Page 64 of The Complication with the Best Man

“I know. But why should you have to pay for a whole new wardrobe? I can chip in. I want to.”

She studies me, shrugs, then says, “Fine. If that’s what you want.”

Harper works her way through the store and picks out a few things. The saleswoman comes over and takes the clothes from her to start a changing room. Once Harper is satisfied that she’s grabbed everything she’s interested in, she turns to me.

“Come see what they look like on. I want your opinion.”

“I’m not sure I’m the one to ask for fashion advice.” I look down at my jeans, Henley, and light jacket.

She sets her hand on my chest and rolls her eyes. “You always look good, Finn.” She shakes her head at me before walking to the back of the store.

I follow. The sales lady is waiting and directs Harper to the room with the clothes she picked out. Then she hands Harper a circular pillow.

“What’s this?” Harper inspects it and looks at me as if I’d have any clue.

The sales lady says, “You strap that around your waist so that you can see what the clothing will look like when you’re further along in your pregnancy.”

“Oh, fun.” Harper takes it into the dressing room with her, closing the door.

I sit in the chair outside the room, and a few minutes later, Harper comes out wearing a pair of dress pants and a black sweater. I do a double blink when I see the size of her belly. I know it’s not our child that’s made her stomach look swollen, but seeing her like this… my dick perks up and takes notice.

I think I have a pregnancy kink.

No. I have a Harper-pregnant-with-my-baby kink.

“You look great. I mean, the outfit looks great. How do you feel?”

“I think it will work.” Harper rests her hands on her fake belly.

I swear to God, I already know I’m jerking off to thoughts of her rubbing her protruding belly later tonight.

Definitely a pregnancy kink.

I clear my throat. “Awesome.”

Harper’s head tilts, and she looks at me for a beat before going back into the changing room.

She continues in and out of the dressing room for three more outfits, and each one is hotter than the last. Every time she walks out of that doorway, I have to inhale deeply and try to think of something terrible—like some of the fire scenes I’ve been on—so that I don’t sport wood.

She takes a while on the next outfit. When she doesn’t come out after a few minutes, I ask if everything is okay.

Her head pokes out around the changing room door. “Can you zip this up for me?”

“Sure.” I get up off the chair and join her inside the changing room, closing the door behind me.

Harper stands in front of the mirror, holding up her hair. The dress she has on gapes open, revealing her bare back.

I remember pressing my lips there the night we were together and running my tongue up her spine. When our gazes meet in the reflection of the mirror, I know she’s remembering the same thing I am.

Our eyes remain on each other as I take the zipper in my fingers, slowly pulling it up. My knuckles drag against her heated skin as I work the zipper, and Harper’s breath catches. A cascade of goose bumps races over her skin and a groan slips from my lips.

A sharp intake of breath sounds from her as our eyes meet in the mirror again.

I’m overwhelmed by her. Her beauty, her floral scent, her long, shiny deep red locks—the strands wound through her fingers where she holds it above her head—her energy, all of it.

Before I can think better of it, I lower my mouth to the curve of her neck. Rather than push me away, she exhales, eyes drifting closed, and leans back into me.

God, all I want right now is to worship this woman. Bring her pleasure. See her come.

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