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Keenly aware of her pathetic taste in the opposite sex, Ariana slithered down into the seat. She’d beaten herself up enough for one day, and so, for the moment, she forced the thought away and wallowed in the luxury of Grant’s Lexus. Soft, luxurious ivory leather. Real walnut wood trim. And a dashboard with so many gadgets and computers, she’d almost swear the car could fly.
Grant slid into the driver’s seat, subtly mixing his expensive sandalwood scent with the smell of fine leather. The engine hummed to life at his touch and the glorious vehicle whispered out of the parking space.
As they pulled onto the crowded street, Grant slipped a pair of designer sunglasses into place, effectively covering his stunning blue eyes.
Though the seats were butter soft, Ariana squirmed to find a comfortable position. Having two babies in a space made for one didn’t leave a mom much room.
She rubbed a hand down one side, pushing someone’s foot out of the way as an upbeat country tune issued from the sound system. Alan Jackson sang about driving his first car.
“You’re a country music fan?”
“Um-hmm.” Grant maneuvered the car around an exhaust belching bus. “Why? Surprised?”
“Somehow you don’t seem the type.”
“I have fairly eclectic taste.” He motioned to a CD case. “Take a look. Choose what you like.”
She flipped through the stacks, finding every conceivable type of music. Classics, jazz, rock, country, Gaelic.
“This is quite a variety.”
“I aim to please.” He draped a wrist over the leather-clad steering wheel. A shaft of October sunlight reflected off his Rolex.
Ah. Now she understood. The variety was for his passengers’ pleasure. Clients, she wondered? Or women?
Neither was one bit her business, but the idea of Grant Lawson’s women piqued her interest. What type did he like? Sophisticated? Intellectual? Naughty or nice? According to the office grapevine, Grant kept his private life to himself.
Ariana couldn’t believe she was thinking such a thing. She was about to be a mother, for heaven’s sakes. The opposite sex held no appeal for her at this juncture in life. And given her track record and the fact that she had no sense whatsoever concerning men, she would do well never to fall for another one.
Not that she had any such thoughts about Grant. He was doing her a favor out of kindness. She was not interested in him as a man. Only as an attorney.
“Well, which shall it be?”
Had he read her thoughts? She gulped, aware that a dark blush heated her neck.
“Excuse me?”
His lips quirked. “Have you selected your favorite music?”
“Oh.” Flustered, she handed him the Gaelic CD.
He scanned the title, then lifted an eyebrow. “Good choice.”
She smiled and slathered on a thick brogue. “What did ye expect from an Irish lass? We love our bonny fiddle music.”
“What about your Latin half?”
“Ah, you should see me clog to a rumba.”
As soon as she said the words, they both glanced toward her middle, caught each other’s eyes and laughed. Ariana knew how ridiculous she’d look doing any kind of energetic dance.
“Maybe I’ll leave my clogging shoes on the shelf for a few more weeks. Right now, the twins are doing enough clogging for all of us.”
“When is your due date?” he asked.
The personal question didn’t bother Ariana. After all, Grant was her attorney, ready to fight for her support from Benjy. He needed to know these things. And he was a nice guy, a man she instinctively trusted.
“Six more weeks. The babies are due right before Thanksgiving.” She fidgeted in the seat, turned sideways to face him and pointed to a panel on the dash. “Do you mind if I ask you what that is?”
“GPS. Navigation system.”
“How does it work?”
He pressed a button. “Give me your address and I’ll show you.”
As she quoted the street and number, he tapped in the information. “The computer will automatically map the route.”
“Amazing.”
“Interesting toy, but I seldom use it.”
“You never get lost?”
He shot her a look. “Never.”
Ariana suppressed a giggle. Men were so funny about that.
They rode along for a while without talking, the lively music filling the space between them. Outside the tinted windows, the New England autumn was showing off. Bright evening sunshine backlit a glorious display of orange, red and yellow foliage. Ariana breathed in a contented sigh. The radical change of seasons was what she enjoyed most about living in Boston.
Then the car slowed and Ariana looked up to discover they were nowhere near her apartment. A touch of anxiety zipped up her arms. Protectively, she bracketed her belly with both arms.
“I thought you never got lost?”
Behind the sunglasses, his look was indulgent. “We aren’t lost. We’re at a quiet little restaurant that serves great food. You are hungry, aren’t you?”
“Yes, but this isn’t necessary. I can cook at home. In fact, I have to cook. I promised Roger.”
Grant killed the engine and turned in the seat, draping one arm over the steering wheel. His gaze flickered to her stomach. “You have a date?”
“Well, not a real date. Roger lives in my building and I cook for him a couple of nights a week.”
“Ah. I see.” Clearly he didn’t. “Tell you what.” He handed her a cell phone. “You call Roger and offer to bring him carry-out instead. Then, we’ll have a pleasant dinner while I gather some more information about your case.”
Ariana knew he was only being considerate and he did need more details to effectively represent her, but she was far more accustomed to giving than receiving. Besides, Roger looked forward to their time together. “I hate to disappoint him. He’s really a dear man.”
Seeing her hesitation, Grant said, “Give me his number. I’ll call and make certain he’s agreeable. Surely he’ll understand the need for you to meet with your attorney.”
She reached for the cell phone with a resigned sigh. Obviously Grant Lawson was a man who liked to have his way. Given the ache in her back and the wobble in her knees, she’d go along with his wishes this once. “I’ll let him know he has carry-out on the way.”
“That works for me.” Turning, he exited the car and came around to her side while she spoke on the phone, then escorted her into the restaurant.
“I hope you like Italian.” Grant pushed open the door to Gionni’s, inhaling the rich spiced air as Ariana preceded him inside. He liked the quaint Italian restaurant snuggled into a space right off the alley where only the locals would find it. Checkered cloths on the tables, a breadboard and knife waiting for the fresh, hot loaf that would appear the moment they sat down, La Boheme playing softly in the background. The old-world atmosphere soothed him after a difficult day. He hoped the place would work its magic for Ariana as well. For all her pretense to the contrary, she was frazzled.
“Mmm. This is lovely.” Ariana gazed around, and Grant relaxed, pleased that she appreciated his choice.
The hostess showed them to a corner table, and Grant seated Ariana, once more catching the faint scent of gardenias.
She adjusted her chair to accommodate her enlarged stomach, and he marveled at a woman’s ability to deal with the changes of pregnancy. Physically, financially, emotionally, the total burden of childbearing rested on a single mother, a fact that disturbed his sense of fair play.
“This place smells delicious. What do you recommend?” she asked, smiling.
Grant noted how full and soft her lips appeared. She had a beautiful smile, brilliant white against her dark complexion. Orthodontia must have cost her family a fortune.
He opened his menu. “If you like Italian, there are no bad choices. I’m having linguini with pesto sauce.”
“That sounds good. I’ll have that, too.”
“And antipasto. You need the vegetables.”
Closing her menu with a soft wap, she tilted her head appraisingly. “Are you always so bossy?”
He smiled, liking the way her hazel eyes flashed. “Yes.”
She laughed, a warm melody, and he liked that, too. “All right. Antipasto.”
“Mineral water or milk?”
She stuck out her tongue and grimaced. “Plain water.”
The waiter, who appeared to have enjoyed more than his share of Gionni’s fine cooking, took their order and moved away.
Lacing his fingers, Grant propped both forearms on the table and leaned forward. As long as he had Ariana in his company, he might as well make the most of their time. “Will you be uncomfortable if we discuss your case during dinner?”
“Of course not. I thought that was the purpose for stopping here.”
It was, wasn’t it? The fact that he enjoyed her company and liked looking at a pretty face was an added bonus. And she certainly had no business standing on her feet cooking for this Roger person. The very idea annoyed him. Roger annoyed him. And Ariana’s devotion to the man annoyed him even more. He’d heard the sweet tone of her voice when she’d made that phone call—the sincere apology, and the promise of tomorrow night. If he had his way, she wouldn’t go out with the loser at all. Hadn’t she learned anything from her experience with that mutt, Benjy?
“Have you considered that your ex-fiancе may deny paternity?”
Ariana’s eyes widened. “Could he do such a thing?”
Grant opened his palms in a questioning gesture. “You know him better than I do.”
She lay a protective hand over her abdomen. “Benjy does whatever makes him happy at the moment. And spending money on anyone except himself does not make him happy.”
“We’re likely looking at a court case, then.”
Ariana frowned, gnawing at her lush bottom lip. “Isn’t there another way? Benjy’s been out of rehab less than a year. I wouldn’t want to be the cause of a relapse.”
Grant couldn’t believe this woman. Her fiancе had left her in dire straits and she was concerned about upsetting him? “Taking responsibility for one’s actions is a part of adulthood.”
“I know.” She took a deep breath and nodded. “You’re right. My babies deserve that much.”
“Is there any chance that he might file for custody?”
“Benjy?” The light came back on in her face. “He wouldn’t take custody of a parakeet if it required any sacrifice.”
He hoped she was right. Men had a way of behaving strangely when a woman pressed them for support.
“Okay. We’ll file the paternity suit and ask for full custody with child support. But what are your plans in the meantime? The case may take a while, depending on how quickly we locate your ex. Financially speaking, can you afford medical care? Child care? Do you have family here in Boston that can help you after the twins are delivered?”
She shook her head, shiny hair dancing around her shoulders. “My family lives in Florida.”
“All of them? You’re completely alone in this?” He didn’t much like the sound of that. “Would your mother consider coming to Boston for a few weeks until you adjust to some sort of schedule?”
“Oh, no. Absolutely not. I have friends who will help out, but I can’t let Mama come here.”
He frowned at that. “I take it you and your family are not close.”
His own family was small—Mom, Dad and a married sister in Connecticut, but if he needed them—which he never did—they’d be here as fast as Dad’s Lincoln would go.
“But that’s the problem. We’re very close. That’s why I haven’t told them.”
The idea shocked him. He leaned back in his chair and stared at her fragile little face. “Your family doesn’t know about your pregnancy?”
“No. It would break Mama’s heart.”
“To be a grandmother?”
“Of course not. Mama loves kids, but she already has enough grandchildren. My brother has two and my sister has three.”
“Then what’s the problem?”
Their meal arrived. Ariana gave the waiter a warm smile and thanked him while Grant waited patiently for her answer. She might be trying to avoid the subject, but he was an attorney and never forgot the question.
The pungent smell of pesto wrapped around the table. From the depths of the restaurant came the low murmur of voices—some in Italian—and the gentle strains of an Italian aria.
Ariana adjusted her napkin and took a bite of the linguini. With a deep sigh, she briefly closed her eyes. “Wonderful,” she breathed.
He concurred, savoring the rich flavor while appreciating Ariana’s impeccable manners, and the dainty way her fingers tore the bread into small chunks. She popped a piece into her mouth and chewed, making a soft moaning sound. A thought filtered through his mind that had nothing whatsoever to do with Italian food.
Good grief. The woman was pregnant. Explosively so.
He swallowed, eager to escape his wicked thoughts. “And your reasons for keeping the secret would be?”
“You’re very persistent, aren’t you?”
“Bossy, persistent, stubborn. Any of those adjectives apply. Answer the question, please.” There. He felt much more like an attorney. “Why haven’t you told your family about the babies? Are you ashamed of them?”
