Luke turned and sent her an easy smile.

Her stomach dipped pleasantly and she had to look away. Not going to make the same mistake twice, she reminded herself as she crossed to the walk-in closet. No matter how much she might want to.

She was putting a pile of shirts on a shelf when Luke swore viciously.

Oh, no. She’d been so wrapped up in her discussion with Molly, she’d forgotten about Andrew and Kennedy. Sure enough, when she stepped into the room, Luke was glaring out the window.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I was hoping you wouldn’t see that.”

He turned to her, his mouth a thin line, but she noticed there was hurt in his eyes along with the anger.

“It’s not your fault.” He glanced out the window again, then moved toward her, his shoulders rigid, his gait stiff. “I guess I’m going to have to get used to seeing them together.”

“It still sucks, though.”

He scrubbed a hand through his short hair. “Yeah.”

Her heart aching for him, she started to reach out, to do what came naturally when she was with someone in pain. Offer comfort. Give a hug. Be there for him.

And damn Andrew for making her hesitate, for making her doubt herself. For making her wonder if Luke wanted her hug or if he’d rebuff her.

Only one way to find out.

Inhaling deeply, she closed the distance between them, saw his eyes widen slightly, but then she was there, her arms around his lean waist, the top of her head barely reaching his chin. He immediately wrapped his arms around her. Lowered his head, his breath ruffling her hair.

She pressed her cheek to his chest, his heart a steady beat in her ear. “I know it’s a cliché, but it really will get better with time.”

He squeezed her and she felt him nod. Then he...well...it sounded as if he sniffed her hair. But then he straightened, and she told herself she’d imagined it. “Thanks. I’m okay. But do you mind if we go out through the garage?”

She knew why he asked. The garage was on the other side of the house. Far from any view of Andrew and Kennedy. What she didn’t know was if Luke wanted to avoid them so he wouldn’t have to see them together.

Or so they wouldn’t see him with her.

No. She was giving him the benefit of the doubt, remember?

“Sure. Come on,” she said, doing what she’d do with any other friend and taking his hand. Tugging him along. “We’d better get going.”

He held on even after he could have let go. Yes, she thought as they went down the stairs. She was going to keep giving him the benefit of the doubt.

Until he gave her reason not to.

CHAPTER THIRTEEN

C.J. SHIFTED THE bottle of champagne he was carrying to his left hand, which already held a dozen red roses. He knocked on Ivy’s door. Blew out a breath to calm his pulse. He was nervous. Like a teenager on his first date, waiting on the porch for the girl’s father to answer the door, carrying a shotgun.

He thought of the phone call he’d gotten yesterday. Holy hell, he could be one of those fathers in a few years.

He really, really hoped Ivy was right and the baby was a boy.

He knocked again. Her crappy car was in the parking lot, so he figured she was home—such as it was. The building itself wasn’t too bad, and it was in a nice part of town, residential, a few stores nearby. But it wasn’t exactly the place he’d imagined his child being raised.

He wouldn’t say anything about it to her, though. He wanted her to trust him. To think of him as a partner, not her enemy. He was making headway there, he thought. Extremely slow but steady progress. He’d had to go back to Houston for work the day after their dinner date, but he’d called her every night he’d been away to check in. To talk.

To hear the sound of her voice.

During their conversations, he hadn’t pushed. Had kept the topics neutral, the tone light, in an effort to get them back on even ground. He’d risked a setback with that good-night kiss when he’d walked her to her door last week, but he hadn’t been able to resist.

He wasn’t a man used to denying himself. When he wanted something, he went after it. And got it. Always. But pushing Ivy, going too fast only resulted in him running headfirst into those walls she had built around herself. Her sarcasm. Her cynicism.

He was floundering, he admitted, shifting in agitation. Struggling to find a balance between his physical attraction to her and his appreciation of her humor, intelligence and strength. Fighting to think rationally and control his feelings, only to have her muddle his thoughts, to reveal some new appealing aspect of herself.

He was about to knock again when she opened the door. She stunned him. Stole his breath, even with her hair pulled back, her face clean of makeup. Her snug peach tank top showcased her full breasts, the gray yoga pants molded the slight bump of her belly, which he found alternately alluring and terrifying as hell.

“You’re back,” she said, sounding less than thrilled.

“I’m back.” He cleared his throat. “I hope I’m not interrupting anything.” he said smoothly.

She eyed him warily. Would there ever be a time when she looked at him with trust? With affection? Or even with joy?

He could only hope.

“I was just finishing up my yoga routine.”

An image of her bending that amazing body of hers into certain...positions...slammed into him. He went instantly hard. Yeah. Just like a teenager.

“Is that safe for the baby?”

“I got the doctor’s approval. It’s good for the baby for me to exercise, and since yoga centers me, helps reduce my stress, the baby gets those benefits, too.” She frowned at the flowers and champagne in his hands. “Don’t tell me you just happened to be in the neighborhood.”

“Not exactly. Dr. Conrad called me yesterday. I got here as soon as I could.”

Ivy nodded, still blocking his entrance into her home. “Yes. She called me first, said she was going to let you know officially. That why you’re here? Because I’m in no mood right now to hash out a custody or support agreement.”

“I’m here to celebrate.”

She blinked several times. “Excuse me?”

He liked that he could fluster her. Not that it happened often, but when it did, it proved she wasn’t as immune to him as she’d like him to believe. As she probably preferred to believe herself.

“We’re having a baby, Ivy,” he said quietly. He held up the flowers and champagne. “That’s something worth celebrating.”

She studied him, her mouth pursed. He wished like hell he knew what she saw when she looked at him. What she thought.

“You’re right,” she finally said. “It is worth celebrating.” She made a slight bow, gestured grandly. “Please. Come on in.”

He stepped inside. A long, narrow living room opened into a small kitchen. An air conditioner in the window to his left hummed softly. A hallway to the right must lead to the bedroom and bathroom.

“I asked the doctor if it was okay for you to have champagne and she said a small glass wouldn’t hurt the baby,” he said. “But if you’d rather not take the chance, we can put it in the fridge. Open it after the baby is born.”

A small smile played on her lips. “I’m sure a sip or two won’t hurt the baby, as Dr. Conrad said. Besides, the baby’s not due until November. Who knows what could happen between now and then?”

He bristled but kept his voice calm. “What do you mean?”

“Just that a lot can change in five months.”

“You don’t trust me to be around at all when the baby’s born,” he murmured.

“I think you believe you will be. But good intentions have a way of falling by the wayside when real life intervenes. You have a job, a life in Houston. No one expects you to drop everything and run back to Shady Grove when I go into labor. No one expects you to change your life in any way once the baby is here.”