Linda Goodnight - Her Pregnant Agenda

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.