He should have been cured, his clear thinking restored. He should have been able to go right home and write that scene where the serial killer touched the pregnant woman’s belly, the one that he’d improvised on the spot today, after touching Brenna.
Instead, instead…
“Damn,” Luke swore softly. “What have you done to me?”
He reached out and cupped her cheek with his hand. Her skin was soft and warm, and he lightly stroked it with his fingertips.
A moment later she backed away from him, her gray eyes flashing. “What are you doing?”
“Good question,” murmured Luke. He moved swiftly to close the door, then leaned against it, his back chilled by the cool wood. “But the only answer I can come up with is that I’m not doing enough.”
His arm snaked out and he seized her wrist with his hand.
Brenna stared down at his fingers manacling her wrist. “Don’t, please!”
He heard the fear in her voice, and it called to mind her momentary panic in his car this afternoon, when she’d thought he was taking her to his house.
“Are you afraid of men in general or me in particular?” he asked quietly. He didn’t loosen his hold on her wrist.
“Let me go.” Brenna licked her lips, and he followed the movement of the tip of her tongue with avid eyes.
“I won’t hurt you, Brenna.” He slowly, gently, but inexorably pulled her toward him. “Don’t be afraid of me.”
“I’m not afraid!” she exclaimed fiercely. “I might have…issues…about being manhandled, but I’m not afraid!”
“Manhandle you? Never, honey. I’m known to have a slow hand.” Luke chuckled softly. “A light touch.”
She was only an inch or two away from him now. “Sounds like song lyrics to me,” she said huskily.
He touched her cheek. “If you’re not afraid of me, prove it, Brenna.”
“By doing what?” Brenna’s breathing was hard and fast, her pupils dilated wide.
With arousal, Luke was certain of that. Not fear, never that. She couldn’t be afraid of him. He gave a tug, pulling her against him, as close as her pregnant belly would allow.
“I’ll think of something,” he said lazily, sliding both his hands to her hips.
“Have you lost your mind?” Brenna gaped at him. “I’m almost nine months pregnant, for godsakes!”
Four
“There can be no doubt about that,” Luke agreed. “I actually can feel Susannah or Sam kicking.” His blue eyes grew round as saucers. “What a weird sensation!”
“Try experiencing it from the inside, if you want weird,” murmured Brenna, noting his renaming of her son.
“Thankfully, I’ll never have to,” Luke’s relief sounded heartfelt. “Women are a helluva lot braver than men when it comes to certain things, and having a kid tops that list.”
Brenna felt the grip of Luke’s hands on her hips loosen as the baby’s strongest kicks became noticeable to him. While he was distracted, she should take the opportunity to shove him away. She could make a dash into the downstairs bathroom, only a few feet away, lock herself in, open the window and scream for Cassie and Ray.
They would hear her, she knew. They would be over here within moments to rescue her.
So why didn’t she do it? Brenna asked herself as Luke’s fingers tightened once more, keeping her right where she was.
“And it’s Susannah or Simon, not Sam.” Instead of escaping from him, she corrected him.
“We’ll discuss that later.” He widened his stance and settled her more intimately into the cradle of his thighs, then began to nuzzle the side of her neck.
His arousal pressed thick and hard against her. Brenna’s heart began to pound against her ribs so wildly, she wondered if Luke could feel that, too. Yet her arms remained at her sides, and she made no attempt to push him away from her. Her uncharacteristic passivity shocked her.
“See.” Luke’s mouth blazed a trail of nibbling kisses to her ear. “Nothing to be scared of, Brenna.” His lips traced the shape of her ear, and he carefully enunciated each word.
Brenna’s hands slowly glided to his chest—to finally push him away, she thought. But they seemed to be operating of their own volition, because instead of giving Luke a hearty shove, her fingers curled around his jacket.
“I already said I’m not afraid of you,” she whispered.
And she truly wasn’t. Which would completely explain the mystery of why she felt no need to involve her neighbors in what was a very private matter. She neither needed nor wanted to be rescued. She hardly had time to process that insight when Luke’s lips brushed lightly, sensuously over hers.
“Good.” His warm breath, scented with an enticing mix of coffee and peppermint, flowed over her.
Brenna’s head spun. What he was doing felt so good…everything did—the feel of his big hands anchoring her against him, her breasts crushed comfortably against the solid wall of his chest, his mouth so warm and seductive on hers.
Brenna quivered, clinging to him as an unfamiliar melting pleasure began to pervade her body. Her nipples, so sensitive during her pregnancy, tightened into taut points and began to tingle in the most disconcerting way.
She’d been aware of the changes in her breasts as her body prepared her to nurse her child, but the sensations evoked by the close contact with Luke’s chest were brand-new. She wondered what it would feel like if he touched her there, with his fingers, with his mouth.
Brenna froze. These images and feelings, the wildness and the sensuality… They were overwhelming her; she couldn’t handle it. What if she were to simply give in to them…?
I was overwhelmed and overpowered by my feelings, Brenna! I just couldn’t help myself! Her mother’s voice, girlish and plaintive yet subversively pleased, echoed in Brenna’s head like a ghost from the past.
And Brenna’s own silent response was the same as it had been when she’d been a child, listening to her mother’s dramatic confessions. But try to, Mom! If only you would at least try to fight the overwhelming, overpowering feelings.
A futile wish, because Marly Morgan adored being at the mercy of her overpowering, overwhelming feelings; she thrived on being helpless with passion, her favorite dramatic description of her favorite state.
The very concept made Brenna cringe, then and now.
Her mother’s perennial can’t-help-myself excuse had inspired Brenna early on to control her impulses, her emotions, her wants. Even her needs. Brenna Morgan would not be overpowered or overwhelmed, she would not be made helpless by anything or anyone.
But here she was, on the verge of all those things—with Luke Minteer.
It seemed that it was time she took her own advice and at least tried to fight these overwhelming, overpowering feelings.
“What is it, honey?” Luke was attuned to her sudden emotional withdrawal, but he continued to hold her.
“This is just plain crazy. I’m not thinking straight.” Brenna nearly wailed. “My common sense has…has been usurped by a hormonal blitz.”
“Usurped, huh?” Luke gazed down at her, studying her delicate features, his eyes lingering on the alluring fullness of her lips. “There’s a word that doesn’t come up in everyday conversation. At least, not in mine.”
“It’s an effective word. And applicable.” She lowered her eyes to avoid his intense scrutiny.
“Hmm, wonder if I can work it into the dialogue in the current chapter of my book?”
“Would that be between the killer and his victim of choice? Ugh!”
“Ah, my little muse. How did I ever manage to write without your invaluable guidance?”
Luke was on the right track, keeping it light and glib, Brenna thought, relieved. She would wisely follow his lead and defuse the emotional intensity building between them. Hopefully her common sense, which had gone missing when he touched her, would quickly return.
It occurred to her that moving out of his arms and away from him would be a considerable aid
to that process. Instead, Brenna remained where she was. In his arms.
Despite her intentions, the syrupy warmth diffusing throughout her body made her feel too languid and lazy to do anything else. She decided she could be glib just as easily here as from across the room.
“A muse,” she repeated. “You’ll understand that I’m less than thrilled to be considered a muse who inspires horrific scenes like a serial killer terrifying a pregnant woman. Not to mention whatever awful scene you might dream up using the word usurped.”
Luke laughed softly. “In other words, don’t try to blame my nauseating sensationalist writing on you, Brenna?”
His words, his tone, were smooth and flip, but the way he was holding her—Brenna stole a quick look at his face and quickly averted her eyes again—and the way he was looking at her, was not.
The mixed signals confounded Brenna, but she played gamely along. “You took the words right out of my mouth, Luke.”
“I’d like to put something in your mouth, honey. Are you going to let me?”
Brenna nearly choked.
They were definitely having two separate conversations on two different levels, the jokey spoken one, and the intense nonverbal one being conducted by their eyes, their hands, their bodies.
“You see, you have a hormonal blitz as your excuse.” His tone was no longer quite so light and breezy. “So what’s mine, Brenna? You might not believe this, but I’ve never put the moves on a pregnant woman before.”
“No?” Keep it light, Brenna, she silently repeated her mantra. “And here I was thinking you did this sort of thing all the time.”
“You think I get some kind of kick out of, uh, being kicked by the baby within?”
“Not that I’m condemning you for that,” she said, parroting his own words back to him. “I’m very open-minded.”
“Don’t, Brenna.” Luke made a strangled sound that was something between a laugh and a groan. “Don’t make me laugh. Don’t make me…like you more than I do already. It’s bad enough that I want you as much as I do.”
“You want me,” she repeated, the words affecting her viscerally.
Hearing him proclaim it was as potent as feeling the physical evidence hard and insistent against her. That surprised her. She wouldn’t have thought herself susceptible to sexual sweet talk—if that’s what it was.
“You know I want you, Brenna. And we both know it’s ridiculous.” He sucked in a gulp of air, peering down into her wide gray eyes. “Don’t we?”
“Yes,” she agreed, nodding fervently. “Absolutely ridiculous.”
“You should tell me to get lost. Pronto.”
“Yes, I should. And I will.”
“But not yet,” he added quickly.
Too quickly, Luke acknowledged ruefully. She had to know how very much he didn’t want to leave her. That would give her power over him, and he felt a pang of foreboding. During his political operative days he’d learned that ceding power to anyone for anything could be costly indeed. It was a lesson he’d mastered all too well, one that had stayed with him despite his career change. Or perhaps because of it.
What would be the cost of giving in to this urge to kiss her? Luke was shaken by how very badly he wanted to.
He could almost feel his normally dependable sharp and calculating mind getting derailed by the touch of her hands, the feel of her soft breasts pressed against him. Desire was a potent force, but one he was familiar with, one he could control. This was different.
Luke gazed at Brenna. He enjoyed talking to her, looking at her, simply holding her. Combined with this desire he felt for her…
How did a man resist that staggering, potent combination? To make matters more complicated, Brenna had fully agreed with him that their predicament was ridiculous, so he couldn’t even argue with her—which he would’ve done, gladly, had she challenged him.
But she hadn’t, thus giving him no grounds for a quarrel, which would’ve created some head-clearing distance between them. Instead they remained close, on every level. Though she was nine months pregnant and they hadn’t even kissed, the simple act of embracing her was fast transporting him to a higher high than any he’d previously experienced.
Could he ever remember feeling such desperate urgency, such aching need?
Heat surged through him like molten lava. What Brenna Morgan stirred in him was new, a most intoxicating thrill. He wanted to explore it further, to see where this subtle but powerful sensuality would lead. He held her even closer.
Brenna locked her arms around his neck, squirming against him, tormented by the unfamiliar, aching frustration of wanting but not having. Of being close but not nearly close enough. Of longing to let go but not daring to.
Was this what happened on the road to becoming helpless from passion? To being overpowered and overwhelmed to the point of not being responsible for her actions? For the first time, Brenna saw the seductive appeal in that excuse. And tried to fight it.
“Luke.” She gasped his name. “Please! It’s…it’s too much.”
“You’ve got it backward, sweetheart.” His voice was as thick and husky as hers. “What you mean is, it’s not enough. But we can remedy that. Right now.”
His mouth took hers in a hungry, possessive kiss.
Brenna felt his tongue prod her lips and, reflexively, she opened them to him, allowing him entry to the moist warmth within. The intimacy was startling yet not alarming. Tempting and certainly not disgusting. All her previously held beliefs and fears of intimate contact seemed to be dissolving in the exciting fire of his kiss.
She felt his mouth moving over hers, evoking a fierce pleasure deep within her. His tongue touched hers, then rubbed seductively, invitingly, and she followed his lead, imitating his actions, returning the pressure of his lips, the thrust and parry of his tongue, with her own.
Pleasure and excitement and desire exploded inside her, obliterating a lifetime of caution and control, transforming it into aching, urgent need. She felt his big hand glide slowly upward to cup her breast and gently caress it, his thumb teasing the tip. The dual barriers of her sweater and sturdy cotton bra were no impediment to the electrifying effects of his touch.
Brenna moaned softly and arched into him.
“This is what you want, isn’t it, honey?” he murmured hoarsely.
His hand moved again, under her sweater, over her bra, his fingers seeking and not finding a front clasp, and then nimbly undoing the double hooks in the back.
“I know it’s what I want.” He groaned the words as her swollen, unrestrained bare breasts filled his hands.
He fondled her, nuzzling her neck, rubbing against her as she whimpered, mindless with pleasure, clinging to him.
“I don’t want to rush you or hurt you, Brenna.” Luke slid his hand between her legs. “There has to be a way we can do this. We’ll just have to be, uh, creative.”
His words swirled in Brenna’s head, but she hardly comprehended them. Her eyes were closed and she clung to Luke while her entire body reacted to the warm pressure of his hand. His fingers stroked her lightly, deftly through her leggings. Brenna knew he must feel the telltale moisture there, but she was too dazed to feel self-conscious or embarrassed.
Pleasure, extreme and intense, rocketed through her. She’d never known it could be this way, that she could feel like this.
And then, abruptly, the excitement turned frightening.
She was no longer standing! Luke had swept her up in his arms. It was nothing less than terrifying not to touch the ground, to be held high against his chest, as if she were light as a doll instead of an almost-nine-months-pregnant woman, weighing the most she ever had in her life.
Reflexively, Brenna hung on to Luke, her arms tightly around his neck as he started toward the staircase.
“Where’s your bedroom, honey? I’m guessing upstairs.” His voice was deep and low, almost guttural.
The sound alarmed Brenna as much as her helplessness. The baby didn’t like what w
as happening, either; she was sure of that. She felt the increased activity in her womb, as if Baby X were trying to kickbox the big intruder away from its mama.
The perception, whimsical though it might be, made Brenna tense. She knew all about children attempting to take care of helpless, foolish parents, having been such a child herself. No way was she going to be the mother of one. It was another promise she’d made to herself and to her unborn child—and one she intended to keep.
Starting right now.
“Put me down!” Her voice shook, sounding neither as forceful nor clear as it could have. As it should have!
No wonder Luke didn’t take her command seriously. “It’s okay, sweetie. You’re not all that heavy.”
He thought she was being polite, looking out for his well-being, saving him from lower back pain and strain! Brenna felt giddy laughter bubble up in her.
No one was more shocked than she when she burst into tears instead. And began to strike at him with her fists.
Her blows caught Luke off guard, though he ducked his head in time to miss getting smacked in the face.
“Brenna, what are you doing?” Luke stopped in his tracks halfway up the staircase.
His voice, stunned but not angry, jolted Brenna back to the present. Aghast at her own violence, she stopped hitting, her fingers quickly uncurling.
“Brenna? Honey?” Luke stared down at her, concern replacing the desire and subsequent astonishment that had clouded his eyes. “What is it?”
“I asked you to put me down.” To her mortification, a fresh flood of tears overtook her. Each word she spoke was punctuated with a sob. “And you…you didn’t.” She couldn’t seem to stop crying.
“Oh, God, it’s the baby, isn’t it?” Instead of putting her down, Luke raced back down the stairs, carrying her into the small living room off the entrance foyer. He looked stricken as he gently laid her down onto the sofa.
“Are you in pain? Should I call the doctor? Yes, of course, I should. I will, right now!” He careened from the room, only to return a second later. “Who is your doctor? And where’s the phone?”
Irresistible You Page 6
