Talking Dirty With the Boss(37)

“It’s not about whether we like each other or not. This would provide both you and our child with some security, legally and financially.”

“But, but—”

“What if something happened to me? Where would that leave you? If you were my wife you’d be entitled to certain benefits you wouldn’t get otherwise.”

Marisa stared at him. “You’re so freaking logical sometimes it does my head in.”

“You see my point, though?”

She didn’t say anything, digging hard into her ice cream and scooping up a big lump of it. She stared at the spoon for a moment, then put it down again and stared at him. “Do my feelings not matter to you at all?

“We have to put our personal feelings aside in this instance and—”

“So what I want doesn’t matter? Only what you want?”

Luke found his hand at his tie, mindlessly twiddling the knot. He forced it down. “What do you want, then?” he asked stiffly. “You said something about a glass studio earlier.”

For a long minute she said nothing, staring at him. “Yeah, I did. I want to be a glass artist like my dad. Have my own glass studio. I want to be able to create art like he did.” She said the words with a kind of defiance, like a gauntlet thrown down.

“There’s no reason you can’t do that, is there? I can build you something down the back—”

“I don’t want you to build me something,” she interrupted. “This is my dream, not yours. I won’t be an adjunct to you, Luke. Not again.”

He frowned. “What do you mean not again?”

But she was already pushing away the bowl and throwing aside her napkin. “Never mind. Thanks for the ice cream, but I think this conversation is over, don’t you? I’ll give you a call tomorrow.”

What? Where the hell was she going? “Marisa,” he began, but she’d already slid out of the booth and was walking toward the entrance of the parlor.

Crazy woman. She’d forgotten they’d come in his car. Unless, of course, she was going to try to find a taxi. Which he was not going to let her do, not at this hour and with the whole waterfront area full of drunken louts.

He got to his feet and strode out to find Marisa standing outside with her arms folded, extremely annoyed.

“Don’t say it,” she said warningly.

“You forgot we came in my car.”

“Didn’t I tell you not to say it?”

He thought about pointing out he was only checking to make sure she knew that but there was a spot of bright color on her cheeks and dark circles under eyes. She seemed tired and fragile, and that protective, possessive feeling suddenly roared to life.

He was impatient to sort this out, but she was right. They could talk about this tomorrow. When the shock had worn off and she wasn’t so tired. “Come on,” he said. “I’ll take you home.”

This time she didn’t argue.





Chapter Seven

Marisa woke the next day to the sound of someone knocking insistently on her door. She groaned, rolled over to glance at the clock. It was 9:00 a.m. Who the hell was knocking on her door at nine on a Sunday morning? She lay there for long moments hoping they’d go away. But they didn’t.

Crap. What she could really use was another couple of hours sleep, since she’d spent a good portion of the night before lying awake going over and over Luke’s insane plan that she move in with him. Oh, and not forgetting the further insanity of her marrying him.

She couldn’t get her head around it. She’d only just found out she was pregnant and yet he was all “move in with me, and hey, why don’t we get married?” as if it were a done deal.

She was sick of people doing that. Ignoring what she wanted or dismissing it as unimportant.

Yet, for all that it was a completely mad idea, there was a part of her that didn’t find it so objectionable. Because he was right, it did make sense from both a legal and a financial standpoint when it came to their child. And on a more personal level, it also meant that she wouldn’t again find herself in the position of being “the other woman.” This time, she would be the wife.

You can’t actually be contemplating this, can you? With Mr. Two Weeks only?

The banging on the door increased.

Well, one thing was for sure. She couldn’t think with that racket going on.

Slipping out of bed, Marisa grabbed her blue silk Chinese robe and put it on over her short cotton nightdress, belting it tightly as she went downstairs to the front door.

If it was door-to-door salespeople or Mormons, she was going to have a few choice words to say to them.

She pulled open the door, ready to let rip, only to have the words die in her throat as she met Luke McNamara’s gray eyes.