Page 164 of Hit Me With Your Best Shot

I press my lips together, trying to ignore the heat pooling low in my belly.

“I can’t with you,” I mutter, crossing my arms in what I hope looks like indignation and not a desperate attempt to keep myself from grabbing him.

Panties = 100%

“You look so fucking sexy when you’re hot and bothered.”

“Gio,” I warn, though my voice doesn’t have nearly as much bite as I’d hoped.

“What?” he asks, all innocence, but the glint in his eye tells me he knows exactly what he’s doing. His hand shifts ever so slightly, the barest movement, but it’s enough to make my breath hitch.

“We’re meeting a realtor in twenty minutes,” I remind him, tone sharp but my resolve weakening.

“Plentyof time to fuck,” he murmurs, gaze flicking briefly to my face before returning to the road, far too casual for someone wreaking absolute havoc on my self-control.

My fingers twitch in my lap, and I squeeze my thighs together in a futile attempt to regain composure.

“You areridiculous.”

“You love it,” he says, his smirk widening. “Admit it, babe—you like when I rile you up.”

I do like it when he riles me up.

“Just say the word,” he says, his rumbling voice always makes my stomach flip. “I’ll pull over, and we’ll be late to the showing. Totally worth it.”

Despite myself, I giggle.

I love it when he flirts.

And I love that he finds me sexy even though I am five months pregnant, with a round belly and big boobs.

Ugh!

For a moment, we fall into a comfortable silence, the kind that feels warm and safe and easy. The kind that makes me think maybe, just maybe, we’ve got this whole “starting a family together” thing figured out.

“You know,” he says suddenly, his tone softer now, “I can’t wait to see you in that backyard with the baby.”

I glance at him, my heart squeezing at the shift in his voice. “Oh yeah? What am I doing in this fantasy of yours?”

“Everything,” he says, like it’s obvious. “Teaching them how to skate, chasing them around, sitting on the porch with a hot chocolate while I scrape the ice because you’re mad at me for forgetting to clean it the day before.”

I shoot him an irritated look. “Why does everything have to revolve around ice skating and hockey? Did it ever occur to you that I don’t even know how to ice skate?”

Gio’s head snaps toward me so fast I’m mildly concerned for his neck. Then, with dramatic flair, he pretends to lose control of the car, jerking the wheel slightly. “What? WHAT? Don’t know how to ska?—”

“Gio!” I yell, clutching the door in mock panic.

He straightens the car, glancing at me with wide, exaggerated eyes. “You’ve got to be kidding me. Babe, I didn’t know. I’m so sorry.”

He is dead serious—or at least pretending to be. I can see the corners of his mouth twitching, but his tone?

Heartfelt.

I roll my eyes. “Oh, stop it. It’s not like I told you I’ve never seenGame of Thronesor something.”

“This is worse,” he says solemnly, gripping the wheel like he’s delivering bad news. “This is catastrophic. My pregnant girlfriend doesn’t know how to ice skate. What have I done?”

“You’ve impregnated someone with no athletic skill,” I deadpan.

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