Mr. Big Daddy (Mr. Big 3)

"Good," John said and rubbed his hands together, his eyes twinkling. "I'm very happy and I think she is, too."

"Perfect," I said, and John followed me down the hallway to the elevator. "I'll see you tomorrow."

"Are you staying at the beach house all week?"

"No, we'll probably be in Monday at noon when Alexa has class. We'll spend the weekend decompressing and then come back into town once she's ready. Her nausea usually subsides around eleven, although she tends to be tired for a few hours afterwards, but she's tough."

"Pregnancy's not much fun, is it?" John said as the elevator doors opened. "I'm sure as hell glad I don't have to do it."

"Me, too," I said. "See you tomorrow night. My father's banker is coming. He's got some connections in the military. We can strategize with him about who to approach next and how to get a military contr

act."

"Sounds good," John said and gave me a nod while the doors closed, and I descended to the lobby of the building.

Once again, I'd forgotten to call the security service to let them know I was leaving early and decided to just forgo it for the night. So, instead of waiting for the vehicle that would escort me to Westhampton and the beach house, I took my car and drove home alone.

It felt good to be on my own again after months of having security following me, tailing me, or escorting me everywhere.

I arrived at the beach house and entered the front doors to the scent of something delicious. Alexa met me, giving me a big hug and kiss. Immediately, the cares and stress of the day faded, and I felt my blood pressure drop, my body finally relax.

Alexa had truly become my soul mate, and it was with her that I could truly feel myself.

"You forgot to call the security detail again," she said, scolding me. "We agreed we'd use them until Blaine was back in jail."

"I know," I said and squeezed her, tickling her to distract her. "I'll remember next time."

We kissed and when she returned to the kitchen, attending to something on the stove, I followed her, reaching for her the entire way. When I got to her, I stood behind her and ran my hands over her very responsive body. Her belly was still not showing for she was only ten weeks along.

"Aren't you hungry?" she asked, craning her neck so she could look at me, one eyebrow quirked.

"Always," I said, my hands gently squeezing her breasts, which were exceptionally tender.

She laughed. "For food, I mean," she said and turned around in my arms so that she was facing me. "I slaved all," she said and glanced at her watch, "hour and a half this afternoon to fix it."

"I'm hungry for whatever you're serving up," I replied. "Food or otherwise."

"Food," she said.

"Food it is." I went to the refrigerator and removed a bottle of cold beer for myself. "Want a decaf?" I held up a bottle of the dealcoholized beer.

"No, I'm fine," she said and pointed to a diet soda on the counter. "I'm watching my waist."

She grinned at me, and I went to the stove and glanced inside at the roast that was cooking in the oven.

"Roast beef? To what do I owe this great meal?"

"It's grass-fed and pasture-raised. I don't feel too guilty eating it as a result."

"Politically correct meat," I murmured against her neck when I wrapped my arms around her again. "Who would have thought?"

She smiled and we embraced for a moment before sitting down to enjoy our drinks and wait for dinner to be ready.

"How was your day?" I asked, the dutiful husband.

She scrunched up her nose. "I had to trade seminars with another grad student because of my nausea."

"That's too bad," I said and reached over to take her hand. "What happened?"