Her Pregnant Agenda

“Is that what you want?”

Ariana’s slender shoulders rolled forward in a shrug. “I love my job, and I want Mama to be proud. That’s what really matters.”

“I don’t see how your pregnancy interferes with any of that. Women with children continue to succeed in today’s business world. Surely your mother understands that.”

“Ah, but there’s more. You see, Mama’s younger sister, Lily, had a stroke last year. Since most of Mama’s relatives are still in Cuba, she and Lily are very close. Doctors wanted to put her in a nursing home, but Mama wouldn’t hear of such a thing. So she and Daddy took Lily into their home, and Mama provides total care for her. The stress is enormous, but to Mama, caring for Lily is a labor of love. She has to do it.”

“And you don’t want to add to your mother’s worry?”

“Exactly. Mama would be torn between her need to be with Lily and her maternal desire to help her unwed, very pregnant and alone, daughter.” Ariana’s animated expression disappeared. She twisted a strand of linguini with her fork, stirring the food around the plate. “It’s bad enough that my children won’t have a father, but now I will be a single mother struggling to make ends meet, instead of working my way up the ladder. I can’t add that load of worry onto my already overburdened mother.”

Grant took a bite of his pasta and savored the spicy flavor as he mulled over Ariana Fitzpatrick’s dilemma. She not only had the total responsibility of two unborn children, but all the hopes and dreams and concerns of her family rested on her fragile shoulders. And she believed she’d failed them.

“Ariana,” he said gently. “Sooner or later, your family will have to be told. You can’t keep two babies a secret forever.”

“I know.” She pulled in a ragged sigh. “I know. In fact, I really meant to all along, but first I wanted to get married—Mama’s old-fashioned about that. I’d told the entire family about the engagement, but Benjy was always vague about the wedding date, not making a commitment until three days before the courthouse fiasco. I’d planned to let them know about the babies once we married. When that never happened and I had to tell them about the breakup, I couldn’t bring myself to reveal the pregnancy at the same time. One shock was enough. But the longer I put off telling them, the harder it became.”

“Procrastination’s hell.” He should know. Hadn’t he said he’d “think about” that high-profile position with his dad’s law firm instead of refusing straight off the way he’d wanted to?

“No kidding. But once the babies come and I have my life under control again, everything will be fine and I’ll announce them to the world. Oh, Grant, I love these babies so much. My soul sings every time I think of watching them grow from perfect babies into beautiful, unique individuals. I can’t wait to hold them and count their fingers and kiss their noses and—” One nail-chewed hand flew to her mouth. “I’m sorry. You didn’t ask for all that motherly gushing.”

Some odd emotion caught in his chest at Ariana’s passionate speech. He’d dreamed of seeing that expression on Tiffany’s face, of sharing the unbridled joy of pregnancy and childbirth with the woman he loved. But Tiffany had put an end to such foolish fantasies.

Carefully, deliberately, he shifted his attention back to a woman who did want children. As an attorney he empathized to a certain point with all his clients, but Ariana didn’t appear to want his sympathy. Though she’d made some mistakes, she didn’t wallow in self-pity, and, unlike her ex-fiancé, Ariana took full responsibility for her life, embracing the good parts of a difficult situation. He admired that. Yes, that was it. He admired her grit and determination. And he’d darn well find a way to see her through this difficult period.

He was still contemplating the particulars of such action, when the rotund waiter approached the table. “Sir, would you and the wife care for some dessert?”

Not wanting to embarrass the waiter, Grant ignored the mistake and shook his head. “None for me. Ariana?”

“No, thank you.” He could see that she was disconcerted by the waiter’s presumption that they were married. She dipped her head and fiddled with the remaining linguini, a pose he found both lovely and alluring. Long, dark eyelashes curved over the crests of her delicate, pink-tinged cheekbones.

For a moment he let his mind slide into the thought planted by the hapless waiter and the memories of Tiffany’s cruelty. What if Ariana were his wife? What if those were his babies she carried beneath her heart? Regardless of Tiffany’s taunts, he’d yearned to be a father, a good one. To take his children to the Cape and teach them to sail. Or to deep-sea fish and dig clams. Ariana would look beautiful walking barefoot along a sun-kissed beach with her rich, dark hair blowing in the breeze.

“Your check, sir.” The waiter’s voice pulled him out of his reverie. Swallowing thickly, he forced his gaze away from Ariana’s lovely profile and reached for his wallet.

Teeth clenched, he reminded himself that the case against marriage was settled long ago. As much as the truth pained him, there would be no children for Grant Lawson. And certainly no wife. Never, never, never a wife.

Chapter Three

Ariana shuffled work from the in-box to the out-box, wondering if she’d ever find the bottom of her desk. Exhausted, she wasn’t sure how much longer she could handle the stress of the job, the stress of her situation, and the physical overload of carrying two championship wrestlers around her middle. Last night’s quiet dinner had been an oasis, a momentary relief, that she’d needed badly. More than once today she’d wanted to cross the hallway to Grant Lawson’s office and express her appreciation. Discretion and work held her back. Grant was a good guy, willing to do a fellow employee a huge favor. End of story. Never mind that she couldn’t stop thinking about how much she’d enjoyed his company last evening.

A shadow fell across Ariana’s desk. A tall shadow that smelled like expensive sandalwood. Peeking from beneath her eyelashes, she glimpsed well-groomed nails, a Rolex watch, and immaculate cuffs. She lifted her head, up, up, up, to find a pair of blue eyes boring into her. The babies reacted, shooting a karate chop to her backbone. What was it about blue eyes that made them behave that way?

“Are you ready?”

“For what?”

Grant tilted an eyebrow toward the clock hanging over the water cooler. “It’s after five. Time to go home.”

“So it is.” One of the other girls in the department hadn’t felt well this afternoon, and Ariana had taken over a project for her. She went back to proofreading the copy she’d spent the last hour and half writing, expecting Grant to go away.

He didn’t.

Laying her yellow pencil aside, she asked, “Did you need something?”

“Go ahead and finish up.” He crossed one arm over his middle and gripped his chin, stroking a thumb over his bottom lip. “I’ll wait.”

“For what?”

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 “Für 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.

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