Page 67 of Pregnant By the Playboy
Just the thought that he’ll be here any minute is sending me into overdrive. My skin is flushed. My nipples are unbearably sensitive. I want to strip off my clothes and greet him naked.
No! Don’t do it!
I’m wearing a flowery summer dress, even though it’s only April, but today is the warmest day so far this year, and my body’s temperature regulation has gone haywire. The dress is low-cut, and I think it does a great job of showing off my boobs, which are bigger than usual thanks to the baby. Apparently he or she is now the size of an orange.
The phone rings, and I buzz Vince up.
By the time I open the door, I’m practically jumping out of my skin.
Vince, of course, looks ridiculously handsome. When does he not? He leans against the doorframe and smiles at me, hands in his pockets.
Something’s a little off, though. There’s a faint shadow under his eyes that isn’t usually there.
But when I smile at him, he smiles back, nice and slow, and I get even more aroused. I have to stop myself from squeezing my thighs together.
Unfortunately, I don’t stop myself from saying, “You look scrummy!”
“Uh,” he says.
“Sorry, I’ve been watching too much of The Great British Bake Off.”
Yeah, I’ve been binge-watching it lately, although all the food makes me drool and I can barely stand the fact that I can’t taste any of it.
“You do look really good,” I say.
“Thanks.”
“I should warn you that I’m very horny.”
“Oh, you, too?” he murmurs.
Man, he’s so suave and cool, and I’m anything but. I’m usually nowhere near this bad, but, you know...Vince Fong and pregnancy.
“I have a good excuse,” I say, lifting my nose in the air.
“Me, too. I haven’t had sex since January.”
“Same here. That’s only a few months. A few months is nothing.”
His eyes widen. “It sure doesn’t feel like nothing to me.”
“My good excuse is pregnancy hormones, something you aren’t experiencing.”
“True, I’m not.”
He’s wearing a short-sleeve shirt today, so I have a good view of his forearms. Have I ever found forearms this sexy before?
“How are you so calm right now when I want to climb you like a tree?” I ask.
He smirks at me.
My God, he’s infuriating.
He takes a step toward me and tips up my chin. His gaze isn’t pointed at my face, however. No, he’s making a show of staring down my dress, which I don’t mind.
“Let’s go out for dinner,” I say.
“Are you sure? Seems like you’re itching to get out of that dress.”
