obviously intending to come inside.
Pulling herself together, Marisa planted her feet in the middle of the doorway and stuck a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “What are you doing here, McNamara?”
He frowned. “Excuse me?”
“Let me put that another way. It’s nine a.m. On a Sunday freaking morning. You’re lucky I’m not still asleep.”
“I told you I needed a decision this morning. That’s why I’m here.”
Marisa didn’t know what was more annoying—the fact that he’d turned up so early or that he clearly expected her to have made a decision about the baby. After one night. Which she’d spent mostly not sleeping, and was now more tired than she’d ever been in her whole life.
“You’re serious, aren’t you?”
He raised his eyebrow in surprise. “Of course I’m serious. Why do you keep asking me that?”
Possibly because her experience was of men saying things they didn’t mean. Things like “I’ll pay you back, I promise.” Things like “You’re the only woman in my life.”
Things like “I love you.”.
Not Luke, though. Clearly whatever he said, he meant.
A small knot of tension she hadn’t been aware of until now loosened inside her and she became suddenly conscious of her hand on his chest. And that his chest was very warm. And, good God, was that a T-shirt? Yes, and that was definitely a pair of jeans on his long, muscular legs and around his lean hips. If he’d been amazing in a suit, dressed casually, he
was…
“You’re in a T-shirt,” she muttered stupidly.
“It’s Sunday. You don’t think I wear a suit on the weekend, do you?” There was a glint in his eye, almost as if he was teasing her. But no, that couldn’t be right. Luke wouldn’t know a tease if he fell over one.
“Honey, you look like you were born in a suit.”
“Well, I wasn’t. Are you going to let me in?”
For some reason she didn’t want to remove her hand and stand aside. He was so hot beneath her palm, and strong. Immovable. As if he could take anything the world threw at him and stand firm against it. She didn’t know why that should feel so good, but it did.
“Marisa.” His voice had quieted, a rough edge creeping into it.
And when she lifted her gaze from the black cotton on his chest and met his eyes, she saw silver flare in them, the sparks of their chemistry catching fire.
Ahem. Remember you weren’t going to go there again?
Marisa snatched her hand away. No, they weren’t. Sex had already messed with things once and she wasn’t such a glutton for punishment she’d go there again. “I don’t think your coming inside is a good idea.”
“I can control myself,” he replied coolly. “Can you?”
She scowled at him. “Takes two to tango.”
Luke said nothing. He put his hands on her hips, shifted her gently to one side, then stepped into her house and walked down the hallway in the direction of her lounge area, leaving her gaping after him.
Bloody hell. The freaking nerve of the guy.
Slamming the door with a curse, she tightened her robe and hurried down the hallway after him.
He was in the little kitchen, taking things out of a plastic bag he’d had in one hand and putting them down on the counter area that divided the kitchen from the rest of the lounge. Croissants, freshly baked from the smell of them, and ham. And what appeared to be her favorite kind of soft cheese. There was also some kind of boutique honey and a packet of freshly ground coffee from the coffee shop she always got her morning latte from.
Talking Dirty With the Boss (Talking Dirty#3) Page 10