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Evie
Staring at the empty Tupperware container on the kitchen counter, I worked through the various options of what I could do to my husband in return for him eating all the rum balls I’d made. If my out-of-control hormones and the heartburn and backache our baby was causing me weren’t enough to turn me into a raging bitch, this would do it.
Drawing a deep, barely
controlled breath, I exited the kitchen and made my way into the laundry. Flinging the washing machine open, I jammed as many dirty clothes in as I could fit before slamming the door closed. I then reached for the detergent, still working hard to get my emotions under control.
Pregnancy wasn’t for pussies, that was for damn sure. If my marriage survived this pregnancy it would be a fucking miracle because most days I wanted to reach for Kick’s balls and twist them as hard as I could so that he had to endure some kind of suffering, too.
“Fuck, what have I done now?”
I turned to look at Kick who stood in the hallway just outside the laundry, but I didn’t answer his question because I didn’t want to fight with him on Christmas morning.
He took a step closer to me. “Evie, you doing washing right at this moment means that I’ve pissed you off. After six months of this, I know that washing is your way of trying to deal with your mood swings. And usually those mood swings are because of something I’ve done.”
“Unless you have a container full of rum balls stashed somewhere in this house, I would pretend you never came in here.” I knew I was being irrational, but I couldn’t help myself. Damn you, pregnancy.
His lips twitched, but he realised his mistake when my brows lifted and my mouth flattened in annoyance. He then did what he always did in these kinds of situations—he ignored everything I said and reached for me. Pulling me close, he said, “I’m not taking the blame for this by myself. Braden came over after you crashed last night and got stuck into them.”
I pressed my hands to his chest in an effort to move out of his embrace. “I don’t care who ate them, Kick. You shouldn’t have let him. You knew I made those for today,” I snapped. The heat only fuelled my irritability. I had a good mind to move to fucking Canada to escape the rest of this bloody summer.
His arms tightened around me, and he grinned. “Keep fighting me, baby, it only gets me hard for you. You know that.”
“If you think I’m letting you anywhere near me today, you’re living in dreamland. I’m hot, and grumpy, and this baby is getting so big I think I might explode.”
His grin disappeared and a softer expression moved across his face. “How long does it take to make rum balls?”
My irritation with him flared. “Kick, I hardly have time to make a new batch before everyone arrives for lunch!”
“Evie, how long?” His voice came out in a low rumble. It was the tone he took with me when he was about to lay down the law as he saw it.
I stared at him, taking in the determined look in his eyes. As much as I was pissed off with him, I knew that when he took that tone with me, there was no point arguing with him. Kick Hanson was one step away from making a “we clear” statement when he spoke to me like that. I exhaled a frustrated breath. “They don’t take long to make. In my current state of being hot and annoyed and slow, I’m probably looking at twenty minutes.”
“Right, give me the recipe, and I’ll take care of them. You go and do whatever it was you would have been doing rather than the washing.”
My eyes widened. “You’re going to make them?”
“You say that as if you don’t believe I could make them. How fuckin’ hard are they?”
Something he said or did, or maybe it was my dumb hormones, made me smile. And that in turn, made me laugh. Kick stared at me, waiting for an answer, and I did my best to get myself under control. “They’re not hard at all.”
“So you’re saying that if I managed to knock you up, I should be able to make some rum balls?”
Still laughing, I looped my arms around his neck. Pressing my body against his, I said, “How do you always find a way to snap me out of my moods?”
His hands made their way to my ass. “I have to, otherwise you’re fuckin’ likely to do damage to me.”
“What are you saying? That I’m a grumpy bitch?”
He grinned. “I would never utter those words. I value my balls too much for that.” Brushing a kiss across my lips, he said, “I’m saying that I fuckin’ love you being pregnant. The way you go to battle with me every day keeps my dick hard as fuck. I’m thinking that once this baby is born, we should start working on the next one.”
“Jesus, Kick, settle down. I was thinking more along the lines of maybe we should reconsider the three kids you want. Pregnancy doesn’t suit me at all.”
“I’d argue with that, sweetheart. Have you seen the size of your tits lately?” His eyes dropped to my body as he ran his hands over my ass and around to my belly. “I’d say pregnancy suits the fuck out of you. These curves are something fuckin’ else.”
Desire pooled in my belly. Something he always managed to do to me, even when I felt like a waddling duck. And especially when I was in a mood. He’d swoop in after a long day with the club and listen to me moan and bitch at him before making everything all right again in my world.
Smacking his hands away, I tried to take a step back. He didn’t let me go, though. “Kick, if you don’t stop what you’re doing, we’re going to end up having sex, and then I’m going to be running late for lunch. And those rum balls might never get made.”
