Читать книгу Expecting The Doctor's Baby - Teresa Southwick, Teresa Southwick - Страница 11

Mitch was driving on Interstate 15 south and nearing the turnoff to the 215 Beltway before Sam said anything. The only reason she did was to give him transition directions.

“Take the Beltway east. Toward Henderson.”

“Okay. Which exit?” he asked.

“Green Valley Parkway.

She’d been a blubbering idiot; there was no recovery from that. Except that after speaking she felt the lack of conversation.

“Nice car.” It was a two-seater Mercedes. Red. Hot. A chick magnet.

He glanced over. “Thanks.”

She glanced over at him, all sexy in the driver’s seat. He’d taken off his black tie and released the first button on his pleated white shirt. Lights from the freeway danced over the angles of his handsome face and created enigmatic shadows as he aggressively guided the purring machine along the transition curve to the 215 and home.

She couldn’t believe she’d let her father get under her skin like that. He was the same thoughtless man she’d learned to compensate for a long time ago. He hadn’t changed, but she’d lost it, and that hadn’t happened for a very long time. The only variable was Mitch. Something about being criticized in front of him had pushed her over the edge.

Yet Mitch had come to her rescue. Sir Galahad in a hot, red car. She should probably make conversation, but her emotions were still unstable and held together by a thread. The best thing she could do was gut it out until she was alone. Finally, Mitch exited the freeway.

“Turn right. It’s the last apartment complex before Horizon Ridge.”

He did as she directed, then slowed to a stop at the gate. She gave him the number code and the gates swung open, allowing him inside. A few more directions later and he parked in front of her unit.

“I’m sorry about—” Tears welled in her eyes and emotion thickened in her throat. One humiliating incident tonight wasn’t enough? Another meltdown was pathetically close. She was two for two. It was time to give Sir Galahad the night off. “Thanks for the ride,” she whispered.

That was all she could manage without losing it. She slid from the car and shut the door, then hurried to the stairway leading up to her apartment. Grabbing her long skirt in one hand so as not to trip, she quickly climbed the stairs to the second floor. Behind her she heard a car door close and footsteps following. She stopped at Unit 27 and opened her purse, then moisture blurred her vision. But Mitch was there, big and strong and smelling so good, so masculine.

Without a word, he took her bag and easily located her key. After opening the door, he reached in and flipped the light switch on, then rested his warm palm on the small of her back, guiding her inside.

She took a deep breath and met his gaze. “You’ve certainly gone above and beyond the call of duty tonight.”

“It’s the least I can do.”

No, the least would have been to let her take a cab. And she wished he had. “Thank you for everything. Good night—”

“Are you throwing me out, Ms. Ryan?”

“Yes. I’d really like to be alone.”

He set her purse on the sofa table in the entryway, then noticed the decanter of brandy and glasses. Without asking permission, he poured some of the liquor into two snifters and handed one to her.

“No, thanks, I—”

“Doctor’s orders,” he said, touching his glass to hers, before glancing around. “Nice place.”

Following his gaze she took in the beige-and-maroon chenille corner group, the circular oak table and four chairs in the dining area, distressed mahogany buffet with battered copper accessories on top. She’d painted the walls a harvest gold with one wall covered in a bold burnt orange. It was colorful, warm and inviting.

“My father h-hates it,” she said.

Mitch moved closer and the spark of anger in his eyes was clearly visible in the dim light. In spite of the simmering hostility, his touch was gentle when he crooked a finger beneath her glass and urged it to her lips for a sip.

“Your father is a first-class idiot.”

Maybe, but he was the idiot who’d raised her and she loved him for that. She owed him a lot. “Thanks for getting the valet to let my father know not to wait for me.”

His mouth pulled tight for a moment but all he said was, “You’re welcome.”

“And thanks for not giving me too hard a time when I insisted the valet tell him that I wasn’t feeling well.”

“As opposed to you’d rather walk barefoot on glass than get in the car with him?”

“Yes,” she said. “I know you don’t understand—”

“You’re right. I don’t get it. You’re bright and beautiful and witty. I don’t understand why you let him get away with treating you like a ditz.”

“He’s entitled to his opinion about what I do.”

“That doesn’t give him the right to be vicious.”

She took another sip of brandy and felt it warm her inside. The look Mitch was giving her heated her, too, in an entirely different way.