Page 287 of Ignite

Iturn to the side to assess my dress in the mirror. The bump is getting bigger, which means my dresses are getting tighter—and a lot shorter.

I’ve never seen a man look as happy as Conan did when we went to our twelve-week ultrasound. He was so nervous, practically vibrating with anxiety. But as soon as we heard that heartbeat and saw our little baby on the screen, all his nerves turned into pure elation.

And now…I’m nearly halfway through my pregnancy.

We’ve gone from me helping him recover to him fussing over me.

“You look beautiful,” Conan murmurs as he steps behind me.

“You look handsome as hell, beastie.”

Him in black jeans and a tight black tee? My favorite look on him.

His hands wrap around my waist, and he rests his chin on my shoulder.

“Are you excited?” I ask softly.

“For our pretend gender reveal to tell our friends and family we got married in Vegas without them last week—and actually don’t know the gender of our baby?”

I giggle.

“Yes. And also revealing our new house. It’s…quite something.”

We’ve worked hard over the last few weeks decorating this place. Most of the main rooms are done. We’ve gone for neutrals, splashes of black, and a few plants here and there.

And the kitchen is to die for.

Actually…all of it is.

It’s perfect.

I place my hand over his on my stomach, running my thumb along the platinum wedding ring on his finger.

“You can wear this every day now,” I tell him.

“Yeah,” he grins. “I can tell everyone I’m officially taken.”

“You were taken a long time ago, beastie. You were mine after that first kiss.”

“Hmm, mmm.”

“I never believed in this kind of love, you know?” he says quietly. “I’m so fucking grateful I crashed my car that night.”

I turn to face him, wrapping my arms around his neck.

“Fate,” I whisper. “I think people call it that.”

The doorbell rings, and I press one last kiss to his lips.

Butterflies erupt in my belly as he looks down at me, a little smirk tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“I hope you’re ready to see how wild these Quinn parties get.”

“If anyone starts swinging on our chandeliers,” I warn, “I will get my new whips out on them.”

His hand wraps around my throat, his thumb brushing along my jaw.

“No, you won’t, darlin’,” he growls, eyes darkening.

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