by Lauren Rowe
Jonas hugs me goodbye and then shocks the hell out of me by tenderly placing his palm on my belly—a move so full of affection—and so unlike him—it catches me off guard. “I can’t wait to meet you, Gracie Faraday,” Jonas whispers.
I exchange a swooning look with Sarah.
Josh follows suit, putting his hand on my belly when Jonas pulls his hand away.
“I can already tell you’re gonna own me, Gracie Louise,” Josh says. He bends down and kisses my belly, making me swoon. “I already love you, Little G,” he whispers.
Oh my God, I can barely stand, I’m so overcome by this beautiful moment. “Josh,” I say, barely above a whisper.
Josh stands. “Good God, I’m gonna be surrounded by a shit-ton of estrogen in my own house,” he blurts, completely shattering the fairytale-nature of the moment. “I’m officially fucked.”
We all laugh.
“Yep. You’re definitely gonna hone your listening skills,” Jonas says.
“Oh, you know you’ll love it,” I say. I look at Jonas and Sarah. “Okay, guys, I love you truly, madly, deeply, but the kumquat’s hangry—so if you’re not coming with us to eat, then you best get out of my freakin’ way so I don’t start barfing all over you.”
“You’re still barfing?” Sarah asks.
“Not nearly as much, but, yeah, on occasion, especially when I get really hungry.”
Sarah grimaces. “You poor thing.”
I pat my belly. “It’s okay. Seeing Gracie today made it all worth it.”
Josh and I wave to Jonas and Sarah as they drive off in their car, and then, since we’d hitched a ride with Jonas and Sarah to get here in the first place, we grab a taxi.
“Hotel 1000,” Josh instructs the driver as we settle into the backseat of the cab. “Okay with you, babe? There’s a new restaurant in the hotel I wanna try.”
“Great,” I say. “What kind of food do they—Oh.” I abruptly stop talking, my hand on my belly.
“What?” Josh asks, his eyes wide.
I hold up a finger, holding my breath—and there it is again: a teeny-tiny jabbing sensation in my lower abdomen, poking me from the inside. “Oh my gosh,” I say. “I think I just felt the baby move.”
“Really?” Josh asks, his eyes lighting up.
I place Josh’s hand on my bump, right where I just felt movement, and it happens again. “Did you feel that?” I ask.
Josh shakes his head, his eyes on fire. “What did it feel like?”
“It felt like someone poking me—like this.” I touch the top of Josh’s hand with my fingertip. “Only imagine feeling that little jab from inside your body—like a little alien wanting to get out.”
“That’s so cool,” Josh says. He places both palms on my bump, squinting like he’s concentrating on complex calculus—and for the rest of the taxi ride, he forbids me to speak while he silently touches every inch of my tiny bump, trying with all his might to feel movement. But it’s no use. Every time I feel a little jab, Josh can’t feel it with me.
“I guess the kumquat’s just too small for you to feel her yet,” I finally conclude. “I’m sorry, babe.”
“Damn. Tell me every time you feel her move, okay? I’m dying to give her a high-five with my fingertip.”
I swoon for the twentieth time today. Who is this adorable man sitting next to me in this taxi? I can’t believe the man touching my baby bump with such tenderness and enthusiasm is the same commitment-phobic playboy who not too long ago said he planned to wait until eighty to have a baby so he could simultaneously have the kid and forget he was ever born.
“I love you so much, Josh,” I say softly, touching his cheek.
“I love you, I love you, I love you, Kat—more than I ever thought possible,” Josh replies, just before planting a kiss on me that makes me forget where I am.
After a moment, the driver clears his throat. “Um. Excuse me. We’re here,” he says.
Josh brushes my cheek with his thumb, and then touches my chin with the tip of his finger, and finally, slowly, tears himself away from me to pay the man.
We float inside the hotel together, Josh’s arm around my shoulders, but, much to my surprise, Josh steers us away from the restaurant in the lobby and toward the elevator bank.
“Hey, isn’t that the restaurant?” I ask, pointing behind me.
Josh stops walking and pulls me into him, a huge smile on his face. “We’re not going to the restaurant, my love—I only told you that to lure you here.”
My love? Did Josh just call me “my love”? He’s never called me that before.
“Why aren’t we going to the restaurant?” I manage to ask.
“Because we’re going to our room,” Josh replies simply—and before I can say another word, he fishes into his pocket, pulls out a poker chip, and places it in my palm, a wicked smile dancing on his lips. “Let the mini-porno begin, baby.”
“Ooh!” I squeal. “Yay! Which fantasy are we doing, babe?”
“Actually, today we’re doing one of my fantasies—a fantasy I’ve never told anyone about, not even you.” Josh wraps me into his arms and smashes his hard body into mine. “It’s my top fantasy, actually—something I’ve only recently discovered I want to do.”
“You didn’t write about it in your application?”
“Nope. I’ve never told a single soul about this particular fantasy—didn’t even know I had it until recently. But today, for the first and only time, I wanna do it with you, Party Girl.” A huge smile spreads across his face. “My love.”
One Hundred Seventeen
Kat
“Oh, that was good—the artichoke was hangry as hell,” I say, putting my napkin onto the table and patting my belly. I’ve just devoured a huge spread of food Josh had waiting for us in our hotel suite, and I’m feeling fine as wine and ready to role-play.
“So you’re feeling good now?” Josh asks.
“Yup. I’m feeling great. Heidi Kumquat reporting for duty, sir, any which way you please. So what’s your pleasure, sir? Whips? Chains? Donkeys?”
Josh shoots me a sly smile. “You’ll see. The outfit I want you to wear for me is laid out on the bed in there.” He indicates the master bedroom of the suite.
“Oh,” I say, raising my eyebrow. “French maid costume, maybe? Latex? Rabbit suit? Damsel in distress?”
“You’ll see soon enough. I packed your makeup and toiletries, by the way—they’re in the bathroom.” He stands, his eyes blazing. “Meet me back out here in forty-five minutes. I’ll get dressed in the other bedroom.”
“Oh. We’re doing his and hers costumes, huh?” I say. “What on earth have you been fantasizing about on the sly, you naughty Playboy?”
“No questions. Just do as your told. This is my fantasy—not yours—you’re just my plaything today.”
“Oooh, I like the sound of that. But, seriously, babe. I want to be sure you get your fantasy, whatever it is. What if I don’t know what to do?”
“Oh, you’ll know.” He pulls me to him and plants a kiss on my lips that’s so passionate, I’m certain he’s about to bend me over the table and fuck me senseless right here and now. But, nope, he doesn’t. Instead, he pulls away and slaps my ass. “Now get showered and dressed, Party Girl. You’ve got exactly forty-five minutes—don’t keep me waiting.”
“Yes, sir,” I say.
I head into the bedroom, as directed, and gasp when I see what Josh has laid out for me to wear: a formal red gown, red lace bra and undies, black strappy heels, and a small clutch covered in sparkling Swarovski crystals. I look at the label on the gorgeous dress. Carolina Herrera. Oh my God. I can’t even imagine how much this beautiful creation must have cost. Quickly, I throw off my clothes and slip the gown on, even before showering, just to make sure it fits—and, man, oh man, does it ever—like a glove, baby bump and all.
“Wow,” I say out loud, staring at myself in the mirror. “Hello, Pretty Woman.”
It’s actually astonishing how much this dre
ss looks like a modern update of the iconic red dress Julia Roberts wore in that movie. Of course, Josh wouldn’t know that since he’s the only human in the Western Hemisphere who’s never seen Pretty Woman, but, truly, this gown is a dead ringer for that famous dress. I giggle to myself. This is such classic Josh Faraday—even without knowing it, he’s managed to fulfill one of my top fantasies.
I slip out of the dress and hop into the shower, singing “Pretty Woman” at the top of my lungs—and just over an hour later (oops, I’m little late), I emerge from the master bedroom wearing my beautiful Julia-dress and gorgeous, strappy heels.
Josh is sitting across the room, looking down at his phone, dressed to perfection in a classic, tailored tux. At the sound of my entrance into the room, he looks up from his phone and his handsome face bursts into immediate flames.
“Wow,” Josh says. He hops up and strides toward me. “Look at you. Wow.”
I twirl. “You like?”
“I love.” He kisses my cheek and I’m treated to the scent of his delicious cologne. “You’re absolutely stunning, Kat,” he adds.
“So are you,” I say. “You look amazing.”
Josh furrows his brow, apparently considering something. He blatantly looks me up and down. “Hmm.”
“What?” I ask, suddenly feeling insecure.
“Something’s missing.”
“Huh?” I look down at myself. “There was nothing else laid out on the bed,” I say.
Josh purses his lips. “Ah. I know. Hang on.”
He strides with great purpose across the room and grabs a flat velvet box off the bar—and the minute I see that damned box in Josh’s hand, I know exactly what’s up. Red gown. Tux. Flat velvet jewelry box. Holy Julia Roberts, Batman—Josh is re-enacting Pretty Woman!
I clamp my palm over my mouth. “Oh my God!” I gasp.
Josh holds up the velvet box, a huge smile on his face, but before he can say a word, I begin jumping up and down and shrieking like a monkey escaping from the zoo.
“Oh my God, I love this movie,” I shriek excitedly. I take a deep breath and shake out my arms. “You’re incredible-amazing-wow-I’m-so-excited-thank-you!”
Josh laughs. “Are you okay? Do you need a minute?”
I giggle like a hyena. “I can’t believe you did this! When did you watch it? Oh my God!”
“Are you okay? Are you gonna pass out?”
“I’m good. Oh my God. Go ahead. Holy shit. Okay, I can totally do this—I swear. Do it. Gah! Okay. Go.” I bite my tongue to keep myself from babbling further.
Josh smiles. “Ready?”
I nod, still biting my tongue.
Josh slowly opens the box... to reveal the most redonkulous diamond necklace I’ve ever seen in my entire freakin’ life. It’s even more spectacular than the one Sarah wore on her wedding day—something I didn’t think was possible.
Of course, I know this necklace is just a rental—I’ve seen the movie twenty times, after all, so I know how this scene goes—but, still, this is so freaking exciting, so unexpected, I can barely stand. I can’t believe Josh even thought to arrange a Pretty Woman fantasy for me! I can’t fathom how that’s even possible.
Josh is grinning wickedly, holding the box open, inviting me to enact what comes next in this scene—and, of course, I’d never, ever disappoint him.
“Can I touch it?” I breathe.
Josh nods, smiling from ear to ear. “I was hoping you’d ask me that.”
I shudder with excitement.
“Go on,” Josh coaxes. “If you dare.”
I giggle. “I’m nervous.”
“Dig deep, baby—be brave.”
“Whew. Okay.” I reach slowly into the box, my Julia-Roberts belly laugh all cued up—oh my God, this is so freakin’ awesome!—and, as expected, even before my fingers have touched the sparkling necklace, Josh clamps the lid down on my fingers. And even though I had my Julia Roberts impression ready to rip, I surprise myself by bursting into authentic Kat-Morgan, dude-like guffaws, sending Josh into a fit of hysterical laughter along with me.
When both of us have calmed down a bit, Josh removes the dazzling necklace from the box. “Turn around, hot momma,” he says. “Let’s get this bad boy on you.”
I turn around and I’m rewarded with the sensation of my hair being pushed off my neck and Josh’s soft lips against my Scorpio tattoo—followed by Josh securing the outrageous necklace around my neck.
I touch the dazzling rocks against my skin, trembling. “Oh my freaking God,” I breathe.
“Lemme see you,” Josh says softly. “Turn around.”
I do.
“Gorgeous,” Josh says, his eyes blazing. “Wow.”
I touch the necklace again, feeling slightly faint. “Josh?”
“Yes, my love?”
“If I forget to tell you later: I had a really good time tonight.”
Josh laughs. “Thank you.” He leans forward like he’s going to kiss me, but, instead, he presses his lips against my ear. “It’s all yours, baby,” he whispers, his voice low and sexy.
I stand stock still, holding my breath, positive I’ve misunderstood him. It sounded like Josh said, “It’s all yours, baby.” But what would the “it” in that sentence be? That’s what my brain isn’t comprehending. Josh’s heart? The dress? I pull back and stare at Josh with wide eyes. “Huh?”
Josh cups my face in his large palms. “The necklace is all yours, my love—my gift to you—because I love you with all my heart and soul.”
My entire body jolts. “What?” I shriek.
The look on Josh’s face is utterly priceless—he’s a kid in a candy shop, as excited as I’ve ever seen him. He moves his hands to my shoulders. “My beautiful Kat, marriage isn’t in the cards for us, as you know.” He strokes my hair. “So I’m hoping you’ll accept this necklace as a symbol of my eternal love for you.”
My heart has truly stopped beating. Oh my God, no, wait, now it’s exploding. And, now, holy fuck, it’s bursting out of my chest and hurtling against the hotel wall.
“What?” I say, this time in a hoarse whisper, my eyes bugging out of my head.
Surely, I’m misunderstanding this conversation. The strange words coming out of Josh’s mouth sound remarkably like English, but they’re being strung together in a nonsensical way.
“You’re the great love of my life, Kat,” Josh says, still stroking my hair, gazing into my eyes. “I choose you, baby. That’s what this necklace means. Not because of a piece of paper, not because of the kumquat, but because I want you and no one else. I choose you, Kat, and I hope you choose me, too. Forever.”
I clutch my throat like I’m choking on a big-ass diamond. “Forever?” I blurt. “You choose me forever?”
Josh nods.
“You’re promising to love me forever?”
He nods again.
“And this necklace is mine?”
Josh nods again.
“To keep?”
“Yes.”
I throw my arms around his neck. “I love you, too,” I shriek, tears of joy springing from my eyes. “I choose you, too, forever and ever and ever! Yes, yes, yes. I choose you, too, baby! Yes!”
And just like that, even before I can say, “Well, color me happy!”—(which I was totally gonna say, by the way, but how the fuck could I possibly remember to say my line now?)—my beautiful gown is hiked up, my pretty lace panties are on the floor, and Josh’s donkey-dick is sliding in and out of me, filling me to the brim and making me scream. Oh, God, this is insanity. I’m not only screaming with pleasure, I’m crying and howling, too. I’m either thoroughly enraptured or possessed by a freaking demon, it’s not clear which.
After several minutes of fuckery that can only be described as “a mini-porno-version of The Exorcist,” Josh lays me down on my back on a table in the suite and fucks me with breathtaking fervor, whispering into my ear as he does about how much he loves me and how hot I am with my little baby bump and how good and wet a
nd tight I always feel for him—and, within minutes, I’m convulsing with an orgasm that curls my effing toes and blurs my vision (and also makes my green head spin round and round on my shoulders).
When we’re both done, Josh hulks over me on the table for a long moment, catching his breath. “Holy fuck,” he says, his breathing ragged. “That wasn’t according to plan.”
I breathe deeply, trying to calm my racing heart. “Are we gonna be late now?” I gasp.
Josh straightens up, his eyebrows raised. “Late for what?”
“For the opera?”
Josh chuckles. “Oh, Kat.” He pulls me off the table and wraps me in his strong arms.
“What? That’s where Richard took Julia in the red dress—to the opera in San Francisco.”
“Yeah, I know—I’ve seen the movie,” Josh says, rolling his eyes. “But this is my fantasy, remember?—and I’d rather poke needles in my eyes than go to the fucking opera.”
I giggle. “Oh, thank God. I was gonna be a good sport about it, of course, but I’d rather poke needles in my eyes than go to the fucking opera, too.”
Josh kisses my forehead. “Don’t you worry, PG. You’re with me, remember? The Playboy—and where I’m taking you today is gonna curl your toes and soak your panties a thousand times more than any stinkin’ opera ever could.” He winks. “I guarantee it.”
One Hundred Eighteen
Kat
Our limo pulls up to a small airport displaying a sign at the entrance that says, “Boeing Field.”
“Are we flying to San Francisco?” I ask.
Josh grabs my hand. “No questions. Your only job today is to react—not to try to figure things out.”
“Richard took Julia to San Francisco,” I say.
“We’re not going to the opera, and we’re not going to San Francisco,” Josh says. “No more questions.”
I survey the long line of small jets lined up on the tarmac. “But we’re flying somewhere?”