I glanced at her swollen breasts, and I could almost smell the sweet milk mixed in with her citrus shampoo. She made me so fucking hungry. Four years of abstinence was no joke.
Yes, keep her. Keep them both.
The voice purred.
She was made to be bred. This one was born to be a mother.
“I’m glad I bumped into you tonight,” I said to her with a smile, gently rubbing her stomach in circles.
Her blush deepened, that shy smile making my molars ache as I clenched down on them. “So am I.”
Behind us, the tyre I slashed earlier hissed its last breath.
Chapter 4
Charlotte
Dr. Vale was too good to be true. A fact made obvious by the way every woman in Morrisons did a double-take, their eyes flicking between his Windsor-knot perfection and my swollen belly. I practically preened when their lips pursed in jealous confusion.
Yes, bitches. This Adonis knocked me up.
Never mind that he hadn’t. Let me have this.
The Jaws theme blasted from my phone. Samantha. The woman who knew how to suck the joy out of my life.
“Excuse me one—” I fumbled, accidentally hitting accept instead of decline.
“Charlotte, your father insists you visit. We’dloveto meet the baby’s father.” Her syrup-sweet tone made me want to vomit. “Family is so important, don’t you think?”
“Sam, I don’t—”
Dr. Vale plucked the phone from my hand, brushing his fingers against mine.
Swoon.
“We’d be delighted,” he purred.
Silence. Then it came, and I chuckled.
“WHO IS THIS?” Samantha’s screech could’ve shattered glass, but Dr Vale didn’t flinch.
“Dr. Vale. We’re busy. Text Charlotte the details,” he said curtly before he hung up on her.
He handed back my phone, one eyebrow arched. “‘Jaws’? Really?”
Our grins mirrored each other—a perfect, conspiratorial moment.
“You’d really go with me to my dad’s?” I asked, worried he might back out. It would shut Sam up, and I could tell her later that we broke up.
“I specialise in toxic people.” He shrugged, steering my trolley towards my boot. “Also, I’ve read your medical files.”
Of course, he knew how I got pregnant. Duh.
I glanced at my tyre and frowned.
“I think I have a flat,” I sighed, staring at the tyre sagging like a deflated balloon.
The saintly, beautiful, probably-doesn’t-even-poop, Dr Vale crouched to inspect the damage. And oh, what a crouch it was. His trousers pulled taut over an ass so sculpted Michelangelo would weep. I shamelessly shuffled back for a better view.
