Mr. Fiancé(165)

"I could use a rub-down," I tease, kissing her lips. "Even Troy was whining about what you put us through."

"Hey, thank Coach T. He helped me on the design. But we'll see what we can do, especially if you return the favor."

Carrie turns, and I see that Cammy's fallen asleep on her mother's back, a content little smile on her face. I kiss my daughter's mostly still-bald head, and whisper in her ear, "Daddy loves you, my angel."

"So how was her doctor's appointment?"

"We're both doing fine," Carrie says, exchanging looks with Whitney, who chuckles and nods. "In fact, Whitney and I have some news for both of you. Troy?"

Troy, who's started the gas grill, closes the lid and comes to the door while Laurie and Travis play outside in their play area. "Yes, Carrie?"

Whitney looks at Carrie again, and I can see they've been planning something, sharing a secret. "Well, we wanted to tell you together. The visit to Dr. Lee's—we kind of both asked her to check us out as well."

"Is everything okay?" Troy asks, and Whitney nods. She goes over and puts her arms around Troy's neck, standing on her tiptoes to give him a kiss.

"It's perfect. Actually, Troy, our summer just got a bit busier. Congratulations, Daddy. You have a third child on the way."

"No fu— no way!" I say, grinning. "You dog! Weren't we just talking about that?”

"Oh, don't celebrate too early," Carrie says, pulling me into a kiss. "Because Whitney's not the only one pregnant again."

Carrie's words hit my mind, and our kiss deepens, my heart swelling at her news. Troy coughs politely, and I realize that I'm cupping my wife's breast in the middle of his kitchen. "Sorry. Got carried away."

"Well, it's not like there's a problem with that." Whitney laughs. "Carrie and I both admitted we were feeling a bit strange while we were out, and so on a whim, we asked Dr. Lee to give us the tests."

I look at Troy, and he's just as happy as I am. "You know what this means, right, EC?"

EC is my personal nickname for Troy, since he keeps going on and on about emotional content. He's even got a t-shirt that he wears under his shoulder pads with that printed on it.

Troy looks back and nods. "Damn right. We're going to have to go all the way this year. Super Bowl champs."

I take Carrie's hand and kiss her knuckles. "With the right team around us, how can we fail?"





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Did you miss Gavin and Brianna’s story? Keep reading for a preview of their story, Anaconda!





Reckless





By Lauren Landish





I’d do anything for her . . . even give up my crown.



As the son of mob boss Don Carlo Bertoli, I’m considered the crown prince of the Bertoli Family, but it’s a title I’d rather earn than have it handed to me.



When Luisa Mendosa, the beautiful daughter of a rival mob boss shows up on my father’s doorstep, I know I shouldn’t be getting involved with her. But with long, honey blonde hair, a voluptuous body, and an ass that would make Sir Mix-A-Lot jealous, I can’t help myself.



Her father doesn’t approve of us, and when he learns she’s carrying my baby, all hell’s going to break loose — maybe even a war. But she’s worth it, and I’ll do whatever it takes to keep Luisa and my baby safe.





Chapter 1





Tomasso





From ten thousand feet, circling SeaTac in our landing pattern, I was disappointed in seeing Seattle again. I should have driven. Up there, it was too pristine, too clean, too . . . quiet. I'd spent the past four years, more or less, being quiet. I was ready to get back into the pulse of life.

Not that the quiet hadn't helped. Four years prior, when I was eighteen, the last thing I wanted to be was Tomasso Bertoli, heir-apparent of Carlo Bertoli, Godfather of all of Seattle and Tacoma. I wanted to be a normal guy, with normal dreams and the expectation that I wouldn't have to risk my life either by getting shot like my uncle, Johnny, or going to jail like my cousin, Vince. Spending ten years in jail worried about dropping the soap? No thanks. Not for me, even if I was protected.

So I took the opportunity to get the hell out of Seattle. In fact, I went country, although my family never really knew to what extent. Going by the name of Tom Bertoli, I couldn't hide my heritage, but I hid just about everything else. Gone were the suits, the designer clothes, and the slick looks that had gotten me plenty of attention and plenty of ass in high school. Instead, I'd worn off-the-shelf jeans and t-shirts. My Alfa Romeo was replaced with a Chevy, and I tried to act like a normal college student.