Shame the Devil (Portland Devils #3) - Rosalind James Page 0,179

man of his word.

57

Thirty-Five

So. A few things were happening. For one thing, she was officially thirty-five years old. “Also,” she’d told Harlan this morning, “four years older than you.”

“Good thing we don’t play by no rules,” he’d said, and slapped her butt. It was accessible, because she’d been lying half on top of him at the time. Still dressed in black lingerie, because let’s just say it was the kind you didn’t have to take off.

Wait. She wasn’t going to think about that now. That was distracting. That memory was dessert.

Where was she? Oh, yeah. It was Friday, it was her birthday, and she was on her way to Wild Horse, because her baby—her first baby—was graduating from high school. They were all on their way, because Harlan, of course, had chartered a jet. They hadn’t picked Owen up this time, though. Owen had flown up on his own and was meeting them at the school, and afterwards, they were going out to dinner. On the lake, the same place Harlan had taken her that night when he’d shown up and bossed her around about moving. And had kissed her hard up against her hotel door, and she’d nearly lost her resolve.

Ahem. So, yes. They were going to graduation, and then to dinner. She and her grandpa, and Harlan and Annabelle, and Dyma and Owen.

Which, yes, brought her to the third thing. She was coming back to Wild Horse, to a public event in Wild Horse, at the high school in Wild Horse, as an unmarried, pregnant woman. Again. But with a major difference.

The difference, of course, was Harlan. Should she not feel good about that? Was that unfeminist of her? Unevolved? Petty? Too bad. She was showing up with Harlan, and they were staying overnight at the resort. She was wearing the most beautiful dress, too, with a knot front and a soft watercolor print of purple and green flowers, made of the kind of knit fabric that made you sigh from pure comfort. She was wearing that dress with the prettiest pair of white sling-back pumps decorated with leather bows, and, yes, they were Louboutin.

“Because,” Harlan had said when she’d objected, “they’ve got those red soles. You know you want to flash every single person in that auditorium with those red soles. All those women are going to know what brand that is.”

“You know too much about me,” she’d said, and he’d grinned and said, “I know. Isn’t it great?” Which had made her laugh, and had also made her want them more. And when he’d come home with not just the shoes, but also with the most beautiful bag she’d ever seen, in snow-white calfskin with metallic embellishments … well, she hadn’t exactly saved the receipt. In fact, that bag was next to her seat right now.

“I asked them for a Louboutin one that women would recognize, from magazine ads or whatever,” Harlan had said. “This one’s called the Paloma Mini Tote. The saleslady thought I was shallow, I could tell. Nouveau riche, I think that’s the word. New money. Crass.”

“The saleslady did not,” she’d answered, laughing and pulling his face down for a kiss. “She gave you her card and told you to call her anytime.”

“Well, yeah,” he’d said. “But I figured that was just my good looks.” And she’d laughed some more and thought, Oh, yeah. Suck on that, Wild Horse. About the rudest thing she’d ever expressed, even in her mind. She was embarrassed, honestly.

But she was still wearing the shoes. And carrying the bag. And walking into that auditorium holding Harlan’s hand.

The Viking. That was his media nickname. His first commercial for that company, for cologne or whatever it was, had been teased on one of the entertainment shows just the other day. The one with him coming out of the waves with his surfboard, his blond hair wet and his trunks riding low over the best-defined abs a woman could dream of touching.

And he was hers.

The day he’d shown up with the shoes and the bag had been the day after the sonogram. After the day when he’d brought her home, and they’d sneaked up to her apartment so the girls wouldn’t know, laughing and giddy, like they were in high school. A high school she’d never experienced.

Whatever he’d said, he hadn’t done anything crazy, not that day. He’d taken her dress off at the door, cupped her belly in his hands, and said, “You’re beautiful.” After that, he’d taken her into