Irresistible You

by Barbara Boswell

  “Coming back home was the best revenge I could think of. The success of my book was the frosting on the cake, so to speak,” he added, grinning.

  Brenna sipped her chocolate. “I don’t know if I believe you.”

  “Well, I didn’t have to come back here, I had other choices. My services as a political operative were in big demand—outside Matt’s district, that is. I had plenty of contacts, and it was well-known that I knew how to play the game of politics.”

  “But you’d condoned dirty tricks and things,” Brenna reminded him. “You had a bad reputation.”

  “Honey, in some circles those were considered the outstanding features on my résumé. But moving to some other state—especially a faraway one like California where my most tempting offer came from—would’ve been exactly what my family wanted. Me, the black sheep, out of sight and out of mind. I was too mad at Matt, at my folks, at everybody, to be so accommodating.”

  “So instead of conveniently disappearing, you came back and worked on your grisly crime book—and it turned out to be a big success.”

  “Meanwhile, I showed up everywhere, at church, at the tavern, at every family member’s birthday or baptism or funeral. My very presence was an affront, and I relished every moment.”

  Brenna wasn’t sure if she bought his perverse motive for his return or not. She suspected the true reasons were a lot more complex than Luke allowed himself to believe. “Are you still so angry with all of them?”

  “No, not anymore. After all, things worked out pretty well. If I hadn’t come back, I wouldn’t have written the book and found a whole new career. Turns out that I like writing more than politics—not to mention that it pays better if you happen to hit the bestseller jackpot.”

  “What about your family?” Brenna watched him finish his sandwich, down to the last crumb. “Are they still mad at you?”

  “A bunch of them still disapprove of me, but I think they’re mellowing. They’ve finally resigned themselves to seeing me around the district. When my house was finished, I threw a big housewarming party and everybody came. Mainly to tell me I was nuts to build a place on the mountain so far from town.”

  “With weather like this, they have a point,” observed Brenna, as a heavy blob of snow dropped from the kitchen window.

  “Nah, I knew exactly what I was doing when I bought my lot dirt cheap a couple years ago. Several new houses are being built out there. It’s a great place to live, and word is getting out, increasing property values. There’s a fantastic view, big lots, plenty of privacy and—”

  “You sound like a real estate agent trying to close a sale,” Brenna interjected dryly. “Naturally, that pesky, road-inaccessibility factor isn’t mentioned.”

  “Downed trees and power lines are freak accidents,” protested Luke. “And the road will be open by tonight, if I’m lucky.”

  He glanced at his watch. “Well, I’d better get going. I’m sure you have stuff to do, and my laptop is in the car, so I’ll head to the library to work on my book. Thanks for the late breakfast—or early lunch. I guess we’ll have to call it brunch,” he concluded.

  He rose from his chair.

  Brenna gaped at him. “You’re leaving?”

  Disappointment tore through her, and though she quickly lowered her head, she had a sinking feeling he had seen it in her eyes, on her face, in those first unguarded seconds.

  “That surprises you?” Luke stood over her. “Why?”

  When Brenna lifted her head to meet his penetrating blue eyes, her impassive mask was firmly in place.

  “I’d better stop wasting time and get upstairs to work if I want to finish my paper-doll book before the baby is born. I’ve been contracted to do a series called Children of the Twentieth Century, decade by decade, and I’m only in the first one. The ohs or the aughts. Who knows what to call it? It’s the same dilemma we’re having in this century.”

  “You’re babbling,” Luke said bluntly. “I’d like an answer to my question.”

  “I’d forgotten that talking about my work bores you.” Brenna tried a diversionary tactic. “Don’t worry, I won’t do it again.”

  Her tactic didn’t work; Luke was not diverted. “You expected me to try a repeat of last night, didn’t you?”

  Brenna winced. “I know you’re busy and have work to do. So do I. I completely understand.”

  To her horror her voice trembled and she felt sudden, unexpected tears welling in her eyes. What a rotten time for her hormones to run amok! Brenna swallowed hard, pressing her lips together tightly, fighting for control. Not for anything would she let her hormones make her cry.

  “Exactly what do you think you understand, Brenna?” Luke’s tone was almost mocking.

  “Just drop it, okay?” snapped Brenna. “Believe me, I’m well aware that I’m almost nine months pregnant and as big as a…a cow. I don’t blame you at all for wanting to leave.”

  Immediately, she clapped her hands over her mouth in dismay. “I didn’t mean to say that! It—the words just slipped out. Oh, I really am acting like a hormonal headcase—just like your aunt Molly!”

  “Compared to Aunt Molly’s antics, you’re as repressed and restrained as a Puritan, Brenna. And you’re not big as a cow, and I’m not leaving because I don’t want to stay with you.”

  “Yes, of course, you have a deadline to meet,” she murmured, striving to regain her lost poise. And to once more offer him the diplomatic out.

  Which Luke immediately rejected. “My deadline isn’t a problem. I have plenty of time before my book is due.”

  “I see,” Brenna said tautly.

  “No, you don’t see,” growled Luke. “I’m leaving because if I stay, I’ll give in to the need to touch you, I’ll pull you into my arms and kiss you until you’re moaning and sighing and clinging to me the way you did last night. And then I’ll pick you up and carry you upstairs…and scare the hell out of you, the way I did last night.”

  He laid his hand on the top of her head, smoothing his fingers over her silky dark hair. “I’m not a Neanderthal, remember? I’m not going to go caveman on a woman who was raped and is still traumatized by—”

  Brenna jumped to her feet, nearly knocking over her mug and her chair in the process. “How did you know I was raped? Who told you? Who else knows? I didn’t tell anybody in this area, I haven’t told anyone in years.”

  “Nobody told me, Brenna. And if you haven’t told anyone around here, I’m sure nobody knows. But I had enough clues to put it together.” He cleared his throat. “You don’t want to talk about it, I know. That much you’ve told me.”

  “It’s not a place in the past I care to return to,” she said bitterly. “Talking about it takes me there.”

  “Return to?” Luke slowly rubbed his hand along the length of her arm. “Sweetheart, I don’t think you’ve ever left it. You’re still stuck there. Your trip to the sperm bank, your determination to avoid a relationship with a man, the way you flipped out last night when it looked like we were going to have sex—it all adds up to some serious, er, issues, Brenna.”

  “I think I’m coping very well!”

  “Yes, yes, you are,” Luke agreed quickly, his tone tender and supportive. “And I’m not going to do anything to, uh, take away from how well you’re coping. Or give you more to cope with.” He looked tense and increasingly flustered. “I can’t exactly find the right words, but do you get what I’m trying to say?”

  She nodded her head. “Yes.”

  And she did; she understood what he was trying to say to her on every level.

  Brenna felt her apprehensive reserve dissolving fast and wondered how Luke inspired such confidence within her. Why was she able to drop her guard—the impenetrable one she’d maintained for years—only with him?

  He was a renegade and a rogue but had been honest and open about it. And early on, she had gleaned that there were good qualities within his character, at odds with his purported reputation. From his treatment of her, she knew
she’d been right.

  “I get it, Luke.”

  “Good!” Luke sounded relieved. “I’ve never been so inarticulate before. I can usually make my point at least, though I’ve never been known for making it with eloquence.”

  “And eloquence is a prized commodity in politics, isn’t it?” The corners of her lips slowly curved into a smile. “Especially when it’s packed into a twenty-second sound bite.”

  “True. Luckily, I was never a speechwriter. I can play a good game behind the scenes, but when it comes to talking the talk… That’s my brother Matt’s department, and he excels in it.”

  He leaned down and kissed her forehead. “Getting back on topic—I wish I could find some eloquent way to say I’m sorry you were so badly hurt, Brenna.”

  “You are eloquent. Because I know you mean it, Luke.” To his obvious surprise, she linked her arms around his neck. “I don’t want to be stuck in the past. And when I’m with you, for the first time ever, I feel different. I feel brave.”

  “I’m glad, Brenna.”

  “It’s more than that.” She gulped. “To be perfectly honest, you make me feel things I didn’t know I could ever feel. And I was scared last night, at first, but then, later…” Her voice trailed off.

  “Then, later, you decided that maybe you weren’t so scared?” He rubbed his nose lightly, affectionately, against hers.

  “When you came in the house with me today—” she moved closer to him, her eyes closing as he continued to gently nuzzle her “—I thought that maybe, if something happened this time, I might, I could—well, I didn’t think I would flip out,” she added wryly, using his own description of her reaction.

  “Maybe if something happened?” challenged Luke. “Come on, Brenna, take it a step further and admit that you expected something to happen when you invited me in today. You wanted it to happen. You still do.”

  “And if I don’t admit it, you’ll probably tell me in exact detail how you’ve drawn that conclusion?”

  “Baby, there’s no probably about it, I’ll definitely tell you. You looked crushed when I said I was leaving, you looked like you were ready to burst into tears.”

  She opened her mouth to automatically, defensively, deny it. And ended up balling her fingers into a fist and lightly punching his arm.

  “Jerk,” she muttered, not without a certain affection.

  “Thank you, darling.” His hand enclosed her fist and carried it to his mouth. He kissed her knuckles. “That’s one of the nicer terms used to describe me.”

  They both ended up laughing. Brenna was amazed. What could’ve turned into a dreadful, melodramatic scene had ended in laughter.

  She looked into his warm-blue eyes and knew then and there that she loved him. It had happened impossibly, ridiculously fast, but the real miracle was that it had happened at all.

  She had given up any hope of falling in love years ago, believing she was too damaged by the sexual trauma in her past to overcome it. But it seemed that she had, because she knew she was in love with Luke Minteer…and she wanted desperately to make love with him.

  “Show me where you work,” Luke said, cupping the nape of her neck with his hand. He headed in the direction of the staircase, taking her along with him. “In case a translation is needed, I’m encouraging you to invite me up to see your etchings.”

  “Consider yourself invited. But we’ll walk up the stairs this time. I don’t want you to break your back trying to carry me.”

  “I could smoothly counter that you’re not heavy, you’re a mere featherweight, except you’d probably punch me and call me a jerk again,” said Luke, taking her hand in his.

  “Hey, there’s no probably about it, I’ll definitely tell you.”

  They mounted the staircase, holding hands.

  Her studio was at the top of the stairs, her bedroom two doors down the narrow hallway. Brenna hesitated for a moment.

  And then Luke dropped her hand and strode swiftly into her studio, directly to her draft table.

  “Hey, this is really good!” He stared at the completed full-color drawing of Kristin, which Brenna had finished the night before.

  “The little girl looks like a real kid. Everything you’ve drawn looks real—the baby doll, the clothes, the kitten. As for the title of the book, here is a little professional advice—you should label the first decade of the century The Ohs. Aught sounds like a joke.”

  “Is that advice from your experience in politics or publishing?” Her voice wavered.

  “Both. Aught just doesn’t work.” Luke looked up at Brenna, who was still standing in the hall. “Show me some more stuff you’ve done, Brenna. I want to see all of it.”

  She stared at him, confused and uncertain. Hadn’t they come upstairs to…go into her bedroom?

  Luke had no trouble deciphering the silent question in her eyes.

  “I’m not going to pounce on you, Brenna. Show me your work, tell me about it.”

  He glanced outside. “From the way this snow is coming down, we aren’t going anywhere anytime soon. We have all the time in the world. I’m not going to rush things. Okay?”

  “I’ll cede to your greater experience in this area,” Brenna said, surprising herself with the small joke. She never joked about anything remotely sexual.

  “Good. Now come in here…”

  Brenna enjoyed showing Luke her work, the greeting cards and sewing patterns, the paper-doll books, the artwork she’d done for various children’s books and magazines over the past few years.

  She kept one copy of everything she’d had published in a bookcase, and Luke picked up each item and studied it with interest.

  Brenna was flattered by the attention; she couldn’t deny it.

  The number of paper-doll books that she had researched and drawn visibly astounded Luke. There was the set of Century Women’s Wear, a series of ten books covering various women’s fashions over the past millennium. The Century Children Series, including ten books featuring children and their clothing and playthings of the past millennium. The Children of the World series, featuring ten books filled with children from each continent and their ethnic costumes and toys.

  “You’ve done thirty of these paper-doll books—plus all these other things!” Luke exclaimed, impressed. “And each paper-doll book has sixteen pages of drawings—I counted them! How do you do it, Brenna? You’re too young to have been working for very many years. Unless you started when you were about four?”

  Brenna smiled. “I started drawing about then, but I published my first book when I was in art school.”

  “At The Rocky Mountain College of Art and Design in Denver,” interjected Luke. “I read your bio sketch in one of your books here. Is speed-drawing a course requirement there?”

  He was now leafing through the several dozen children’s magazines, each featuring a paper-doll or paper-toy page by Brenna Morgan.

  “I work fast, and I work all the time.” Brenna gave the same answer she always did when asked about her prolific talent.

  She didn’t feel it necessary to mention that chronic insomnia added many hours to her working day. She didn’t go to bed until she was so exhausted she literally fell asleep the moment her head hit the pillow.

  “Hmm, that sounds like a stock answer,” Luke observed. “I can spot them instantly, they’re a prerequisite in politics. I also have a few of my own for writing, especially when I’m asked where I get my ideas.”

  “Do you say you subscribe to The Serial Killer’s Digest?”

  “How did you know? Although, I actually say Murderers’ Monthly or The Gruesome Gazette. But I like your little jest better. Mind if I swipe it?”

  “Be my guest.”

  “How many of your paper-doll books are still in print?” He studied an Asian Children of the World book with all the elaborate paper-doll costumes she had drawn and colored.

  “All of them. The publishers said they have no plans to discontinue any of them,” she added modestly.

&
nbsp; Luke gaped at her. “I’m no authority on publishing, but I know that means all your books must be selling well. And you have a contract for a new series, too. You’ve got to be some kind of publishing phenom, Brenna!”

  She shrugged. “I’m just grateful I’m able to earn a living doing what I enjoy. And that I’ll be able to support my baby. My publishers were kind of depressed when I told them about the baby, because I also said that I intend to slow down considerably.”

  “The baby,” Luke murmured. He gazed down at her pregnant belly, bulging beneath her dark-rose maternity tunic top. “Sometimes when we’re talking, I actually forget you’re pregnant.”

  “Hmm, have you had your eyes checked lately?” She chuckled. “There could be some problem with your sight. My pregnancy is the most noticeable thing about me these days.”

  “It was the first thing I noticed about you when we met. But not too long afterward, I stopped giving your figure—or the lack of it—a thought.” He smiled sheepishly. “I have to admit that’s a first for me.”

  “I’m guessing that you’ve always required a shapely woman on your arm?” Brenna dared to tease.

  “Oh, yeah. And other places, too.” Luke’s eyes gleamed. “Go on and call me a shallow jerk.”

  “Only if you’ll call me a frigid headcase.”

  Moving slowly, as if not to startle her, Luke wrapped his arms around her in an embrace that was more protective than amorous. “It’s not the same at all. Shallow jerks make choices, but you didn’t have a choice, Brenna. You were struck by circumstances beyond your control.”

  “You’ve never even heard the details, and you’re giving me the benefit of the doubt?” Brenna leaned against him, letting her head loll against the hard wall of his chest. “That means a lot to me, Luke. And I really don’t think you’re a shallow jerk—although maybe you used to be one,” she couldn’t help but add, looking up at him, her gaze unmistakably flirtatious.

  Luke’s response was immediate. He scooped her up in his arms, grinning as she gave a surprised squeak.

  “Luke, I can walk!”

  “I know. But I want you to trust me enough to let me carry you.”