Talking Dirty With the Boss(38)

“Good, you’re up,” he said calmly, before she had a chance to say anything. “And don’t worry about breakfast, I bought some.” Then he put his foot on the step, obviously intending to come inside.

Pulling herself together, Marisa planted her feet in the middle of the doorway and stuck a hand on his chest, stopping him in his tracks. “What are you doing here, McNamara?”

He frowned. “Excuse me?”

“Let me put that another way. It’s nine a.m. On a Sunday freaking morning. You’re lucky I’m not still asleep.”

“I told you I needed a decision this morning. That’s why I’m here.”

Marisa didn’t know what was more annoying—the fact that he’d turned up so early or that he clearly expected her to have made a decision about the baby. After one night. Which she’d spent mostly not sleeping, and was now more tired than she’d ever been in her whole life.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?”

He raised his eyebrow in surprise. “Of course I’m serious. Why do you keep asking me that?”

Possibly because her experience was of men saying things they didn’t mean. Things like “I’ll pay you back, I promise.” Things like “You’re the only woman in my life.”

Things like “I love you.”.

Not Luke, though. Clearly whatever he said, he meant.

A small knot of tension she hadn’t been aware of until now loosened inside her and she became suddenly conscious of her hand on his chest. And that his chest was very warm. And, good God, was that a T-shirt? Yes, and that was definitely a pair of jeans on his long, muscular legs and around his lean hips. If he’d been amazing in a suit, dressed casually, he was…

“You’re in a T-shirt,” she muttered stupidly.

“It’s Sunday. You don’t think I wear a suit on the weekend, do you?” There was a glint in his eye, almost as if he was teasing her. But no, that couldn’t be right. Luke wouldn’t know a tease if he fell over one.

“Honey, you look like you were born in a suit.”

“Well, I wasn’t. Are you going to let me in?”

For some reason she didn’t want to remove her hand and stand aside. He was so hot beneath her palm, and strong. Immovable. As if he could take anything the world threw at him and stand firm against it. She didn’t know why that should feel so good, but it did.

“Marisa.” His voice had quieted, a rough edge creeping into it.

And when she lifted her gaze from the black cotton on his chest and met his eyes, she saw silver flare in them, the sparks of their chemistry catching fire.

Ahem. Remember you weren’t going to go there again?

Marisa snatched her hand away. No, they weren’t. Sex had already messed with things once and she wasn’t such a glutton for punishment she’d go there again. “I don’t think your coming inside is a good idea.”

“I can control myself,” he replied coolly. “Can you?”

She scowled at him. “Takes two to tango.”

Luke said nothing. He put his hands on her hips, shifted her gently to one side, then stepped into her house and walked down the hallway in the direction of her lounge area, leaving her gaping after him.

Bloody hell. The freaking nerve of the guy.

Slamming the door with a curse, she tightened her robe and hurried down the hallway after him.

He was in the little kitchen, taking things out of a plastic bag he’d had in one hand and putting them down on the counter area that divided the kitchen from the rest of the lounge. Croissants, freshly baked from the smell of them, and ham. And what appeared to be her favorite kind of soft cheese. There was also some kind of boutique honey and a packet of freshly ground coffee from the coffee shop she always got her morning latte from.

“Where are your cups?” He was pulling open her cupboards and making tsking sounds. “How can you find anything in here?”

“Bottom drawer to your left. What on earth are you doing in my kitchen?”

“Breakfast. I told you. Do you have something I can make coffee in?”

“I don’t need you to make breakfast for me.”

He straightened. “I know you don’t need me to. But I want to. Let me do it.”

Alistair used to make her breakfast some mornings, particularly when he wanted something from her. Money for example. Did Luke have the same modus operandi? Did he do similar things for his two-week lovers? Presumably money wasn’t what he was after, but men always wanted something.

“Why?” she asked. “If you think this is going to make me any more likely to move in with you you’re going to have to think again.”