Page 111 of Own the Eights Maybe Baby
“Yup,” she replied, her eyes still glued to her husband’s strong, chap-wearing legs.
“Should you check that?” he pressed with a devilish grin.
The man knew exactly what he did to her.
She glanced down at her phone. “It’s a text from Irene.”
“More baby pics?” he asked.
Why was he talking? He knew she was mid-ogle!
“What?” she asked, finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than…chaps.
“You know, your best friend who had a baby two weeks ago in Iceland. Did she text more baby pictures?” he asked.
Georgie glanced at her phone again and saw a sweet-faced baby bundled in blue.
“Yes,” she answered, damn proud of herself. Juggling chaps ogling and cell phone use was quite an accomplishment.
“Can you show them to me?”
She shook her head, her gaze trained on cowboy heaven. “No.”
“No?” he replied.
She shook her head, working to have a thought that didn’t involve peeling those sexy chaps off.
“I mean, yes. I’ll show you later,” she answered.
“Okay,” he said with a self-satisfied twist to his lips.
“Why didn’t you mention you’d ordered chaps with your costume?” she asked, in full-force ogle mode, unable to pull her gaze from the cowboy clothing.
Their gala outfits had arrived this morning. The best they could do to accommodate her blooming midsection was to send a white dress with a plaid shirt that matched Jordan’s. She’d tied it above her giant bump—because there was no way in hell that thing could be buttoned up with the pineapple surprise she was packing. Even with her cowgirl boots and hat, she looked less like a naughty milkmaid and more like a dairy cow.
He crossed his arms, which only made him sexier—like a brooding cowboy.
“The costume store called yesterday and asked if I wanted to add them in.”
“I’m glad you did,” she answered as the temperature in the kitchen went up ten thousand degrees.
She was used to her husband looking good in his workout clothes. Thanks to owning and working at a gym, that’s what he wore ninety percent of the time. He’d pull out his khakis and button-ups from time to time. But not in her wildest dreams—and they’d gotten pretty wild with her pregnancy—did she imagine how hot her husband would look as a real cowboy.
“You should call the costume shop.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because you’ll need to inform them that you’re never returning that costume,” she replied, then licked her lips.
Pregnancy horny had no shame.
“I’m not?” he asked, his boots slapping the wood floor as he moved toward her.
She closed her eyes and inhaled. “They smell all leathery-good, too.”
“Do you know what else smells good?” he asked.
“What?” she replied, her eyes still closed. She could feel the heat of her husband standing only inches away, and her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch.
