The Rake (Boston Belles #4) by L.J. Shen

He had a point, and I hated that he had a point. I also hated that I couldn’t say no to him. Not about the employees or joining me at the doctor’s or anything else. Because the truth was … doing shit with someone else around didn’t feel so bad after all.

“Fine. But if you peek at my muffin, I swear to god I’m going to destroy your baked goods.”

He frowned at me. “You need to work on your analogies.”

“I meant I’d punch your junk.”

“Subtle.”

The vaginal ultrasound went as well as a vaginal ultrasound could go. Devon and I saw the little dot in my uterus, static and proud. Both of us stared at it with awe and amazement.

“The little bean is looking good. Make sure you are rested and keep your stress levels low.” That was Doctor Bjorn speaking. To Devon, naturally.

“Roger that, Doc.”

“All right, hop off and meet me in my office.”

This was when I glared at Devon. “Do you mind?”

I caught him staring at me like I’d just performed a magic trick he hadn’t seen before. Big azure eyes swimming with emotion and pride. And it killed me. It killed me that I couldn’t wrap my arms around him and kiss him and tell him that I felt the same.

All of it. The shock. The excitement. The awe.

Instead, I raised my eyebrows, as if to say well?

“Right. Of course.” Devon stood up, looking around him, like he had another reason to stay. “I’ll just … well, yes. Yes. See you at the doctor’s office when you’re done dressing.”

Doctor Bjorn prescribed me with some pills to ease the morning sickness and told us we were doing a good job. I wasn’t sure Devon would have agreed with the assessment had he known about the Glock nestled in my clutch, and that I was ready to get into a physical fight with a stalker at any given moment.

We swung out of the office, and I called the elevator while Devon took the stairs. I didn’t try to convince him to go down the elevator with me. I knew damn well I didn’t like it when people pushed me out of my comfort zone or minimalized my triggers, so I tried to accommodate his preferences.

We met again at the ground floor and stood in front of each other on the street, bracketed by skyscrapers and pedestrians.

Suddenly, I had a sweven of my own. A vision of us holding hands. Smiling at each other. Enjoying this moment, like an ordinary couple.

Devon cleared his throat and looked away. “I better head to work.”

“Right.” I rearranged my ponytail. “Me too. I have employees to train.”

“That must be a pain,” he offered politely.

“Necessary evil,” I concluded.

Stop me. Tell me not to go. Let’s stay a little longer.

Whoa. I had no idea where those thoughts came from.

“Well, catch you later.” I took a step back and started for the street.

I began walking in the opposite direction when his voice pierced the air.

“Perhaps …”

I froze in my spot, my soul in my throat. Yes?

“You’d like some brunch? You heard what the doctor said. You need to keep your energy levels up. I can pick up your pills while you wait for our order. There’s a café down the street—”

“Yes.” I turned sharply. My entire body shook. With excitement. Dread. Fear. “Yes. I need to eat.”

“Yeah. Okay. All right.”

Neither of us moved. Again. A few weeks ago we were fucking each other like the world was ending, and now we were being awkward? How was this my life?

“Anytime would be good now.” I folded my arms over my chest, jutting one hip out with a grin. “Today, tomorrow. The day after it.”

He let out a chuckle and rushed toward me. He pressed his hand against the small of my back, and I swear, a jolt of electricity ran through his fingers and exploded right between my legs.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

What the fuck.

“Bean looks very cute, huh?” I asked when we walked to the nearest café. People were doing a double take when they saw me—probably recognizing me from billboards—but they also stared at him. Everyone knew there was a British royal living in Boston.

“Dashing,” he agreed. “I’ve yet to see a better looking bean.”

“I’m not even into legumes very much.” Oh my God, what was I saying?

Devon laughed. “You little nutter.”

“Dev?”

“Hmm?”

“Now’s a good time to tell me why you’re a raging claustrophobe.”

“Ask me again later.”

“How much later?”

“When I trust you.”

“That may never happen,” I pointed out.

“Exactly.”

We arrived at a quaint café with bay windows and potted flowers on the tables. When the hostess showed us to our table, running her gaze along Devon’s body appreciatively, I internally groaned.

I wondered if that would have happened if I were showing.

Then I reminded myself that it didn’t matter because we weren’t a couple.

“Aren’t you a lord? I mean, a duke?” The waitress fawned over him.

Devon shot her a polite yet short smile. “Marquess,” he corrected.

After pulling my chair out for me to sit, my baby daddy proceeded to order the entire menu without even looking at it.