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Lightly, his thumbs stroke back and forth, caressing the stretched skin, our gazes locked on where our bodies meet.
    “Fucking beautiful,” he hisses under his breath.
    I tear my gaze from his hands, peer up at him through my lashes, and offer a faint smile. “Beauty is in the eye of the beholder, Leo. And don’t curse around my baby,” I say, playfully slapping his chest, breaking us free from the heavy moment. Too many feels are happening, and I can’t afford to do feels. “Now it’s your turn. Strip for me, old man.”
    His hands leave my body, accompanied by a scowl. “You are beautiful and I’m not old.” Then, he swiftly pulls his t-shirt over his head and tosses it on top of the blanket.
    I laugh and roll my eyes, trying desperately not to gawk at his very toned and very tan torso, but as usual, I fail epically. The tattoo of a lion’s profile inked across his left pec catches my attention instantly, and without his permission, I reach up and trace it with my fingertip, closely studying the intricate design. Entwined into the tendrils of the mane, a quote is hidden: Courage without conscious is a wild beast.
    “Now that is fucking beautiful,” I murmur softly. “Tell me what it means.”
    Bringing his forefinger up under my chin, he tilts my head so I’m staring into his smiling eyes. “Maybe later, and don’t curse around the baby, young lady.”
    “Touché,” I reply with a grin. Tou-fucking-ché .

I HAVEN’T BEEN AROUND many pregnant women in my life. As a matter of fact, I haven’t been around any, except when Stephanie Green was pregnant with Katrina, but I was seven then. Because I focused so much of my life on Katie-bug, I’ve never given much thought to having a family, despite Mama’s urging otherwise. However, as I spend the day with Trystan, a girl I’ve known less than twenty-four hours, I realize two things:
    First, maybe because it’s a part of her entire package, but I think her little round belly is sexy as hell. I find myself yearning to touch it, every inch of her actually, over and over again. Thankfully, she hasn’t seemed to mind the occasional embrace or random caress to her unbelievably soft skin, or at least she hasn’t made me feel like a complete fucking creeper yet.
    Second, I’m jealous and pissed off. Some irresponsible piece of shit was lucky enough to have this incredible woman in his life, and he left her pregnant with his kid, not wanting anything to do with either of them. I want to know more about the story, about what exactly happened, but I’m afraid to ask. Much like when she asked me about the story behind my tattoo, I’m assuming if I inquire about the background, she too will choose not to talk about it.
    “I’m getting hungry again,” she says, nudging my shoulder. “I think we’ve devoured all the food we brought. Do you want to eat at the restaurant they have here, or head back to town?”
    We’ve been lying out on the blanket, drying off our swimsuits in the late afternoon sun from an earlier swim in the bay and canoeing adventure. From the time she picked me up this morning, I’ve been extraordinarily happy. I was a little nervous when I first woke up that perhaps she was right—maybe I’d drank too much the night before and had been overwhelmed with emotions from seeing Katrina and the entire wedding—but that wasn’t the case at all. The same vibe that lured me to her last night has only multiplied throughout today.
    “Let’s go to the one here. Is it in walking distance?” I ask in response.
    Glancing down her body to her feet, she wiggles her toes and laughs. “Normally, I’d say yes, but I’m not sure I’ll be able to make it back afterwards. We can go ahead and pack up the car with our stuff and drive over there.”
    I hop to my feet and grab her hands, helping her up as well. Standing right in front of me, she looks up into my face with her charming green eyes and sun-kissed cheeks. It takes every bit of willpower