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She wanted to go find Luke. To keep apologizing until he believed how much she meant it. To beg him to forgive her for withholding information and for leaving in the first place. She doubted he’d want to see her. He’d stormed off without an explanation, and though Rose knew she’d deserved that, it had still killed her.
Still, she had to try.
She straightened her shirt and found herself wishing she’d put on her jeans before coming downstairs. When Luke already didn’t want to see her, she couldn’t imagine seeing her dressed like this would help the situation. Rolling her shoulders backward, she left the kitchen and started down the hall. As she walked, she admired the paintings and family portraits lining the walls—Senator LeBlanc had always had a good decorative eye; as an interior designer, Rose appreciated that—and when she passed the doorway to the lounge, she saw Luke seated within, a nearly empty glass in his hand.
Rose sucked in a breath and entered the room. “I know you probably want to be alone right now, but could I talk with you for just a minute?”
Luke’s gaze shifted slowly, his eyes sweeping up her body on their way to meet hers. The warmth of desire rushed through her.
“Yes?” Luke asked.
“I was going to tell you. I wanted to wait until I figured out a way to put it into words that didn’t sound completely…”
“Absurd?” he offered. “Like something I couldn’t have made up if I tried?”
“Yes.” Rose’s voice came out hard and flat. She knew she deserved his scathing tone, but she was already growing tired of it. How could he even begin to know what she was going through? He’d never had that heart-stopping moment when the second line had formed on the pregnancy test and everything in the world had suddenly slipped out of focus and back into it at once. He’d never had to question what was best for a child he carried, to question whether he could handle eighteen or more years with the person he was with that would be spent wishing that person were someone else. She knew she’d made bad choices, and life had punished her for them. How long was she going to be punished for making what she’d thought would be the best decision for herself and for her child?
“I don’t know if there’s any way you could’ve phrased it that would’ve made it easier to handle,” said Luke, shaking his head.
“I’m sure you’re right. And I’m sorry for that. What do you want me to do? What can I do to make things right?”
Luke looked down into his glass, swirling around the liquid inside. “I don’t know.”
“How long are you going to stay mad before you’ll actually talk to me about this?”
“I don’t know,” he said again, and she let out a frustrated sigh.
“Perfect.”
Rose turned away and stared at the bar, wishing she’d had the foresight to drink a little more before she’d gotten pregnant. To prepare for the months of not being able to have a drink to take the edge off of her stress. She’d never handled alcohol very well, anyway, which she was sure he remembered.
She moved for the bar, planning to sit on one of the stools and refuse to leave until he talked to her, but before she reached it, Luke was on his feet and in her path.
“What are you doing?”
“Getting a drink,” she said flatly, rolling her eyes. “Or is that only okay before noon when you do it?”
“I know how to handle my liquor, Rose. You don’t. You’re also pregnant.”
“Oh, really? I hadn’t noticed.” She brushed past him. “For your information, I was actually just going to sit—”
When his fingers closed around her wrist, she froze as electricity crackled up her arm from the point of contact. She whipped around to face him, staring up into those emerald eyes that set her on fire every time she looked at them.
“Are you worried about me all of a sudden?” she breathed. She was frowning, but her voice wouldn’t obey her command to stay angry.
“I’m always worried about you,” Luke growled. “If you recall, that’s what made you leave me. I took my fear for you a bit too far.”
An image of Luke’s fist crashing into every available inch of Calvin’s body flickered through Rose’s mind, and she shoved it away.
“Are you sure it wasn’t your pride you were protecting?” The words tasted wrong on Rose’s tongue, like spoiled food, and she opened her mouth to take them back. Before she could, though, his hands were on her hips and he was backing her against the cool, black marble surface of the bar.
“You know better,” he muttered. “You know I would’ve done anything for you. Anything.”
“I…” Rose swallowed. The hard edge his gaze had taken on no longer resembled anger. He was watching her like a lion about to devour a gazelle, and she clutched the bar to hold herself steady at the sight. She stared at him, her body aching to have him closer. “I know.”
All at once, Luke leaned down and captured her lips. His kiss was forceful, demanding, like he’d been as desperate for her as she had been for him and had finally chosen to give in. He lifted her from her feet and set her on the edge of the bar, and she shivered as the cold marble met the skin of her thighs. She locked her arms around his neck and her legs around his waist, and she pressed her hips as tight against his as she could. She was already aching for his touch, and she would settle for whatever friction she could manage.
His hands tightened on her hips as he groaned, and she felt him starting to harden through her thin underwear and his slacks. Slowly, he relaxed his grip on one of her hips and dragged his fingertips along the top of her thigh, raising goosebumps in their path. As they drew nearer to the source of her aching, she squeezed his shoulder, and when his fingertips grazed her clit through her panties, her nails dug in. Luke let out a soft hiss against her lips and began to rub smooth, slow circles.
