Page 23 of Baby Bump for the Mafia Boss

“Oh! This is your wife?” The blonde in jeans comes forward and envelops me in a hug before I can respond. I meet Dane’s silver eyes over the girl’s shoulder. He has a neutral expression. Maybe even amused.

“I’m not his wife!” I panic

“You’re so welcome to the London Smut Club!” The blonde steps backwards, and I’m trapped in her beauty and warmth.

“You’re about sixteen weeks on?” says the black-haired woman, assessing my body, then glances back to the other woman, who tilts her head in confusion.

“Yes. I mean, no to the wife part, but yes to the sixteen weeks,” I say faintly. How does she know that?

“Wait, you said it was an emergency?” The other woman, in the floaty dress, rounds on Dane.

“A clothing emergency,” he replies, without a hint of repentance.

“Oh my god.” The blonde begins to laugh. “We broke every speed limit on our way here!”

“Should I call Callie and tell her she can stay at home? She’s a nurse,” the woman in the dress says to me as an aside. “We thought you were in labour.”

“I was expecting a head poking out, at very least,” the blonde says.

“Wyn?” A man’s voice echoes from the main part of the shop.

The woman in the dress’ eyes light up. “Ben!”

A man in a sharp suit, complete with waistcoat, bursts into the changing room. “What do you need?”

“This is my husband.” The girl in the dress nods at the man. “I’m Wyn, by the way. This is Jessa.” She indicates the blonde. “And Felicity.”

The man’s brow furrows, looking between me, his wife, and then Dane. “You said it was an emergency. That line is for emergencies only.”

“It was an emergency,” he says mildly, putting his hands in his pockets.

Ben massages his forehead. “We need to add more guidance about this into the group chat.”

“So mafia bosses will read your rules and follow them?” Dane responds dryly.

“I’ll call off the helicopter I ordered, shall I?” Ben has the put-upon patience of a father. “And?—”

“Why are we here, exactly?” Wyn interrupts, sending a warning look at her unamused husband.

I stay quiet. Especially since I’m not sure.

“This is Stephie. She needs your help choosing clothes.” Dane and my gazes meet, and my stomach does gymnastic moves worthy of an Olympic Gold.

He’s looking at me like… Well, I don’t even know what that expression means. It fizzes through me, just as it did when he first looked at me that way. The night he got me pregnant. The awareness of each other is a physical thing.

I long to throw myself into his arms. I can still remember the feel of his kisses on my lips. And the delicious fullness of him inside me. The memory of exploding with pleasure shakes me, even months later.

Dane as my boss is a dangerous man. As my onetime lover, he was even more perilous. And as my fake-not-fake baby daddy, he’s all my dreams and nightmares mixed together.

“Ohh, we can help you choose clothes!” says Felicity excitedly, dragging my attention from Dane. “There’s such a nice selection in here, too. What’s your hesitation?”

I swallow. Dane’s gaze remains on me. Intent. Like I’m one of his business deals that he must close under all circumstances.

“I didn’t know if I should wear anything tight,” I say, although that’s not exactly it. I think there’s more of a fear in me of admitting just how much the tiny life growing inside of my belly means to me, and the instinct is to protect it in any and every way possible.

“With such a cute little bump? Are you joking? Definitely show that off,” says Wyn.

“Have you been pregnant?” I ask cautiously.