Page 284 of Wild Card

This has Stacy Richards written all over it.

Talon’s waiting for me with a scowl. “Told you it’s not good to wait until the last minute.”

“You tell me a lot of things.”

“Because you are stubborn and don’t take care of yourself.”

I square off with him, ready to continue these never-ending conversations. “I know my body.”

“Princess, lose the sass.”

“There is no attitude.”

He cocks an eyebrow, his stunning eyes dancing with amusement. “You really want to do this here?”

My insides stir alive, knowing how this usually ends with me in some kind of state of undress and at least one orgasm. Today, we’re not in the privacy of the house where he can manhandle me. We’re at a public ballpark surrounded by kids.

I take a big step back and wag my finger at him. “Stay there. No more hauling me around.”

“I haven’t hauled you anywhere yet.”

“You lifted me off the bleachers. Which is dangerous for you with the extra weight I’m carrying.”

“You’re underweight, and your ass should have never been on the third row. I want you on the ground.”

“I can’t see as well.”

“Then I’ll arrange for a special viewing section.”

“You’re insane! Wyatt will be mortified if you single me out.”

“He won’t give a shit.”

This is true, Wyatt thinks everything Talon does is right in the world.

The baby kicks again, my hand reflexively covering my stomach. His eyes drop and, in a flash, he’s in my space, rubbing my rounded belly. “He’s active today?”

“More than usual. It’s probably all the excitement.”

“You need to rest before this afternoon.”

I roll my eyes. “We’ll be fine. Besides, it’s not like anyone will let me lift a finger.”

“As it should be.”

“You do realize women have been having babies forever and maintained an active lifestyle. I think I can handle decorating for a six-year-old’s birthday party.”

“Those women weren’t having my baby. And they may not have had fifteen other people willing to decorate. You made the cake, that’s enough.”

“He’s my nephew; he deserved his favorite cake.”

“I didn’t bitch about it.”

“No, you pouted.”

He scowls, pressing on my stomach. “Don’t listen to that shit. Men don’t pout.”

“Are you talking to me or the baby?”

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