“Lovely news, then,” Dr. Burnsley said, now looking at the monitor as he found the black blob on the white blob with the beating heart, except our blob had grown considerably and didn’t look even remotely blob-ish anymore. My eyes were transfixed—I could see arms, legs, hands, and feet, moving all over the place. Our baby was in there becoming a little person. “Everything looks to be progressing very well. Baby is growing strong and about the size of a—”
“—peach,” I informed the good doctor.
He turned his head in disbelief and surprise.
Brynne laughed softly but kept her eyes on the screen, watching all the gymnastics our little one was performing so brilliantly for us.
“Yeah, weighs around eight ounces and already growing teeth and vocal chords.” I grinned at the doc. “And Brynne is one-third through the pregnancy now and officially in her second trimester.”
“Someone has been reading,” Dr. B said with a bemused gray eyebrow quirk.
“Bump dot com, doctor—brilliant resource.” I winked at him too, but I don’t think he liked that too much.
Three hours later . . .
? We were officially on vacation.
Bags packed and loaded? Check.
Rover crammed to the roof with everything we could possibly need for our wedding trip up to Hallborough, and then some? Check.
Bride? Check—most fucking definitely.
My girl looked as mouthwatering as always in her flowery purple dress and her hair pinned up in a messy knot. I liked when she wore it like that because it made me think about taking it down and dragging my hands through it when we were naked in bed together. Soon . . .
“So, are you ready to go get shackled, Miss Bennett? Last chance to ditch this celebrity bash and elope with me,” I teased, dragging her up against my chest and tucking a wisp of hair behind her ear.
“Hmmm, whose idea was that again?” she asked quizzically.
“Just say the word and we don’t have to do it, baby.” I was serious, and would pull out of the whole thing if it was truly what Brynne wanted, but man, my sister would kill me over and over again for it.
“No, no, no, Mr. Blackstone. You ordered this posh event with royalty and dignitaries coming to eat the gourmet food, and drink the expensive champagne in your sister’s historic country manor house.” She raised an eyebrow. “And now you must deliver all those goods.” She plucked at my shirt. “We reap what we sow.”
“True that.”
“Besides, I want to see you standing at the end of the aisle waiting for me, looking handsome with those blue eyes of yours only for me.”
“You’ve got that fucking right—only for you.” I kissed her thoroughly, tasting her deliciousness and thinking I had the rest of my life to enjoy it.
She grinned and shook her head a little at me. “Your filthy mouth . . .”
“You love the things I do to you with this fi
lthy mouth.”
“Mmmm, I so do.” She grinned. “You’re right, Mr. Blackstone.” She smoothed the spot on my shirt she’d just been plucking at, making me smile. Brynne did that a lot when she was explaining her feelings as she was right now. I thought it incredibly sexy, but then everything about her was sexy to me. Especially since it had been far too many days since I’d been inside her. Only forty-eight hours more of this no-sex nonsense—thank fucking Christ. And then? Well, it’d be HoneymoonLand, here we fucking come! Lots and lots of coming would definitely be happening on that trip too. Italian villa along the coast, secluded, private— nothing but time to make love, eat, sleep, swim in the ocean and make more love. I could probably do that for the rest of my li—
“Plus, I got a pretty new dress and a veil for this hoedown.” She looked up at me and winked. “You paid for it.”
“Hoedown? What kind of Yank word is that?”
“An appropriate one, actually. It means a country party with dancing and fiddles.” She did a quick air violin gesture for me. “I know this thing is most definitely happening in the country, and you’ve got David Garrett coming—there is no fiddle player hotter than him, by the way—and I’m not merely talking about his musical ability here, Blackstone, so yeah, we got us a big ole hoedown to get to. You’d better start moving your sexy British arse and get us on the road.”
“So you’ve got some fancy for David Garrett, now do you?”
She pretended to consider, giving me a wicked gleam and tapping her chin with a finger. “A lady never tells.”
“Fucking fabulous! My wife is about to throw me over for the fiddler at my own wedding! Absolutely brill.” I pulled out my mobile. “Excuse me, I need to call David Garrett and uninvite him to our wed—”