She got to her feet and handed him his jacket, and he brushed the dirt off and folded it over his arm. Pulled his cuffs down. His tie was a little loose, but before he could do anything about it, she’d reached up and tightened it for him. Even making sure the knot was sitting where he liked it, dead center.
He couldn’t take his eyes off her. “Why did you do that?”
She blinked as if she hadn’t been aware of what she’d been doing. “Uh…because you like it that way.”
“Thank you,” he said softly.
She blushed and he couldn’t help himself. His fingers caught her beneath the chin, tilting her head back. Then he bent and kissed her. And it was sweet. Different from the hungry kisses they exchanged at night in bed together.
A kiss that intensified the ache into a pain that went deep into his heart.
Dangerous.
Marisa pulled away from him. “Come on, McNamara,” she said, sounding a little unsteady. “You don’t want to be late, do you?”
They weren’t late.
Yet much later that day, Luke found himself walking back and forth in front of his office windows, hands behind his back, thinking furiously. Turning the conversation about dreams over and over in his head. In fact he’d been so distracted, some of the work he’d intended to spend the afternoon doing hadn’t gotten done, so he’d had to stay later at the office—something he hated if he hadn’t planned on it. The disruption to his routine always unsettled him.
But Marisa unsettled him more.
She’d seemed more like a princess than ever in her white dress, golden curls clustering around her face. One who shouldn’t be sitting on the ground, and offering her his jacket to sit on had been simply a matter of course.
Then she’d spoken about her father. About her dreams of being an artist. About the bastard who’d broken her heart. And about her mother. Somehow, somewhere along the line, Marisa had put her dreams aside. Dreams that had been important to her.
Which meant he had to do something. He couldn’t tell her the truth about himself—at least not yet—but he could help her achieve those dreams in some way. Take away the shadow in her blue eyes. That shadow offended his sense of order. Princesses should be happy, not tragic.
Your sense of order, eh? Keep telling yourself that.
Luke halted by his desk, moved a pen. Of course it wasn’t only about his sense of order. She was the mother of his child. His responsibility. That meant taking care of her, making sure she was happy. And the happier she was, the more likely she’d stay with him. And she had to stay with him.
Whatever happened with the OCD, her moving out once their “trial period” was over wasn’t going to happen, not if he could help it. She was his and so was the baby, a little piece of his dream right there.
So what would make her happy?
Helping her achieve her dreams of being artist. That’s what she wanted most.
He thought back over the various conversations they’d had about it, about her wanting her own glass studio. Perhaps her art was like his obsession with cars? Perhaps she needed the studio to channel her creativity into? In which case, he’d provide one for her. He had the money to build it, which meant she wouldn’t have to put her dreams off any longer.
The idea was intensely satisfying to him.
Pleased with himself, he stopped pacing and rounded the desk. Sat down in his chair.
And began to do some research.
Chapter Ten
Marisa looked at the time on her phone and scowled. The university dean was running late, which meant he was going to be late to their meeting.
Which meant she would be late returning to work. Goddammit.
She shook out the women’s magazine she was reading and tried to pay attention to the article on some actress or other’s post-baby workout—which was more like her idea of torture—but her attention kept wandering.
If the dean was late and her meeting was late, being back to work late wasn’t the only problem. She’d be late for her lunch date with Luke.
They’d been stealing secret lunch dates for over a week now, arranging to meet at their “spot” in Albert Park each day at one o’clock. Luke’s idea. All part of his “get to know you” plan.
And each day, before one, she’d find her heart beating a little faster, anticipation coiling tight in her stomach. Anticipation that would dissolve into a burst of excitement the moment she saw him waiting for her. Because she enjoyed having lunch with him. He was so uptight normally, and yet at lunch he seemed to relax. He’d loosen his tie and they’d talk about stuff. Or not talk if they didn’t feel like it. Which wasn’t uncomfortable, just companionable.