The Rake (Boston Belles #4)(49)

“Now, I’m not saying I know what it’s about, but I sure hope our friend Lord Whitehall is treating you well,” she clucked on the other line.

“Ma’am, he is treating me too well.”

“There’s no such thing!” she bellowed. I could practically hear her contemplating her next words before she said, “Again, I have no idea what I’m booking this for, but … I do hope this is going to stick. He’s a fantastic man. Strong, confident, sturdy, razor sharp. He deserves a good woman.”

He does, I thought bitterly. Too bad I’m incapable of being that for him.

When I slid into the cab an hour later, clad in oversized sunglasses and a faux fur coat, I was surprised to see Devon sitting on the other end of the passenger seat, dressed in a dashing suit and a peacoat, typing emails on his phone.

“Sweven.” He pocketed the phone as he turned to me, drawling in his signature Hugh Grant accent. Fuck me.

“Asshole,” I volleyed back, still surly about the fact he’d shoved himself into my business, figuratively and literally. “You’re here. Yay me. Should’ve known you’d try and take control of this situation too.”

“Enjoying your new employees?” He ignored my barb. All of them, actually. Why wasn’t he backing away? Why wasn’t he giving up on me, just like every other man I exhausted into submission?

“Ask me in a week.”

“I’ll set a reminder.” I couldn’t tell if he was sarcastic or not.

“I’m going to pay you back for them, you know.” I rested my head against the cool seat and closed my eyes to ease the sickness.

“You look terrible, darling.”

“Thanks, boo.” Wasn’t I just a bundle of joy?

“By that I mean you look exhausted. How can I help?”

“You can get out of my hair.”

“Sorry, it smells too good.”

I let out a tired smile. “I’m not going to turn you off with this attitude, am I?”

He shrugged, throwing me a lopsided grin that made my heart slow almost to a complete stop. “Exquisite things often have thorns. It’s to keep away unwanted attention.”

“You really think you’re going to screw me again, huh?” I blinked.

“Positive,” he confirmed.

When we arrived at Doctor Bjorn’s office, my OB-GYN was under the bizarre impression Devon was an ex-boyfriend of mine and that we rekindled our romance. No reason for him to think that, of course. He just did.

“There’s nothing I like to see more than old flames spark anew due to baby-making.” He ushered both of us to a checkup room, clapping his hands excitedly.

“The only blaze analogy I’d use for this man would be my setting him on fire,” I assured the happy doctor.

Devon chuckled darkly, rubbing my back in comforting circles. We made our way through the hallway littered with pictures of sleeping babies in baskets. When you thought about it, babies and kittens had a lot in common in terms of appropriation.

“As you can tell, her hormones are already all over the place.” Devon was being deliberately chauvinistic to grind my gears.

I wasn’t going to let him know he was ruffling my feathers, though.

“Don’t expect wedding bells, Doctor Bjorn,” I said. I needed to ensure that Devon knew I was not up for the taking. I was already straddling the edge of an anxiety attack just from hanging out with him.

Some girls didn’t want to be touched after a traumatic experience.

But me? My body was very receptive to male attention. It was my brain, heart, and soul that rejected the idea of them completely.

We entered a small room with wooden cabinets, an examination table, and more charts about babies and STDs.

“Duly noted, Ms. Penrose. So, Mr. Whitehall, would you like to join us for the vaginal ultrasound exam?” My OB-GYN asked Devon, not me. These two were really hitting it off.

Also—shouldn’t I be the one to decide such thing?

“He wouldn’t,” I said at the same time Devon exclaimed, “I’d be delighted to.”

Doctor Bjorn looked between us. “My apologies. Usually when a man arrives with his partner for an ultrasound, I draw a certain conclusion. I’m sorry if I overstepped. I’ll leave you to decide and come back in a few minutes. Please ensure that you’re in your robe and undressed from the waist down on the examination table, Ms. Penrose.”

Devon and I engaged in a stare-off for a few seconds before he drawled, “And your problem is?”

“It’s a vaginal exam.”

“So? I’ve seen yours before from all angles. Fucked it, licked it, fingered it, and played with it.”

“This is a pivotal moment in my life, you caveman,” I barked.

“Intimate for both of us. It’s my child in there.” He pointed at my stomach.

“And my vagina,” I reminded him.

“My god, you are childish.” Finally—finally—he was over my behavior. But it didn’t feel half as satisfying as I thought it would.

“Well, I am over a decade younger than you.”

“Look,” he sighed, shaking his head like I was an unruly child. “I promise not to look anywhere … sensitive. I just want to see the baby. My baby.”