“The whole Sankalpa response?”
“Yep,” she said, then changed her mind and broke off another bite of the cake.
“Just cut a piece of cake and eat it, Georgie,” her husband called.
She looked around the kitchen. Her only company was a snoozing Mr. Tuesday and Faby, who had no qualms with her scarfing down a cake, piece by broken-off piece.
“How do you know I’m eating the pineapple upside-down cake?” she called.
“Are you?” he shot back, and she could hear the cocky smile in his voice.
She wiped the crumbs from her lips. “No,” she answered with the giant bite still in her mouth.
“The email said they’re going to serve dinner and dessert tonight. You don’t want to ruin your appetite,” he chided playfully.
“When in the last month has eating before a meal ruined my appetite?” she tossed back about to break off another hunk of cake when a sexy hunk of a cowboy entered the kitchen. And all thoughts of pineapple-sweetened carbohydrates evaporated.
“Speaking of appetites,” Jordan said and moseyed across the room.
And hello, hotness!
She tried to speak, but she couldn’t exactly form words other than a sultry, “Oh.”
“Have I rendered you speechless, Miss Rancher’s Daughter?”
“It’s just that when we do our morning sexcapades, I’m the one in costume,” she replied, finding her voice—but just barely. This man could have been plastered on the cover of every Western romance novel in her bookshop.
“Not tonight, little lady,” he said with the tip of his cowboy hat. “It’s a Western-themed gala, so we’re both dressing up.”
“Yeah, but you look like cowboy sex on a stick, and I look like I swallowed the cast of Little House on the Prairie.”
He chuckled and shook his head.
She gestured toward his body. “Do you mind if I take a second? I’d pictured this way back when we’d found out we were going to have a baby. I just didn’t expect it would exceed my fantasy.”
“Are you asking if you can ogle me, MBG?”
“That’s exactly what I’m asking,” she said, not messing around with her ogling.
More than that. Any ranch he’d work on would be a mess. How the heck could any rancher’s daughter get even a lick of work done with a man like this walking around.
And there was more.
Standing in front of her, in full cowboy regalia, Jordan Marks had donned not only the signature cowboy hat, plaid shirt, and jeans. He had chaps.
Let’s repeat that.
Jordan Marks was wearing leather chaps.
Black leather cowboy chaps.
In her kitchen.
Right this very moment.
“Are you doing okay there, messy bun girl?” he asked when her phone pinged.
“Yup,” she replied, her eyes still glued to her husband’s strong, chap-wearing legs.
“Should you check that?” he pressed with a devilish grin.
The man knew exactly what he did to her.
She glanced down at her phone. “It’s a text from Irene.”
“More baby pics?” he asked.
Why was he talking? He knew she was mid-ogle!
“What?” she asked, finding it hard to concentrate on anything other than…chaps.
“You know, your best friend who had a baby two weeks ago in Iceland. Did she text more baby pictures?” he asked.
Georgie glanced at her phone again and saw a sweet-faced baby bundled in blue.
“Yes,” she answered, damn proud of herself. Juggling chaps ogling and cell phone use was quite an accomplishment.
“Can you show them to me?”
She shook her head, her gaze trained on cowboy heaven. “No.”
“No?” he replied.
She shook her head, working to have a thought that didn’t involve peeling those sexy chaps off.
“I mean, yes. I’ll show you later,” she answered.
“Okay,” he said with a self-satisfied twist to his lips.
“Why didn’t you mention you’d ordered chaps with your costume?” she asked, in full-force ogle mode, unable to pull her gaze from the cowboy clothing.
Their gala outfits had arrived this morning. The best they could do to accommodate her blooming midsection was to send a white dress with a plaid shirt that matched Jordan’s. She’d tied it above her giant bump—because there was no way in hell that thing could be buttoned up with the pineapple surprise she was packing. Even with her cowgirl boots and hat, she looked less like a naughty milkmaid and more like a dairy cow.
He crossed his arms, which only made him sexier—like a brooding cowboy.
“The costume store called yesterday and asked if I wanted to add them in.”
“I’m glad you did,” she answered as the temperature in the kitchen went up ten thousand degrees.
She was used to her husband looking good in his workout clothes. Thanks to owning and working at a gym, that’s what he wore ninety percent of the time. He’d pull out his khakis and button-ups from time to time. But not in her wildest dreams—and they’d gotten pretty wild with her pregnancy—did she imagine how hot her husband would look as a real cowboy.
“You should call the costume shop.”
He frowned. “Why?”
“Because you’ll need to inform them that you’re never returning that costume,” she replied, then licked her lips.
Pregnancy horny had no shame.
“I’m not?” he asked, his boots slapping the wood floor as he moved toward her.
She closed her eyes and inhaled. “They smell all leathery-good, too.”
“Do you know what else smells good?” he asked.
“What?” she replied, her eyes still closed. She could feel the heat of her husband standing only inches away, and her skin tingled in anticipation of his touch.
“You,” he said, removing her cowgirl hat before pressing his lips to hers in a whisper-soft kiss.
If she hadn’t done her makeup, she might have allowed herself to melt into a pool of swoon.
But one thing was for sure. Locking lips with this man never got old.
“How much time do we have before the car arrives?” she asked between kisses that grew more impassioned by the second.
Since they were hosting the hoity-toity Denver Literacy Gala for her mother and Howard, the event staff had informed them that a car would be picking them up.
Tonight, they’d rub elbows with Denver’s elite movers and shakers while presenting the auction portion of the evening. And while she wasn’t a huge fan of the city’s socialite scene, this fundraiser was for a good cause close to her heart.
Raising loads of cash to purchase books for kids. Who can argue with that?
Jordan pulled back a fraction, and his gaze flicked to the clock. “We’ve got about ten minutes.”
She gave those chaps another glance. “What do you think we can do in ten minutes?”
A naughty glint sparked in his eyes. “A lot.”
“Define a lot?” she pressed on a breathy exhale.
He ran his hands down the length of her body and lowered his voice. “Turn around. Now.”
The breath caught in her throat as her body tingled, awash in his growly tone. She liked this bossy cowboy!
“Hold on to the counter,” he commanded.
A delicious shiver danced down her spine and settled between her thighs as her cowboy pressed a kiss to her neck, then slipped his hand beneath her dress.
Jordan slid his hand inside her panties and stroked her tight bundle of nerves. Just the right amount of rough from gripping barbells and thick cords of rope at the gym, he worked her in agonizingly slow, sensual circles. She bucked against his hand, wanting more, craving sweet release as her core clenched in anticipation.
“Do you like that, cowgirl?” he purred with a low, gravelly rasp.
She hummed a wicked moan. “You know I do.”
His carnal cowbo
y control over her body continued as he stroked between her thighs and assaulted her neck with his teeth and tongue, licking and nipping her sensitive skin. She teetered on the edge, hovering between the desire for release and the sweet anguish of knowing the rush of her orgasm was only a breath away.
She closed her eyes and focused on her husband’s magical fingers, stroking her in perfect, rhythmic circles. She rocked against his hand, pure animal instinct taking over, then reached back and held onto the band of his jeans.
Her nails dug into the smooth, cool leather chaps. “Do these come off?” she pleaded.
“They do. But this is all for you,” he answered, inserting a finger inside of her, then cupped her sex as he worked her slick center.
Jordan coaxed her to give in to the intense sensations, whispering in her ear, telling her all the dirty things he was going to do to her in these chaps when they got home tonight. But she couldn’t reply. She could barely think. All she could do was ride his hand, bucking and thrusting like a wickedly wanton cowgirl, drawing out every ounce of pleasure.
And then, she was there. Flying, falling, spiraling. Her body tingling, head to toe.
His warm breath came in scorching puffs against the shell of her ear as she collided with her frenzied release in an explosion of passion.
“Don’t stop,” she bit out, riding an exquisite wave of insurmountable carnal gratification.
And bless this man, he did not slow down. Instead, he doubled his efforts, lengthening each tantalizing swell of her release until her body returned to her, leaving her warm and delectably relaxed.
She blinked open her eyes, feeling delightfully sated and peaceful, to find herself face-to-face with Faby.
“This is strange,” she said on a dreamy sigh.
Jordan pressed a kiss to her temple. “I don’t think Faby minds.”
“I mind,” she said, turning the doll to stare at the wall.
Jordan stilled. “Georgie, the baby!”
“I know, we’ve probably scarred Faby for life.”
“No, the real baby. It kicked,” he said, placing his hands on her belly.
She rested her hand on top of his. “It’s freaky how this baby seems to know when I…”
“Get off?” he teased.
She pursed her lips. “Can we call it attaining sweet oblivion? It has a more poetic ring to it compared to—”
“Getting off in the kitchen?” he interrupted again with a wicked grin.
She shrugged. “I can’t even think of a pithy response when you’re looking all cowboy hot.”
“I’m definitely keeping this costume,” he said as his phone pinged.
“Time to go?” she asked, adjusting the tie on her cowgirl shirt.
“Yep, the car’s here.”
She checked her appearance in the reflection of the metal tea kettle and sighed at her doughnut-shaped midsection. “This is as good as it gets. At least, I’ve certainly got some color on my cheeks now.”
He cupped her face in his hand, then brushed his thumb over her kiss-swollen lips. “You’re always beautiful to me. And now I’ll have the satisfaction of knowing, while we’re mixing with the upper-crust of Denver at this ritzy Western shindig, that I made the naughtiest cowgirl there come hard in my hand.”
Hello, dirty talk cowboy!
She opened the freezer and waved the cold air onto her face. “You get Faby. I need to get my preggo-libido under control.”
“Don’t freeze it all. Remember, I’ve got lots of ideas for what we can do with these chaps when we get home.”
She swallowed hard, then started waving the cold air with both hands when a knock at the door ended her hormone cooling session.
“It’s the driver,” he said, closing the freezer, then passed her a can of pineapple juice.
“One for the road?” she asked, actually quite thirsty after their sexy kitchen caper.
Jordan retrieved Faby while she inched her way down to say goodbye to Mr. Tuesday.
“Be a good boy. We love you,” she said, scratching between the dog’s ears.
“Georgie, we need to go,” her husband called.
“Remember, Mr. Tuesday, you’ll always be my first baby,” she added, then kissed his nose.
In true Mr. Tuesday fashion, the pup cocked his head to the side with a big doggy grin.
She hurried out of the kitchen and met Jordan on the doorstep. They followed the driver and settled themselves in the luxurious town car as her phone pinged. She pulled it from her clutch and grinned when she saw Irene’s name and picture flash on the screen.
“Hey, Irene! You’re on speaker with me and Jordan and…” She tapped the driver. “What’s your name, sir?”
“Um…Frank,” the man replied, looking perplexed.
“You’re on with me, Jordan, and Frank,” she continued, greeting her friend.
“Hello, Jordan, and hey, Frank,” Irene said, her voice ringing out with the soft murmurs of a baby cooing in the background.
“How’s the little guy?” Jordan asked.
“Nathaniel is an absolute dream when he’s sucking me dry. I’ve become a milk machine. Get ready, Georgie! You don’t have long now.”
Georgie glanced down at her ample C-cups, hardly able to believe that she’d be feeding a baby with those things soon.
“Pregnancy is like a sci-fi movie,” she said.
“And post-pregnancy is half horror flick, half comedy, but it’s all worth it, isn’t it, sweet Nathaniel,” Irene added, her voice going gooey enamored.
Jordan pointed to his wristwatch, and she nodded.
“Irene, we don’t have long to chat. We’re on our way to host that fundraiser for my mom and Howard.”
“What did they say when you told them about the baby? I figured they would have hopped the next private jet home.”
Georgie shared a troubled glance with Jordan. “They don’t know about the pregnancy yet.”
The line went quiet.
“Last time we talked, you said that you’d called Howard’s office,” Irene replied with a puzzled edge.
Georgie released a frustrated sigh. “According to fifteen of Howard’s assistants, he and my mother have gone off the grid to find their innermost desire. I’ve left messages, but I don’t think they’ve gotten any of them.”
“Georgie, I’m sorry. I know what a big deal it was for you to make that call,” her friend replied, then yawned, and it sounded like a bear had taken over her BFF’s body. “You know what my innermost desire is?”
“What?” Georgie asked.
“Eight solid hours of sleep,” Irene answered on a dreamy exhale.
“Any chance of that happening in the near future?” Jordan asked.
Irene chuckled. “Nope, the milk machine is open twenty-four seven. But, Georgie?”
“Yeah?”
“Have you tried contacting your mom’s assistant or the energy lady in Boulder, who hooked your mom up with this spiritual retreat?”
“No, but I think that’s our next step,” she answered as Jordan nodded.
“Okay, I’ll let you two go back to playing socialites. Drink all the champagne for me, Jordan, and try not to annihilate any tropical fruit displays, Georgie,” Irene said with a weary chuckle.
“Will do, Irene. Take care,” Jordan said as she ended the call.
She reclined into the seat. “Tomorrow, we can reach out to Nicolette and the Boulder psychic lady. I don’t know why I didn’t think to do it sooner.”
Jordan took her hand and gave it a gentle squeeze. “I agree. We’ll get through tonight, then tackle all the calls tomorrow.”
She nodded, ready for a nap. Sexytimes, while gestating, really took it out of a gal.
But it was showtime.
She stared up at the hotel hosting the gala as the car slowed and pulled up to the grand entrance.
“We’re here,” the driver said, rolling up to the Ritz-Carlton.
“The Ritz. My mom’s old stomping ground,” she
said, tucking her pineapple juice into her purse. She could chug it in the restroom like the heathen, anti-socialite she was.
Jordan took Faby, then helped her out of the car as clapping erupted, and Hector and Bobby descended on them.
“As I live and breathe, you are as big as a house,” Hector crooned with a set of air kisses.
Dressed like a fashionable hipster cowboy, his signature style screamed, look at me.
She shook her head and chuckled. “I’m not sure what a girl says in response to that, but it’s nice to see you, too.”
“How are you feeling?” the soft-spoken Bobby asked with a tip of his cowboy hat as Hector moved on to say hello to Jordan.
“A lot like what Hector said, honestly,” she replied and patted her belly.
“And your mother?” Bobby asked quietly. “We noticed she and Howard weren’t on the guest list, and your mom never misses a costume gala.”
Of course, she didn’t.
Georgie lowered her voice. “We haven’t gotten ahold of them yet.”
“Georgie! You haven’t told them!” Bobby whisper-shouted.
“It’s not for lack of trying. They’re in seclusion, searching for their Sankalpa.”
The man weighed her response as he dropped his shocked expression and nodded. “That makes sense. It took me years to figure out mine.”
“Years?” she parroted back.
“I didn’t run off to a retreat in India, but I’d thought about it for many years.”
She leaned in. “And…what is it?”
Bobby went all Zen cowboy. “I am present in every moment.”
She frowned. “After years of contemplation, that’s it? I mean, by virtue of existing, isn’t every person on the planet present in every moment?”
“It’s more about relinquishing control and accepting the world for what it is and ourselves for who we are. It’s about witnessing the gift of life as our true self.”
“Wow,” she said, hating that, at this very moment when she should feel profoundly inspired, all she wanted to do was crack open the mini can of pineapple juice hidden away in her purse.
“Georgie,” Jordan called. “Do we need to give Hector and Bobby any instructions for caring for Faby?”
Own the Eights Maybe Baby Page 22