Irresistible You

by Barbara Boswell

  Brenna flushed. Suddenly her small joke didn’t seem all that funny. Certainly, Luke found no humor in it. She felt embarrassed, defensive. “He asked me a question and I wasn’t sure of the answer. I thought I’d ask you since I don’t make a practice of lying—or you might prefer creatively enhancing—to police officers.”

  “Oh, so it would’ve been lying to say, ‘Yes, I’m a friend of Luke’s’?”

  “Maybe,” she snapped. “I don’t know if you consider me a friend of yours or not.”

  “Well then, what about a simple ‘We’re serving on a jury together’? That is certainly the truth. No need to consult me on that.”

  “You’re right. That’s exactly what I should have said. I’m sorry I didn’t, but never mind, I’ll go set the record straight right now.”

  She unlocked the door and pushed it open. Wind and snow gusted into the interior.

  “Brenna!” Luke reached over to grab her, but she had already stepped down onto the sidewalk.

  She was surprisingly fast for an almost-nine-months-pregnant woman, and it certainly helped that the sidewalks had been salted. By the time Luke gathered his wits and clambered from his side of the vehicle, Brenna had reached the passenger side of the patrol car.

  Patrick Minteer leaned across the seat and opened the door for her. “What can I do for you?” he asked warily.

  “Officer Minteer, would you mind driving me home? Your cousin—”

  “That’s enough, Brenna.” Luke was right behind her, his hands on her forearms, his body surrounding hers like a protective shell. “I don’t know what stunt you’re trying to pull but it—but I—”

  “Let me go.” Brenna began to struggle. “I want to go home.”

  “I’ll take you home.” Luke began to pull her away from the patrol car.

  “No!” Brenna grabbed hold of the car door and hung on. “Don’t bother. I wouldn’t want you to inconvenience yourself for another minute on my behalf. Your cousin said he would give me a ride.”

  It suddenly occurred to her that the young policeman had not yet agreed to her request. “Will you please, Officer Minteer?”

  “Of course,” he agreed.

  “Stay out of this, Patrick,” growled Luke. “It has nothing to do with you.”

  “Yes, it does!” cried Brenna. “A police officer giving a ride to a juror falls into the category of official civic business or something like that.”

  She thrust herself forward with such force, she succeeded in loosening Luke’s grasp on her. She would’ve landed face first in the front seat of the police car if Patrick hadn’t reached up to catch her by her shoulders.

  “Holy Mother of God, Luke, she almost fell! And in her condition!” Patrick was distressed. “What’s going on with you two?”

  “We’re serving on a jury together,” Brenna said through gritted teeth. “Nothing else is going on. We’re strictly fellow jurors, right, Luke?”

  She was kneeling in the front seat, firmly trapped between the Minteers. Patrick was in front of her, still clutching her shoulders; Luke was behind her, his hands on what would have been her waist. If she still had a waist.

  “Will you both let go of me? I feel like a steak bone caught between two dogs!”

  Patrick immediately dropped his hands, but Luke moved even closer to consolidate his hold, wrapping his arms around her abdomen, around the baby. She couldn’t get away from him if she tried—which she did, wriggling ineffectually in his arms.

  “I’m taking her home, Patrick,” Luke announced. “I’ll get her out of your hair right now, figuratively speaking.” He flashed his cousin a charming smile. “Literally, I’ll get her out of your car.”

  “No!” Brenna’s voice rose. “I said no. You can’t let him drag me away, Officer Minteer, or you’ll be aiding and abetting a…a kidnapping. One juror has no right to abduct another juror.”

  Patrick Minteer looked uncertain, glancing from Brenna to Luke, then back to meet Brenna’s eyes again.

  “Please, Patrick,” she said softly, suddenly sure he had decided to side with her.

  Until Luke spoke again.

  “Don’t pay any attention to her, Patrick. She’s too emotional to know what she’s doing. Remember every time Aunt Molly got pregnant….” Luke’s voice trailed off.

  Patrick instantly recoiled, returning to his place behind the wheel. He adjusted his hat, which had been knocked askew during the brief scuffle, and didn’t look at Brenna again.

  “You’ve really, really, really done it this time, Luke.” The young officer gripped the steering wheel with both hands. “Go on, take her home. But you know it won’t end here. Oh, wait, just wait till…” He groaned and shook his head.

  Luke half pulled, half carried Brenna back to the Dodge Durango, still idling along the sidewalk, with both doors wide open.

  “Some policeman your cousin is!” she said crossly as he packed her inside. “He actually let you take me away against my will. I should file a complaint. And who is Aunt Molly? Patrick looked totally spooked at the very mention of her name.”

  Luke didn’t answer until he’d pulled the SUV into the street and was heading away from the courthouse. “Aunt Molly had these, er, memorable mood swings—every time she got pregnant. Which was five times! All in all, they made an indelible impression on many of us Minteers.”

  “I’m sure. But why did you let your cousin believe that I was a hormonal basketcase?” argued Brenna. Never mind that she’d invoked that same argument to herself, about herself, while trying to rationalize her feelings for Luke Minteer. Brenna grimaced. Now was not the time for even more rationalizing! “I only did what you wanted,” she insisted. “I told Patrick we were fellow jurors. Then you came roaring after me like some…some wild Neanderthal. What was that all about? Just who is the crazy one here?”

  “You know I didn’t want you to go running off in the middle of a blizzard to tell him anything,” Luke said tightly. “And I did not roar like a Neanderthal.”

  “I beg to differ. Now take me home right now or I’ll…I’ll get out at the next red light and knock on somebody’s door and ask them to call me a cab.”

  “Oh, that would fix me, wouldn’t it, Brenna? You wandering around in a subzero blizzard knocking on doors, hoping to find a cabdriver insane enough to come out in this weather to drive you? Yeah, that would hurt me a lot more than it would hurt you—or your baby.” He gave a disdainful huff. “You sound like a little brat threatening to hold your breath till you turn blue because you think that’ll really punish the grown-ups.”

  Brenna was appalled. He was right, of course. Her juvenile threat wouldn’t hurt him at all—but it would certainly do harm to herself and the baby. She leaned her head back against the headrest and wondered if she was becoming as wacky as the Minteers’ fabled Aunt Molly.

  Luke was silent, pretending to concentrate on driving through the storm. But he was a native of this area and had driven through far worse storms, so he had ample opportunity to think while navigating the roads, to reflect on the staggering fact that yes, Brenna Morgan had hit exactly on the best way to punish him.

  The image of her running away from him to roam through the frigid snow-blinding streets was as horrifying as the most heart-stopping murder scene he’d ever written. More so, in fact. His fictional creations and their fate had no power over him; he didn’t care if an imaginary killer offed an imaginary victim.

  But Brenna…oh, she had power over him. There was no use denying it when the possibility of something happening to her—even as stupid and unlikely as her bratty little threat—could unsettle him this way.

  He switched on the radio, as much to hear the latest storm updates as to try to distract himself from his disturbing insight.

  She was bad news, he lectured himself sternly. She was every “must avoid” he had ever warned or been warned about.

  “This just in!” exclaimed an eager newscaster. “A giant old pin oak tree was uprooted by the wind and ice and has falle
n across a portion of Route 128, knocking down power lines. Both the tree and the live wires are blocking the road, and 128 is closed indefinitely so crews can begin the removal and repairs. Motorist are advised—”

  “Ah, this day keeps getting better and better.” Disgusted, Luke turned off the radio. “I can’t get home if 128 is closed. It’s the only road that leads to Mountainview Trail, where I live. And even if I could get there, I’ll have no power till they get the lines back up.”

  A moment of dark humor struck him. Well, at least he had something else to think about besides Brenna Morgan. He could now dwell on the massive inconvenience of no electricity and no way home.

  “What will you do?” It was the first time Brenna had spoken since issuing her threat. She had been sitting in chastened silence ever since.

  “Maybe I’ll run the blockade and try to jump the oak and the live wires. That always seems to work in the movies.” Luke turned the corner onto her street. “Just kidding.”

  “I’m glad you clarified that.” She arched her brows wryly. “It wasn’t too hard to imagine you trying it.”

  “Yeah, we roaring Neanderthals often do double duty as foolhardy stuntmen.”

  Brenna caught her lower lip between her teeth. “You weren’t being a Neanderthal. I was out of line, the whole time.” She swallowed hard. “And I…I apologize, Luke.”

  Luke frowned. How was he supposed to demonize her when she apologized to him in that sad little voice, with confusion all over her sweet face? How could he focus on everything that was maddening about her while her pretty white teeth worried the soft pink fullness of her lips?

  At this rate, how was he ever going to convince himself he couldn’t stand her, that he would rather be anywhere than around her?

  “I was out of line, too,” he said grimly. “The Aunt Molly comparison was uncalled for. Unfair.” He heaved a sigh. “Untrue. Sorry.”

  Their truce silenced both of them once more, until they pulled in front of her house.

  “Looks like you’ve got some friendly neighborhood helpers.” Luke pointed his thumb at the two young boys, bundled heartily against the elements, who were shoveling her walk.

  “Brandon and Timmy Walsh. Their mom makes them shovel my walk and dig my car out every time it snows, but she refuses to let me pay them. So I slip them money on the sly. I really think I ought to pay them for doing all that work.” Brenna frowned thoughtfully. “Do you think I’m sabotaging Cassie by—”

  “No, because I agree with you. The only snow shoveling I did for free as a kid was for my parents and grandparents, and that was out of sheer self-preservation. They would’ve brained me with the shovel if I’d dare to ask them for money. The neighbors all paid me for my work. And look what a model citizen I grew up to be,” he added cheekily.

  “Well, actually, that’s true. You serve when jury duty calls, you don’t cheat on your taxes. Um, do you?”

  “No way. One credo I’ve always lived by, even at my political operative worst—or best some might argue—was Don’t Mess with the IRS.”

  He braked the SUV to a stop, and Brenna reached for the door handle.

  “Stay there. Let me get that for you,” Luke ordered, jumping out to come around to her side and open the door.

  Luke lifted her down, and this time there was no mutual fury to mask the effects of their proximity to each other, as in the police car just a short while ago.

  This time their gazes met, their bodies touched, and the heat that rose between them was steamy enough to melt the blustery snow.

  “Hi, Mrs. Morgan!” bellowed Timmy, waving his arm.

  The intensity was broken, for at least a second or two. Then Luke took Brenna’s arm to walk her to her door, and their closeness catapulted them back under the spell of their attraction.

  “Was the ‘Mrs. Morgan’ bit their mother’s idea?” murmured Luke, leaning down to speak softly into her ear.

  So the children wouldn’t hear. But mainly because he couldn’t resist the temptation of touching his lips to her delicate earlobe.

  “Yes. Cassie thought with the baby coming and all…” Brenna paused to breathe. It was freezing cold, but she felt as if she were on fire with a raging fever. “Cassie thought the Mrs. would be easier for them to understand,” she added breathlessly.

  “She means easier for her to explain to them. Around here a divorce is far more respectable than a deliberate foray into single parenthood.”

  His breath warmed the icy tips of her ears. “P-probably,” she agreed, feeling weak.

  They walked on the cleared pavement, approaching the two boys.

  “Mrs. Morgan, you should wear a hat or at least ear-muffs in this cold,” Brandon admonished, undoubtedly echoing a parental warning. “Mom says it’s like a chimney or something.”

  “Or something,” said Luke.” Your mom is absolutely right, too.” He stopped and reached into his coat to pull out his wallet. He removed two twenty-dollar bills and gave one to each boy.

  They stared at the bills, stupefied by the amount. So was Brenna. The two dollars apiece she usually slipped them seemed incredibly paltry compared to Luke’s largess.

  “Thanks for taking care of Brenna’s place, guys,” Luke boomed.

  He led Brenna to the porch, shielding her from the wind as she fumbled with her key in the lock.

  “Can I come in?” he asked quietly, as she pushed open the door. “For a cup of coffee?”

  Brenna went still and gulped for breath.

  “Wait, I just remembered, you don’t have any coffee because you don’t like it.” Luke leaned his arm against the doorjamb, watching her. “Okay, I’ll go with hot chocolate, then. I’ve been known to choke down tea at times, too.”

  Brenna reminded herself that it was midmorning, that he had driven her to and from the courthouse in this inclement weather, inconveniencing himself. Plus, the road to his house was currently inaccessible.

  The least she could do was to provide him with a hot drink before sending him on his way—wherever that may be.

  “How about it, Brenna?” His voice was so soft, she had to lean closer to him to hear it.

  Their eyes met again, and she knew that if she were to invite him inside this morning, it would be for more than a hot drink. As for sending him on his way…

  “Come in, Luke,” she heard herself say.

  They entered the house, and he closed the door behind him. With the snow covering the windows and blocking the sight of the outdoors, it seemed as if they were the only two people in the world.

  Brenna stood, tense and expectant and aching. She had just given her okay to recreate the sensual events of last night, hadn’t she?

  Her heartbeat pounded in her ears, her breathing was shaky and shallow. She waited for Luke to make his move and wondered how she would react to him this time….

  Six

  “I’ll put on water for the hot chocolate,” Luke called over his shoulder as he strode toward the kitchen. “Do you have anything to eat? I skipped breakfast and I’m starving.”

  Brenna stood in the foyer, nonplussed. She’d expected him to make a move, but on her, not her kitchen. She heard him turn on the faucet to fill her kettle with water; she listened as the refrigerator was opened and closed, along with cabinets and drawers.

  She walked to the door of the kitchen and peered in to see Luke assembling an assortment of food on the kitchen counter.

  “You have everything needed to make one of my specialties.” He must have heard her approach because he didn’t turn around, remaining busily immersed in his project. “Peanut butter and banana with cream cheese and jelly on honey wheat toast. Care to try it?”

  Brenna shuddered. “Never.”

  “It’s nutritious for the baby. Contains all the major food groups. Protein, fruit, dairy, grains.”

  “Thanks, but the baby and I will pass. I have some chicken left over from dinner last night.” She entered the kitchen, moving toward the counter where Luke stood. “Would
n’t you rather make a sandwich with chicken?”

  “No, but I’ll make one for you if you want.”

  She shook her head. “I’m not hungry for lunch yet.”

  She eyed him dubiously as he spread a third slice of bread with cream cheese. The other two were thick with peanut butter and strawberry jelly. And then he began to chop up the banana. “Are you really going to eat that?”

  “Sure. It’s one of my all time faves. I’m not much of a cook, but I’m a helluva sandwich maker. You could say I’m a professional one, from all the years I put in as sandwich boy in the family tavern kitchen.”

  Brenna moved a step closer. “Your family owns a tavern?”

  “The eponymous Minteer’s Tavern in Johnstown. It’s been run by Minteers since before the famous flood swept it away. The family rebuilt, and it’s been open and operating six days a week from noon to 2:00 a.m., staffed mainly by Minteers.”

  “Your roots in this area go way back.” She came to stand beside him, watching him build his revolting concoction. “No wonder you wanted to come back here, no matter what.”

  “I’m touched that you would attribute such noble motives to me. Which poses something of a dilemma. Should I play along or tell you the truth about my return?” Luke mused lightly.

  “Last call. Are you sure you don’t want one?” He put the finishing touches on his sandwich and carried it over to the table.

  “Believe me, I’m sure.” The kettle began to whistle. Brenna removed it from the burner and began to prepare two cups of hot chocolate. “But I am curious why you came back here when your family was so furious with you. I’ve been wondering about that since I first heard it.”

  “Wonder no more, Brenna. I came back because after Matt fired me, I was as furious with the family as they were with me. And I knew nothing would enrage them more than having me living here in the area, when they couldn’t stand the sight of me.”

  He took a hearty bite of his sandwich, reaching over to pull out a chair for Brenna as she carried the steaming mugs to the table.