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Not so much.
And Mexican food— what the hell had she been thinking! Gia was halfway to the table when the spicy smells from the kitchen washed over her like a tidal wave. Swallowing down yet another bout of nausea, she made her way to the table where Riker was waiting for her.
He cleans up goodwas the Gia’s first thought. Riker had ditched the road leathers for a crisp white, button- down shirt with the Hells Saints MC logo stitched on the collar. His long, dark hair looked freshly washed and his normally scruffy beard was trimmed close. Riker’s jaw was square, his lips were full and his teeth even and white. However, there was some bruising on his face…remnants of a black eye maybe…and his knuckles were cut and looked swollen.
Gia reminded herself not to let thosehey babyeyes of his fool her. There was something dangerous and predatory about this man. The air between them crackled with a compelling and captivating tension that made her head spin.
When Riker’s eyes met hers over the table, images of him naked and on top of her flashed through Gia’s mind. She felt her blood warm as she remembered their one brief night together. She felt his dark eyes scan her with an intensity that made her blush. She was suddenly very glad that she had taken the extra few minutes to freshen up her make-up. The force of his scrutiny could only mean one thing—that when he looked at her, his mind was flooded with images of their sexual escapade just like hers was. To Gia’s utter horror and complete embarrassment, she soon found out that that wasn’t the case.
Not even a little bit.
“Jesus. Gia, you okay?”
“What do you mean?” Gia reached up to smooth her hair.
“What the hell do you think I mean? You’re all pale and skinny and what the fuck are those dark circles under your eyes from? Babe, seriously, you look like hell.”
Gia looked at Riker and was horrified.
Absolutely and utterly horrified.
So much for the hour she had spent putting on her makeup and blowing out her hair. So much for the two hundred- dollar fuchsia colored dress that the clerk assured her was her color.
So much for trying to look her best to rein the baby-daddy in.
What a damn joke.
Gia chewed on Riker’s words and wondered how she ever let herself get to this point in life. Now face to face with the man she was going to try desperately to convince to marry her, his first thought was how skinny and pale and all around ugly she looked.
Gia had no choice but to finally confront the situation for what it was.
Completely ridiculous.
What the hell had she been thinking?
Then Gia did the only thing she could do when she came face to face with the absurdity of the predicament that she found herself in.
She began to laugh.
And what she let out was not just a small ha hah.
Gia began to heehaw a belly laugh that resembled the braying sound of a donkey.
Except with a few snorts and hiccups thrown in.
Then that hysterical laugh turned to just plain hysteria—and that hysteria turned to tears.
Riker watched on, in confused alarm, as Gia quickly cycled from a laughing lunatic to a sobbing, blithering mess right before his eyes. When a waiter passed by the table holding a tray full of burritos, guacamole and chili, all those spices mixed together, and the aroma settled over the table like a heavy blanket. Gia clapped a hard hand over her mouth. Her pale face immediately turned green and she began to swallow convulsively in what appeared to be a desperate attempt to stop her stomach from tossing up her innards.
Riker watched on, in mute fascination, as Gia cycled through what appeared to be an impressive round of emotion and extreme nausea in rapid succession.
However, that fascination quickly turned to serious concern. Because, although Riker had seen his share of people taking on that sickly green pallor— mostly from being hungover— he had never seen anything quite like this. Gia looked bad,reallybad and if this was due to the pregnancy, something was seriously wrong. Riker had ten nieces and nephews, so he knew all about that too.
“Hold on.” Riker got up and pulled Gia out of her chair. Then he hurried her out of the seating area and away from the smells of the kitchen. He continued to keep a tight hold on her as they continued down the path that would lead them to the parking lot.
They had just cleared the wooded area when Gia lost the fight. Because her stomach was already empty from that morning’s bout of sickness, her retching was violent but non-productive. Even though the dry-heaving was like a knife tearing at her insides, she was glad that she hadn’t eaten anything. Gia didn’t think she could stand the shame of projectile vomiting on Riker’s boots. Bad enough she was on her knees retching at his feet. Despite the extreme embarrassment she was sure to feel later on, Gia was profoundly grateful for the way Riker’s cool hand cradled her forehead and the way his arm held her from collapsing to the ground. When the bout of violent surges was over, Gia collapsed against Riker’s legs.
“There’s water in my purse,” She rasped out weakly. “And crackers.”
