Irresistible You

by Barbara Boswell

  They walked into the jurors’ lounge where the coatroom was located and found their coats. She 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 woman—”

  “You’re not going to have a pregnant woman murdered by a serial killer?” Brenna was aghast.

  “No, but the killer does touch the pregnant woman’s belly. It’s very, very suspenseful. I want the reader literally shaking and screaming at the killer, ‘Don’t you dare hurt that mother and child.’ And when he doesn’t, the reader’
s relief will be—”

  “You never did say where we’re going,” Brenna cut in sharply. He’d been exploring the mind-set of his serial killer character when he’d touched her? She shuddered.

  “I’m kidnapping you to the China Palace, a few blocks from here. Ever been there?”

  “Yes. And jokes about kidnapping aren’t funny.”

  “That’s what the homicide detective said to the serial killer in my first book,” joked Luke. She didn’t smile, and he sighed. “Well, the humor worked in the scene in the book.”

  “I’ll take your word for it.”

  “I guess you’ll have to, since you never intend to read a word I write. Okay, we’ll move on to a neutral topic. The China Palace. It’s owned by the Lo family, who ran a successful place in Philadelphia but moved here because they wanted to try a small town for a change. They’re very strong supporters of my brother. Held a fund-raising dinner for Matt right here in the restaurant.”

  Luke pulled into the parking lot of the China Palace. Inside, the hostess and a waitress, both young Chinese women, greeted Luke enthusiastically and escorted them to a choice table by the window.

  It appeared that Matt wasn’t the only Minteer to enjoy support here, Brenna noted. And the admiration appeared to be mutual. Luke chatted and joked with the two young women as Brenna seated herself and opened the menu.

  “Okay, which one are you?” asked one of the young women, finally acknowledging Brenna’s presence.

  It took Brenna a moment to realize that she was the one being addressed. And she had no idea what the answer to that question might be. She stared at Luke, baffled.

  “Jennifer wants to know which one of the many Minteers you are,” he explained, toying with a salt shaker.

  “One of the sisters or one of the cousins?” prompted Jennifer, smiling invitingly at Luke.

  Brenna met Luke’s eyes. He shrugged. “I’ll let you decide since you’re the fiction writer,” she said dryly.

  Luke cleared his throat. “Actually, she isn’t a Minteer. This is Brenna Morgan. Brenna, meet the Lo sisters, Jennifer and Isabelle.”

  “Hello,” Brenna offered politely.

  The Lo sisters gaped at her, barely managing to mutter a response before abruptly departing.

  “What was that all about?” Luke frowned. “I’ve never known them to be rude before. I’ve been snubbed by plenty of people in this town but the Lo sisters have always been exceptionally friendly.”

  “Yes, I noticed. And they weren’t being rude, they were stunned.” Brenna was amused. The astonishment on the Lo sisters’ faces had been comical. “No doubt it was the shock of seeing you with a pregnant woman who wasn’t related to you.”

  “What are you implying?” Luke demanded.

  “Me? Nothing.” Brenna turned her attention back to the menu.

  Luke looked over at the Lo sisters who were blatantly staring at him and Brenna. “I’ve been the object of enough gossip to know that particular look they’re giving us,” he muttered.

  “I’m sure you have. I’ve heard some of the stories.” Brenna never glanced up from the menu.

  “For crying out loud, we’re serving on a jury together. It’s our lunch break!” exclaimed an aggrieved Luke. “And who told you stories about me? And, er, what were they?”

  “When I told my neighbor that Congressman Minteer’s brother was on the jury with me, she told me her brother knew you back in Harrisburg, in your pre-D.C. days.” Brenna closed the menu. “I think I’ll have a bowl of wonton soup, an egg roll and chicken with cashews.”

  “Who’s your neighbor’s brother?” pressed Luke.

  “Steve Saraceni, the lobbyist.”

  “Uh-oh.” Luke actually gulped. “Did she, um, go into specifics?”

  “No.” Brenna smiled sweetly.

  “Well, it doesn’t matter, anyway, because it’s all ancient history, water over the dam. A place in the past we’ve passed out of.” Luke paused to catch his breath. “Those days are over. Saraceni would say the same thing himself.”

  Brenna sipped her water. “I’m so thirsty. The air in that courtroom is too dry.”

  “Okay, the stories out of D.C. were even worse, I can’t deny that.” Luke fiddled with his napkin. “But that’s—”

  “Ancient history? Water over the dam? A place in the past you’ve—”

  “Isabelle!” Luke stood up and waved the waitress over. “We’re ready to order now.”

  Three

  The afternoon session moved at a glacial pace, and several of the jurors had trouble staying awake. Brenna was one of them. Her eyelids felt heavy, keeping them open was an effort and a numbing lethargy spread through her.

  It was too warm in here, the lawyers droned on and on, citing one dull legal reference after another. Plus, she’d eaten too much for lunch. The combination was narcotizing. She allowed herself to close her eyes. It would be all right to close them for just a moment.

  Brenna drifted in the netherworld between sleep and wakefulness….

  Images glided through her mind. She saw herself and Luke sitting at their table in the China Palace eating lunch. He used chopsticks—adeptly, too—while she and everybody else in the restaurant ate with plain old forks. Brenna smiled now, as she had then. She didn’t know why, but his prowess with the Asian utensils amused her.

  And then he’d put down his chopsticks and asked her quietly, “Why did you tell the truth about your pregnancy to me and nobody else?”

  Brenna was faced with the very question she had asked herself when blurting out the truth she’d kept carefully guarded all these months. Why had she told Luke?

  “I think it was because you were goading me,” she’d replied slowly.

  Luke nodded, seeming to accept the answer. Brenna was glad he did, but she didn’t buy her own explanation. She should’ve dismissed Luke’s speculations with a shrug, not caring what he thought. Instead, she’d told him her deepest secret. It made no sense at all, or else it made very revealing sense.

  “What is the story you’ve told everybody else in town?” Luke demanded.

  “Unlike you, I’m not too well known in this town, so everybody doesn’t want to know about me. I did tell my neighbors and my doctor that I, uh, was in a relationship that didn’t work out, and when I found out I was pregnant, the baby’s father left.”

  “Which is exactly what I thought at first—until you emphatically informed me that there was no boyfriend,” Luke reminded her. “Hasn’t anybody else pushed for more details?”

  “No. Nobody else has been that rude. Or pushy. Or intrusive. They’ve respected my privacy.”

  “Maybe they figured talking about it—about him, the supposed father—would upset you,” surmised Luke. “Or maybe they just weren’t interested enough to ask you anything more.”

  “Maybe,” she’d agreed.

  After that Luke had grown very quiet. He hadn’t spoken much at all as they finished their meal and drove back to the courthouse, where he reclaimed the VIP parking spot for his truck again.

  “We will now take a brief recess!”

  The judge’s stentorian tones plus the bang of his gavel startled Brenna back into full consciousness. Her eyes flew open, and she jerked forward. She felt a hand close over her upper arm, steadying her.

  It was then she noticed how very close she was sitting to Luke. Their shoulders were touching, and she was leaning heavily against him. His hand was on her arm. Was she imagining it or was his thumb lightly stroking?

  Brenna stood up as quickly as she could. Unsteady on her feet, she gripped the front rail for support.

  “I…think I fell asleep,” she murmured, running a hand through her hair.

  “You and everybody else on the jury except Wanda and me.” Luke rose to stand beside her. “Wanda has her knitting to keep her alert, and I’m used to sitting for long stretches while my mind wanders.”

  “Into serial killer land?” Brenna yawned, still drowsy.

  “It’s an
interesting place to go. Although I was somewhere else this time.” Frowning, Luke gripped her elbow. “Come on, let’s go get a cold drink from one of those machines in the lounge.”

  She let him lead her into the jurors’ lounge, where a TV set was tuned into the Weather Channel. The meteorologist was in a frenzy of excitement about a blizzard that was “crippling the plains.” Scenes of blinding snow and abandoned cars along an interstate highway played on the screen.

  “I wonder if they drag out the same old blizzard footage every time a new storm hits?” mused Luke, gazing at the television. “Who would know? All snowstorms look alike.”

  “As a devoted weather fan, that’s blasphemy to my ears.” Brenna sipped the cold soda from the can Luke had given her. “Thanks for this,” she added.

  “Consider it my contribution to the judicial system.” Luke was flippant. “Keeping the jury alert and functioning is necessary to end this stupid trial as fast as possible.”

  “Then you can get back to creating murder and mayhem full-time.”

  “Yeah.” He watched her sip the soda. “What do you do, full-time?”

  “I draw.”

  He waited for her to elaborate. She didn’t. She silently sipped the soda from the can, her eyes affixed to the blizzard on the television screen.

  “Okay, I’ll bite,” Luke said at last. “What do you draw?”

  “Mostly children and cute animals. I’m a freelance artist. I’ve illustrated children’s books and magazines and drawn paper dolls and sketched children for sewing patterns and books.”

  “Has your work been published?” He looked startled.

  She nodded.

  “And you earn enough to support yourself…and the baby?” Now he looked even more amazed.

  His incredulity irked Brenna. Did she appear stupid? Incapable of possessing artistic talent? What was so unbelievable about her being paid for her work?

  “Well, that’s cool.” Luke shrugged laconically, his surprise fading into indifference.