The Curvy Vet and the Billionaire Cowboy (He Wanted Me Pregnant!) (9 page)

“You haven’t lost me,” I whispered, amazed. “I…I don’t have to be a country wife?”

He put his hands on my cheeks. “What in God’s name is a country wife?”

I sniffed, blinking back tears. “Like…giving up my job and staying home and running the house and…baking apple pies and things?”

He shook his head and chuckled. “No, Amanda.
Country
isn’t synonymous with
1950s.
You have a very weird view of life out here. No, of course I don’t expect you to give everything up and just move here. I’m sorry I got carried away. We’ll figure something out.”

I hesitated. I didn’t want to ask it but I needed to hear it. “And you…you really like
me?”
I looked down at myself.

He put his finger under my chin and tilted my face up to look at him. “
Yes,”
he told me firmly. “All of you. Every curve.” And he kissed me.

Epilogue

Wyoming winters can be cold. A January date wasn’t going to make me popular with bare-armed bridesmaids, but if we left it until March or April I was going to be cutting it fine. I didn’t mind walking down the aisle
big,
but I drew the line at actually giving birth in the church.

I was standing in the huge dining room of Russ’s mansion. The table seated twenty, but I’d still managed to almost cover it with set lists, table plans and menus.

My gorgeous, brown-eyed cowboy walked in behind me and wrapped one arm around my waist. “It’s months away,” he said. “Relax.”

“
Relax?”
I looked at Russ as if he was crazy.
“
Something like this takes a year to plan!”

“Amanda,” he said slowly, gazing at me with those chocolate brown eyes. “What did we talk about?”

I looked at the dining table, and what he’d told me he wanted to do to me on it that night. I raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Not that. Hussy.” He spanked my ass and I yelped. “The other thing.”

“Oh. Slowing down. Because this is the country.”

This
was
the country. I’d moved into the mansion after many months of back and forth between Atlanta and Wyoming. As promised, Russ had let me call the shots and figure out what I wanted to do. I was still a vet and still specialized in horses, but things were a little more hands-on, now. I was out of the lab and in my own practice, taking calls from local farmers and breeders and, when needed, being the on-call vet for Russ’s farm. I still felt like a city girl dropped in the middle of nowhere, but—slowly—I was getting used to it. The fact I was happier in my own skin didn’t hurt. I found I was more confident around people, and was starting to realize how much I’d been hiding away, back in Atlanta.

We weren’t sure exactly when I got pregnant. It might have been the time by the lake, or the few days afterwards, when we’d camped by the lake keeping an eye on the mustang until she was well enough to make the journey home. Or the trip home itself, when we’d stopped under the shade of some rocks because we couldn’t keep our hands off each other. Or the night, when we’d shared a sleeping bag. Russ often said that the mustang must now be the most morally corrupted horse in America, given what she’d seen. He’d therefore named her Roxy, after a stripper he claimed he once knew. She was now safely ensconced on the farm, and soon to be a mother herself.

Russ hugged me, putting his hands flat on my gently swelling belly. “Attagirl,” he said.

<<<< >>>>

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If you liked The Curvy Vet and the Billionaire Cowboy, you’ll probably like
other stories in my “He Wanted Me Pregnant!” series
.

I’ve included an extract from
He Wanted Me Pregnant! The Curvy Waitress and the Billionaire French Count
below.

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An Extract from

He Wanted Me Pregnant!

The Curvy Waitress and the

Billionaire French Count

Broke, stuck in a dead-end job and uncomfortable with her curvy body, New York waitress Holly thinks life can’t get any worse…until she accidentally whacks a customer with a tray, breaking his nose.

But the customer, now unable to speak, is the personal translator of drop-dead gorgeous Erard, a billionaire French Count who speaks no English. When he discovers that Holly is fluent in French, he takes her with him as his interpreter.

Thrown into a world of luxury and wealth, Holly learns that her new boss finds her curves delicious. But will he be able to convince her she’s perfect the way she is? And can she accept his brand of hedonistic, carefree lovemaking: no inhibitions, no fears…no condoms?

Erard led me straight across the corridor. In front of us, two huge wooden doors that looked as if King Kong might be imprisoned behind them. He marched in without knocking, pushing the doors wide.

Oh. My. God. I was flying.

The meeting room was double height, the ceiling maybe twenty feet above me. Somewhere vaguely behind me, I remembered that there was a door and a corridor, but they were forgotten because all around me was…
sky.

We were in one corner of the very top floor of the skyscraper and two entire walls were glass. It felt as if the floor was floating in mid air, fifty stories up.

“Tell them I’m sorry,” Erard said. “My translator was injured in an accident, and you have kindly stepped in as a replacement.”

My eyes were still locked on the view. I could see Central Park. I could see cars and buses and tiny dots that must be people. I finally looked at Erard. “Hmm?” I asked, my eyes wide.

He smiled at me, amused.

It clicked that he’d asked me to say something and I mentally rewound. I became aware of the other people in the room, eight of them, all gathered around a conference table, some of them still getting to their feet.
They all stood up when we walked in,
I realized.
No, when
he
walked in.
Who
was
this guy?

I translated what Erard had said into English and everyone nodded apologetically and offered their understanding and hopes for a speedy recovery. Erard sat down at the head of the table and indicated that I should sit next to him. I sank into the plush leather chair, casting worried glances at the other people at the table. There were five men and three women and every one of them was dressed in a suit that cost at least a month of my rent. They were all desperately trying to look nonchalant, but I kept catching them glancing at me, mystified.
What’s a waitress doing at our meeting?

I was wondering the same thing. I only knew that, every time I looked at Erard, at those lips and cheekbones, strong and elegant at the same time, I knew that I would happily walk into a biker bar if it meant being close to him.

He’s not interested in you,
I told myself again.

“Please remind them that this is just an introductory meeting to discuss terms,” Erard said in French. “Nothing is binding. Nothing is absolute.” His voice slowed as he looked at me. “We’re just…getting to know one another.”

I held his gaze for a moment longer than was necessary and then quickly nodded and went to translate. “Wait,” I asked. “I don’t know your name. What do I call you?”

He grinned. “Vannier. Erard Vannier.” He was sitting back in his chair, as lazily relaxed as if he was lounging around at home. His eyes gave something that I almost would have said was a twinkle, if I hadn’t known better. Guys didn’t twinkle their eyes at me, especially not ones like him.

I cleared my throat. “Mr. Vannier says….” I began. I saw his smile widen and wondered why. I plunged on and the meeting began.

The first few minutes were terrifying. I barely had time to look at Erard, because most of the talking was done by the others and I had to laser-focus on them, making sure I didn’t miss a word. Then I’d spin and repeat what they’d said to Erard, and he’d nod and smile and think for a second and then trot out a short reply.

On about the tenth exchange, I caught a glimpse of his reflection in the shiny surface of someone’s laptop lid. I could see him quite clearly, sitting next to me, but he wasn’t looking where I was, down the table towards the others. He was looking to his side. He was looking at me.

I swallowed and felt the heat rise in my face. No, not my face…my whole damn body. And it wasn’t the same kind of embarrassed heat I usually got when someone stared at me. This was coming from somewhere deeper inside, somewhere right at the core of me.

I turned to Erard to translate for him and he smiled so patiently and indulgently and goddamn gorgeously that I mistook
décennie
(ten days) for
décade
and told him the negotiations would take about ten years to complete. His smile broadened for a second, but he didn’t call me on it and I was very grateful for that.

After a while, it started to get easier. I could feel long-disused cogs starting to turn in my brain, dusty vocabulary being trundled out of the archives and into the sunlight. My initial fear burned away and I started to relax a little. I even began to enjoy myself.
I can do this,
I realized, amazed.
And this is so much better than working at the diner.
Listening to Erard’s words was like bathing in honey—I would have closed my eyes, I enjoyed it so much, if that wouldn’t have made me look even weirder. I actually forgot he was speaking to me in French, the translation began to flow so easily.

That’s when Erard threw me the first curveball. “Tell them yes on the media department but there’ll need to be concessions on their side when it comes to purchasing. Also, I want to delicately lick your breasts until you come.”

I got as far as translating
concessions
before the end of the sentence registered in my brain. My head snapped back to Erard as if on a spring.

He was grinning at me. And not in a teasing, evil way. In a teasing, sexy way. As if he actually meant it.

My whole body seemed to vibrate, as if someone had strummed me like a guitar string. The heat flashed through my body, soaking into every part of me. I swallowed and gaped and then translated just the first sentence.

“None of them speak French,” Erard told me.

I looked around at the eight other people at the table. No one looked shocked or amazed at what he’d said…but would they? What if they did understand and were just hiding it?

My mouth moved, but no words came out.

“Have I offended you?” asked Erard. “That was not my intention.”

Yes,
I thought automatically.
Of course you have! You can’t just say something like that to a woman!

“I meant what I said,” Erard told me.

The heat roiled and swelled inside me. I closed my eyes for a second.
He’s just taunting you,
I thought.
No one’s interested in a woman who looks like you. He’s kidding.

I opened my eyes and met his gaze.
Oh God.
He wasn’t kidding.

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