Page 60 of Shark’s Rise

I chuckled, though didn’t surrender the assessing steeple of my fingers—as I battled the rising bulge in my pants. Christ. Even in a flimsy medical gown with her hair in a messy bun, the woman of my heart inspired a raging fire in my balls.

At least focusing on my erection helped with distraction from the nerves she’d accurately called me on. That and getting to my feet again. I moved forward, making room for myself between her kicking legs, basically putting my own safety at risk. With her hands in mine, I looked into her stunning green eyes. Would I ever get over this woman’s beauty? Did I even want to?

“So. You still want to find out, right?” I queried while brushing some loose tendrils out of her eyes. I only asked because the way her body was vibrating, she certainly appeared agitated. “It’s not too late to change your mind, Red. They can just do all the measurements and record all the other stuff and not tell us if it’s a boy or a girl.”

“No way. I totally want to find out.” She unleashed an impish grin. “We have a bet, remember? And you are definitely going to lose.”

“Not a chance,” I drawled. “But do we have to do one of those ridiculous staged gender reveals on social media? God, it makes my skin crawl just thinking about being a part of something so pedestrian.”

She giggled. Loud. “Did you just say ‘pedestrian’ in a full sentence?”

I flared my gaze. “Well, it is!”

“Well, your PR team still thinks it’s the best way to break the news to the public at large.”

“Remind me to fire the PR team.”

“Oh, come on, Bas. It’s kind of cute. Soon, everyone will know that a baby Shark is about to make its way into the great wide ocean…”

I cut her off with a groan. “One quick email can put an end to that nonsense. And with the way you’ve started showing all of a sudden, the information will be viral as soon as one paparazzo gets cunning with their lens.”

And the news outlets were circling like—well—sharks, for every morsel of news they could get about me these days now that the South Pacific hostage situation had come to the best conclusion we could’ve hoped for. The pirates had been appeased without any loss of life. The crew had all returned to their families unharmed, and most of the cargo was recovered and delivered to its intended destinations.

What had begun as a media nightmare was flipped into a happy ending that worked out in our favor. I was proud of the Shark Enterprises logistics team, who had worked day and night to pool resources from every corner of the globe and connect them to the right branches of the local government. Everyone had been tireless about ensuring the crew was treated fairly while the negotiations took place. Better yet, the freight we were responsible for finally found its way to its final ports of call.

The message behind the capture was still unclear, at least in the public’s eye. But I had received a few private messages that I had shared only with Grant and Elijah. Troubling information to worry about another day.

Today, I had only happiness filling my thoughts and heart—exactly what I was reminded of as Abbi spoke again.

“Well, the sooner the better.” She leaned back and rubbed her stomach. “I’m excited about not having to hide my fat stomach anymore.”

“You’re not fat.” I gave the moment the somberness it deserved. Then said, kissing her eyelids and nose between each singular word, “You. Are. Stunning.” Before she could issue a peep of protest, I leaned in and lovingly kissed her lips. There was even a chance to sweep in and taste her, so full of luscious sugar and spice at the same time, before she dipped back and shot me a wary glare.

“Don’t you dare go further than that sweet talk either, buddy. Do not, if you value your balls, say I’m glowing. I swear, if you think it, I will throat punch you.” She shifted her weight and grimaced, having surpassed the I-gotta-pee-like-a race-horse phase about three minutes ago. “Whoever came up with that dumb saying was confusing the oily, sweaty state of a pregnant woman with something else altogether.”

“Or maybe it was a husband threatened to be throat punched for saying his wife looked oily?”

As I raised my brows, Abbi burst out laughing. At the same time, there was an efficient knock on the door. The technician strolled in, apparently deciding we were finally worthy enough for her presence.

“Hi,” the girl asked brightly. “And how are we doing today?”

“Good, good,” Abbi answered before I could growl about being kept waiting longer than we should’ve been.

“Great. Are we ready to get started? Did we drink lots of water? It helps if the bladder is full. We get better pictures that way. So now go ahead and lie back, Mrs. Shark. I’ll just get everything set up here.”

“It’s Gibson,” Abbi said at once.

“Hmmm?” the girl asked sweetly while going about her routine.

“I said it’s Gibson. Abbigail Gibson.” Abbi made sure the girl was watching as she pointed to her name on her chart. Though the technician nodded and smiled, not an iota unnerved, I sure as hell was. The sensation was foreign—and not fun—but it was there, pressing at the back ends of my skull like a Vulcan squeeze. Compelling the truth from me, even if I was only confessing it to myself.

I didn’t want her to correct the technician.

I hated the fact that she had.

Would she do the same thing when they asked her what name to put on the baby’s birth certificate?

Abbigail was mine, damn it.