Page 18 of Falling for Love

We sit down on the beige sofa in front of a cream coffee table, side by side. Jack unpacks breakfast from the bag, handing me a venti-size cup of tea from Starbucks.

“Thanks.” I don’t have the heart to tell him if I drink all this, I’ll be peeing all day. Another pregnancy delight.

While he’s pulling out muffins, croissants, and yes, cake pops, I add sugar and milk to my drink.

“Carbs, carbs, and more carbs! Never say you don’t listen.” Grinning, I take the croissant, which is my favorite, but I intend to have a few bites of everything he’s brought. “Thank you. This is very sweet.”

“In more ways than one,” he says, laughing.

I laugh. “I do have to say, I don’t just love baked goods, I love sweet things, too.” I pick up the cake pop. “You did good.”

He grins and I swoon. The man exudes sex appeal, and I’d like nothing more than to climb into his lap and take advantage of all that sensuality that naturally surrounds him.

We eat and talk, and soon I’m laughing at some of his nightclub bouncer stories about people who’ve been thrown out for doing outrageous things.

“There was one drunk guy who approached the bouncer and when he was asked for ID, he shoved his hand into his front pocket, and his pants fell around his ankles. The best part? He wasn’t wearing underwear.” He grins then laughs. He’s got a great, deep laugh. “The bouncer was in a shit mood and tossed him, but the outside cameras caught the whole thing.”

I nearly choke on the muffin I’m now chewing. “That’s crazy,” I finally manage to say.

“That’s bar life.”

I like this lighter side of him. He’s funny, warm, and easy to be around. “I love your stories. I don’t have any like that from my fundraising and charity work.” I finish the muffin and move on to the cake pop I saved for last, telling myself I’m eating for two so stuffing my face is okay.

Jack watches me, silent but amused. “Question,” he says.

“Go for it.” I eye him, waiting to hear what he has to say.

He turns toward me, his knee brushing my leg, causing a tingle between my thighs. The sexual attraction has been on simmer all morning, but I’ve managed to keep it under control. Just the merest brush of his knee, even through my clothes, and electric sparks shoot through me.

“How do you feel about boats? Yachts, specifically?” he asks, unaware of my reaction.

I clear my throat. “I can’t say I’ve been on one, why?”

He braces his arms on his knees and meets my gaze. “My partner, Tristan, has a friend that rents out his yacht. Captain, chef and all. My partners and I want to make a day of it. Tristan and his fiancée, Kaylee, Lucas and my sister, Rainey. And you and me. Are you game?”

I bite down on my lower lip. This is a big decision for more than the obvious reason. “There’s my nausea to think about.” Not to mention he wants me to hang out with his friends. His sister. “Do they know?” I ask. “About the pregnancy?”

He sits up and shakes his head. “Not yet. I wanted to give the news some time to settle. In here.” He taps his head. “As for the boat, we’ll only go on a sunny day when there’s not supposed to be rough ocean. And if you get seasick, I promise we’ll turn around and head back to shore. But no pressure. If you don’t want to go—”

“I do. I’m nervous about the waves and the morning sickness, but I want to go.” I want to meet his friends and his sister, but I refuse to consider why. “A yacht trip sounds fun.”

My phone buzzes from its place on the table. Jack and I both glance down, and I see Chandler’s name on the screen. Jack’s gaze shifts from mine.

Shit. I’ve been in Miami for a few days, including the one before I stopped by Jack’s club, and I haven’t checked in with anyone except my sister since I arrived. Especially not Chandler. That’s not to say he hasn’t tried to reach me. I’ve ignored his texts, needing space, but he doesn’t seem to understand the concept.

I glance at Jack, feeling my cheeks flush. “I … need to take this. Excuse me.” Grabbing my phone, I walk to the bedroom, shut the door, and answer the call.

“Hello?” I grip the phone tightly in my hand.

“There you are,” Chandler says, too calm. “I was beginning to think you lost your phone.”

I narrow my gaze, certain the punch line is coming. “What do you want?” I ask.

“The Performing Arts Festival schedule of speakers has changed. The Governor is attending, so he’ll be speaking before me and since you’re introducing me, your comments are even more important.”

“I already told you I’d be there,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Yes, you did. But I want your speech on my desk ASAP. I need to make sure I approve of your comments.”