Page 39 of Daring the Bad Boy

“The due date is around the end of October,” she said. “You’re absolutely sure you’re okay with this?”

“Are you kidding me, Rosie?” He gripped her face, the joy spreading from ear to ear. “It’s totally fucking awesome.” He dragged her into his arms, as the tears flowed freely down her cheeks. “This is the coolest thing ever,” he whispered into her hair, when they’d both managed to calm down. “I’m going to be a Daddy, and you’re going to be a Mommy. And best of all, we’re going to be a family.” He drew back. “Can I touch it?”

“Of course,” she said, grinning as he pressed a warm palm to her stomach. “Although you won’t feel anything yet, it’s about the size of a shrimp.”

Caressing her abdomen, he smiled as he addressed her tummy. “Hello, shrimp, I can’t wait to meet you.”

They were both laughing when he kissed her, but the play of tongues and lips quickly turned to something hot and intense. Her heart was racing fast enough to beat right out of her chest by the time the cab braked in front of their apartment.

Later that night, her heart felt as if it were bursting all over again, as she lay in Cal’s arms, basking in the afterglow of two shattering orgasms, and he peppered her with a million questions about the pregnancy.

While she answered him as best she could, blinking back sleep, Rosie decided that Valentine’s Day would forever be her favorite night of the year.

*

It got some stiff competition though, eight months later, on the sunny fall morning when her new husband cradled their son, Daniel Dexter Landry, in his arms.

“My kid’s got a pair of lungs on him to rival a horror movie heroine,” Cal said, as he rocked their squalling newborn baby, looking almost as exhausted and elated as Rosie felt after twelve hours of labor. “Kind of appropriate, don’t you think?” he teased.

“Mmm.” She nodded, giving Cal a sleepy smile as she reached for the baby. “I think I know how to fix that.” Their son quieted instantly as he latched onto her breast and began to suck greedily.

“Slow down, shrimp, there’s plenty more where that came from,” Cal said, as he cupped his son’s head. “You did good, Mrs. Landry,” he added, his voice thick with pride as he leaned over them both to kiss Rosie’s brow.

“We all did.” Tired, happy tears filled her eyes at the thought of the two bad boys she now had to nurture to her heart’s content. “But it’s still a good thing for both of you, that Halloween is now my other favorite day of the year.”

The End

Keep reading for a sneak peek of Heidi Rice’s next steamy romance

Tempting the Knight

Excerpt © Copyright 2015 Heidi Rice

Tyrone Sullivan cracked open an eyelid as the jaunty

jingle of Irish pan pipes and fiddles blasted him out of a dream starring Mila Kunis and a quart of Rocky Road ice cream. Darkness and the gentle sway of the Brooklyn Bay registered alongside the throbbing in his groin, before the fiddles and pipes returned.

What the hell was his brothers’ band doing playing on his house barge in the middle of the freaking night?

The fiddle and pipes stared up again. And memory flashed, flushing out the last images of Mila dripping ice cream.

Son of a bitch, his youngest brother Finn had loaded the band’s signature tune onto his iPhone as the ringtone yesterday when he’d gone ’round to Finn’s new place to share a beer after work.

Ty bolted upright. And pain exploded across his left eyebrow at the exact same moment he remembered he’d zoned out on the house barge’s cramped front bunk while reviewing his latest case—a single mom battling an eviction notice in Bensonhurst—instead of making it to the bed in the back.

He groped for the phone, his boner deflating as all thoughts of Mila vanished in a puff of agony.

“This better be good,” he growled into the phone as he rubbed his now throbbing brow and swung his bare feet to the floor.

“Is this Tyrone Sullivan? Faith’s brother? The attorney?” The woman’s voice sounded clipped and tense.

“Sure, who is this?” The cut-glass accent seemed to originate from the Upper East Side by way of Buckingham Palace, so whoever the woman was, she sure as hell wasn’t a potential client. And why the heck was she calling at, he checked the phone’s clock—two o’clock in the goddamn morning?

‘It’s Zel.’

Huh? ‘I don’t know anyone called Zel.’

She cleared her throat. “Sorry, Zelda Madison, I’m a friend of your sister Faith’s. We met once at St. John the Apostle Academy. You probably don’t remember me, but I…”

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