“Will do.” He throws all my condiments into the bag and passes it over the bar. “Tell the boss lady congrats when you see her.”
Am I imagining things, or did Mason just wink?
There’s no time to think about that, since I need to get Hazel her tots before they’re cold. It takes less than ten minutes to drive to her house, and I spend the whole time wondering how long it’ll be before our secret gets out. So far she’s a master at disguising her figure, and she’s right that her tall stature works in her favor. But she can’t hold out forever.
I park at an angle in front of the mansion, then hop out and sling on my toolbelt. Grabbing the bag of food, I take her steps two at a time. I’m ringing the bell when a sleek ginger cat hops up beside me and starts twisting itself around my ankles.
“Hey, kitty.” I stoop down to pet it. “Waiting for the lady of the manor to let you back in?”
That cat gives a plaintive meow and headbutts my shin. Cute little thing. I didn’t even know Hazel had a cat.
The door swings open, and the cat sprints through it as Hazel’s eyes fix on the brown paper bag in my arms. “You’re a lifesaver, Luke.”
“Here.” I hand her the bag and step through the door, socked in the gut by memories of my last time in this foyer. “You get the rambutan later, but only if you’re nice to me.”
“Oh my God, I love you.” She snatches a tot from the bag and stuffs it in her mouth. “You have no idea how badly I needed this.”
The passion in her voice spears me right through the chest. So do the words she just said.
I love you?
But I know that’s not what she meant. “You’re looking…flushed.”
“Ugh, it’s this furnace. Come in, I’m so sor—” Biting her lip, she steps to the side and waves me through. “It’s hot in here, so I’m not exactly dressed for company.”
“Call the authorities.” I grin as I survey her outfit. “Hazel’s not wearing a bra.”
“I am too,” she retorts, clutching the tater tot bag to her chest. “It’s a shelf bra built into the tank top.”
“If you say so.” Good Lord, she looks sexy. Her full, rounded belly fills out the front of the red cotton tank top. Gorgeous breasts spill from the neckline, straining the sexy spaghetti straps. I don’t mean to stare, but her breasts look fuller than I remember.
“Luke.” She snaps her fingers in front of my nose. “Yes, I know I’m turning into a dairy cow. Could you focus on my face for a second?”
It’s my turn to apologize now. “Sorry,” I mutter, assessing the rest of her getup. Her ass looks amazing in those gray cotton boxers. “Should I have worn shorts?”
As my gaze swivels back to her middle, a fierce burst of pride flares in the pit of my stomach. There’s no hiding the swell of her belly in such a snug shirt.
Mine.
It’s such a caveman thing to think, which is why I don’t say it out loud.
“I think you’ll be fine in jeans,” she says, reminding me I just asked a question. “I could probably round up a pair of my father’s old gym shorts if it’s too hot in here.”
“I’ll be fine.” I try not to stare at her ass as she leads me up a long, winding staircase and down a bright hallway tiled in white marble. Wide windows frame the lake as Hazel turns through the fifth door on the left. “I cracked a window in the nursery, so the heat’s not as bad in here.”
“Uh, yeah it is.” The room’s not just hot, but huge. It’s at least three times the size of my primary bedroom. A vase of fresh flowers sits on a table next to a basket of white cloth diapers. There’s an antique changing table in the corner, along with a teddy bear taller than me. “This is the nursery, huh?”
“My father used it as his study before I took over the house.” She watches me peer out the window to the shimmering lake below. “I had it smudged to clear out any bad energy.”
“Huh?”
“Smudging. It’s a process where you burn sage or sacred herbs like palo santo and then open the windows to let the smoke carry out the negative energy. I had it done professionally.”
“Oh, good,” I mutter, reminding myself I’m not a bad dad for failing to think of these things. “Wouldn’t want an unprofessional smudger.”
“Don’t be a jerk, Luke.”
I grunt in response, which earns me an eyeroll. If I were an eye-rolling guy, I might toss her one of my own for the carpet in here. It’s so plush my feet sink in past the soles. Should I have taken off my boots?
