Her Pregnant Agenda

He tilted his thumb toward her. “For you to finish so I can drive you to your apartment.”

Ariana lay both palms against her desk and rolled backward. “Are we going to have this argument again?”

It wasn’t that she didn’t appreciate the ride home. She did. The ride didn’t disturb her. Grant did. He smelled too good, looked too perfect, and was far too thoughtful. And right now, her life was too much of a mess to think such things.

“No argument required. Since I drive near your neighborhood on my way home, dropping you off makes perfect sense. A crowded and noisy subway can’t be healthy for unborn children.”

“And what would you know about the needs of babies?” She was sorry the moment she spoke. A flicker of some pained emotion flashed in Grant’s eyes and disappeared, leaving blue ice behind. She’d hurt his feelings. And Ariana would rather lie to the Supreme Court than hurt anyone.

“I’ll need to drop this by Mr. Winter’s office on the way out, but I accept your kind offer—on one condition.”

He straightened in surprise. “And that would be…?”

“Dinner. At my place.” She smiled, feeling much more in control of the situation and the funny twinges that occurred whenever Grant appeared. “I don’t take favors without returning them.”

“I took you to Gionni’s because I wanted to.”

“And I want to fix dinner for you.”

“All right.” He returned the smile, and darn if those tilted lips and crinkled eyes didn’t cause another set of funny twinges. “You have discovered my weakness. Since I mostly eat out, I never pass up a home-cooked meal.”

Ariana was aghast. He always ate out? “How does lasagna sound?”

“Perfect. And afterward, I have something to discuss with you.”

“About my case?” Ariana gathered the copy and slipped the papers into a manila folder marked, Global Sales Ads. Locking her desk, she took her purse and came around to where Grant stood. “Did you locate Benjy?”

“Yes.” Grant lightly placed two fingers against her back and guided her down the hallway, slowing his steps so she could take her time.

A feeling of foreboding sent goose bumps over Ariana’s arms. The fact that he didn’t elaborate bothered her some. If Grant’s hand hadn’t felt so good against her back, she’d have worried. But what was there to worry about? A part of her really didn’t want anything from Benjy. Sure, he had a responsibility to the twins, but if she could afford to support them on her own, she would. Benjy and the word responsibility didn’t quite go together.

The sleek Lexus wound through the city past roaring buses and honking cabbies. Ariana relaxed against the smooth interior, grateful to be in the climate controlled confines of Grant’s car once again. She was tired. Her back hurt. Tilting her head against the headrest, she closed her eyes. The calming strains of “F?r Elise” filtered from the CD player. Her last memory was of turning onto Beacon Street.

“Ariana.” A gentle, masculine voice sounded close to her ear. A strong hand touched her shoulder. “Ariana. Wake up.”

Such a nice dream. She inclined her head, capturing the hand between her cheek and shoulder. Such a nice hand, so strong and tender.

“We’re here.”

Ariana roused then, aware of her surroundings and of Grant Lawson’s warm scent inches from her nose. Her eyes fluttered open. Sure enough. Grant’s blue eyes glittered in amusement.

“Did I fall asleep?” she asked, sitting up straighter though she could no more escape his nearness than she could run a hundred yard dash. From this distance she noted his five o’clock shadow, a rather appealing darkness along his upper lip.

He tilted away, and she breathed a sigh, whether of relief or pleasure, she didn’t know. Catlike, she arched her shoulders and stretched, refreshed from the brief nap.

Grant opened her door and she stepped out of the car. A gentle breeze tugged at her hair and rattled the tree leaves overhead.

Inside the first floor of the brownstone, as they started up the stairs, a door to the right opened. A curly gray head popped out.

“Is that you, Ariana?”

“Hello, Mrs. Porter. Yes, it’s me.”

Her landlady bustled out into the entryway. “That Benjy fellow came by today.”

Ariana’s stomach lurched. What she didn’t need right now was a confrontation with Benjy. “What did he want?”

“How should I know? I never liked that man.” Mrs. Porter fluttered her hands. “I told him you moved.”

With a laugh, Ariana wrapped the older woman in a hug. “You are my guardian angel.”

“You need one.” Mrs. Porter patted Ariana’s belly. “And so do these babies.” She caught sight of Grant then, standing quietly behind Ariana. Pointing one birdlike finger she asked, “And who is this?”

“This is my attorney. Grant Lawson meet Mrs. Pearl Porter, my landlady and unofficial watchdog.”

Mrs. Porter pshawed as Grant took her tiny spotted hand in his long, lean one. “It’s a pleasure meeting you, Mrs. Porter.”

“High time this girl had someone to stand up for her.” Her gray curls bobbed. “Always doing for everyone else, but never a thought for herself.”

“Oh, Mrs. Porter.” Once her landlady began extolling her virtues, the situation could get downright embarrassing.

“Don’t ‘oh’ me. I’m telling the truth, and you know it.” Her black eyes focused on Grant. “Last spring a bunch of hoodlums started hanging out at our neighborhood park. And what did Ariana do? She went down there every evening to watch the children, sat on the bench until dark, and every time one of those thugs showed up, she’d call the police. Pretty soon they decided our park wasn’t worth the effort and went somewhere else. Can you imagine? A little thing like Ariana taking on a gang of hoodlums?”

Heat crept up Ariana’s neck. “Really, Mrs. Porter. Anyone would have done the same.”

“But ‘anyone’ didn’t. You did. And what about that halfway house?” Mrs. Porter slowed long enough to shudder, and Ariana jumped at the opportunity to make an escape before she bored Grant to death. The halfway house was not a good subject right now.