17. Isabelle

Chapter 17

Isabelle

I wake up slowly, warm and cozy in a soft nest of blankets and pillows and…billionaire?

Mack is curved around me, his arm slung possessively across my hips.

"Did you sleep well?"

I take a deep breath. No hiding that I'm awake now, apparently. "I think so. What time is it?"

"Almost—"

My stomach gurgles so loud it interrupts him.

He pats my belly and laughs. "Exactly. Almost dinner time."

I roll onto my back, and as I do, the robe falls open over my thigh.

Mack looks down my body to the flash of skin, but he doesn't reach for my bare leg.

On the other hand, he doesn't cover it up, either.

He just holds very, very still.

And then he kisses the top of my head.

Earlier, it was a nose kiss. Then a kiss on my cheek. And now the top of my head.

It took a full afternoon nap to bring my observational skills properly back online, but I think my boss is trying to keep his hands to himself. Figuratively. Literally, his hands are all over me, but not in a "I want to fuck you" kind of way.

I don't know how I feel about that.

A phone rings, unexpectedly loud in the quiet stillness.

"That's for you," Mack says before answering it. "Come through the gate and up to the house," he says into the phone. "I'll meet you at the front door."

Then he rubs my belly one more time before getting up.

"You can come down in the robe," he adds before disappearing through the bedroom door.

When I follow him, I see a woman pushing a rack of clothes through the front door. Clutching the robe tightly around me, I carefully and quietly sit, halfway down the stairs.

Mack appears, directing traffic. Another cart comes through the front door, and then a third.

And then, as quickly as they arrived, the people are gone.

"You can come down," he says, his voice sounding like he's holding back laughter.

I scurry down the rest of the stairs. "What is this?"

He waves his hand at the sea of dresses, leggings, flowing tops, and denim. "Everything from a local maternity store in my best guess at your size. You can keep what you like and they'll collect the rest."

"What?"

"They're clothes," he says patiently. "For you. There's underwear, too, since I made a mess of the ones you were wearing before."

I turn the hottest shade of scarlet imaginable. "Ummm…."

"When I checked the tag on your dress to know what sizes to order, I saw that you washed them." His voice turns husky, his eyes locked on my face. "Damp panties hidden from sight. Were you embarrassed at how cum-soaked they were?"

Oh. My. God. "Y-yes?"

He grins, hard and pointed. The wolf is back. "No need to be embarrassed, little one. I'm sure we'll ruin many pairs of panties together. Now, shall we pick a first outfit for you to try on?"

"Are you going to watch me?"

His dark brow shoots up. "Do you want me to?"

My head spins. "Yes," I whisper. The relief I feel at confessing that feels delicious.

"Then I will watch." He settles into an armchair and nods. "Take off the robe, Isabelle. Show me the baby bump I gave you."

"Mack!"

"Don't tell me you're shy about it. Not my bold little girl." His voice crackles with command and desire.

I take a deep breath and let the robe fall open.

He leans forward, bracing his elbows on his knees, his gaze dark and magnetic.

I push the robe off my shoulders and it pools at my feet. "What do you want to see me in first?"

"Nothing," he rasps. "You're perfect, just like that."

I blush and turn to the rack. I can feel his gaze sizzling against my bare back. The panties are…huge. Like regular underwear, but with a much longer waist and a stretchy front panel. But they are kind of pretty, a silky material with a cute pattern on them, so I step into them and tug them up, smoothing them over my bump.

"Ta da," I say jokingly, turning around to model them for Mack.

His expression goes from feral hunger to soft indulgence in an instant. "Those are cute."

I groan. "Nobody wants to be cute."

"I could put you in my pocket. You're always going to be cute."

I grab the first dress I can reach and I yank it over my head. It's a boho dress that floats over me and disguises the belly completely, but is voluminous enough to grow with my pregnancy. I love it, and I'm immediately hooked on the idea of a private shopping spree at Mack's expense.

"This one is a keeper," I say, twirling around.

Mack grins and sits back. "Good. Try another one on."

All the dresses are keepers, except one which overwhelms me and no matter how big I get with the baby, it'll never feel comfortable.

"This one isn't for me." I glance at Mack, hoping that doesn't offend him.

He shrugs, then stands. "Let's set it aside, then."

He's got a hanger ready for it when I pull it over my head, then he takes it from me and puts it at the far end of a rack.

I look up at him as he selects a pair of jeans. He returns my gaze, then kneels in front of me. "Step into these."

Butterflies flutter in my chest as he eases the elastic waistband up over my hips. His hands linger on my belly after he smooths the stretchy panel over it, too, like maybe he feels something special right now, too.

I'm not wearing a bra for any of this, and my bare breasts are right there, just above the fabric he's smoothing out.

He doesn't cup them, doesn't squeeze them, and I ache for that. I need his touch.

He looks at them, though. Looks hungrily as he tugs a t-shirt over my head. My nipples tighten under his inspection and poke through the thin top.

My breath goes shallow and my cheeks turn hot.

"This one looks good," he says, his voice catching on a rough note. He skates his knuckles down my side to my waist, then he squeezes me there.

As if he's decided my pregnant belly is the safest part of me to touch.

I close the gap between us and say his name, my voice cracking, and he catches my face in both of his hands.

My eyelids flutter shut. His thumbs trace back and forth over my cheeks as I drag in ragged breaths, trying to be cool.

"I promised you dinner," he mutters.

I blink my eyes open and catch him staring at me with an intensity that takes my breath away just before he steps back, letting me go.

"You could promise not to leave again if we kiss," I say, managing to make it sound light.

He pauses. "Would you believe me?"

"I want to." I sway, lightheaded now. Hopeful. "I really do."

He takes my arm, turning me toward the kitchen, and nods. "Then let's have dinner first. And we'll work our way up to other promises."