Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,160

Maternity lingerie shopping? Sign me up. Also—body-conscious. That’s your word.”

“You’re a sick, sick man,” she told him. “Maternity undergarments are not hot. You’re also strangely metrosexual. Body-conscious? They’re going to kick you out of North Dakota.”

This time, he laughed for real. “Yep.” He got up, pulled her to her feet, and said, “Put on a robe or something, come on over, and get that swim. You’ll feel better. Something about all that rhythmic breathing. Meanwhile, I’m making wild salmon with roasted root vegetables and crispy kale. I do a mean crispy kale. You know you want to work up an appetite for that.”

“I see what Annabelle meant. About the extremely healthy cooking. Seriously? Kale?”

“Omega-3 fatty acids. Folate. Vitamin A. All essential nutrients for pregnancy. I looked it up. I have menus now. Wait and see.”

“You know,” she told him, “for a ridiculously hot guy, you have a definite mom side.”

“Nope,” he said. “I’ve got a dad side.” And while she was still reacting to that, added, “Also a daddy side. By which I mean … a daddy side.” He smacked her on the butt, and when she jumped, said, “I’ve been wanting to do that for so long. Be even better on your bare ass, though.”

“I said date,” she said. “I didn’t say kink.”

“Aw, baby. That’s not kink. Now, a padlock and chain …” He lifted her hair and kissed her neck. “That could be kink,” he murmured in her ear, and then went back to kissing her neck. Right … there.

Oh, yeah.

Somehow, her arms were around his neck, and she was saying, “I thought you said it was just …” She gasped as his mouth found the best spot. Why had it taken her thirty-four years to discover the thrilling roughness of a man’s scruff of beard on your most tender skin? “Uh … edgy. So if I wear the padlock …”

“Well, yeah,” he said. “I might have to get edgy with you if you wear the padlock. So come on. Swim naked in my pool. Give me something else to dream about. Oh, wait. Whoops.”

“What?” she asked, pulling back.

“Uh …” He scratched his jaw. “I was supposed to be tender tonight. I forgot.” He grinned. “Oh, well. What the hell. Go with what’s working.”

50

Ward and June

It was Friday night, and Jennifer was swimming.

She had a new swimsuit now. It was appropriate. It was one piece. It had come two days ago in one of the boxes.

One of the many boxes.

She had it. She just wasn’t wearing it. Because she was alone, which was novel in itself. She was never alone. She was alone in a house that had a private pool, and she’d wanted to find out what it felt like to swim naked.

Outside the wall of glass, the late-afternoon June sun slanted over the Forest Park. Somewhere out there, Harlan was running endless, impossibly fast miles, probably bench-pressing random logs along the way, just because it wasn’t hard enough.

She’d seen him run. That one hadn’t been a date. It had been her taking a lovely, cedar-scented stroll in the trees, and him starting out with her, running something ridiculous like eight miles, then turning to walk back with her.

Well, he’d held her hand on the walk back, so maybe it had been a date. She was honestly getting a little confused.

She knew where he was tonight, because he’d left her a note, along with the fresh-as-summer smell of homemade tomato-basil soup on the stove and the promise of chicken paninis when he came home. Dyma and Annabelle, one week away from the end of the school year and feeling freer every single day, were off at an outdoor concert featuring the genre of music generally described as “the kind that hurts your ears.” Dyma, Jennifer hoped, would dance hard and sing loud and possibly even howl at the moon. By this point, she was like a puppy who hadn’t been to the dog park in too long.

That could be due to the upcoming end of her high-school career, which she’d been anticipating for at least three years, champing at the bit for that freedom that she was positive would be wonderful. It could be the thought of seeing Owen next week at her graduation, and the fact that he was coming to Portland the next week for a Devils minicamp. It could even be the fun that was hanging out with Annabelle, doing their PE on trail runs on which Dyma complained the whole way, her shorter