New Title 7 by Emma Clark

my dark hair in a cute French twist. It took forever to get it right and a few strands drifted here and there. Also a cheap Venetian/Mardi Gras mask obscured half my face. It was shaped as a butterfly which didn't match my pumpkin belly.
    I didn't care.
    The rest of my costume consisted of a black T-shirt tied in the center so my 'pumpkin' showed. A knit skirt—tucked below my gut—completed my thrown-together look.
    Again, I didn't care.
    However I did end up arriving an hour late. Central Avenue was located within an elegant gated community in the Houston 'burbs, called Manoirs Français. Every mansion had brick siding and rear terraces that were visible from certain angles, all properties with circular driveways paved in stone. I took my time viewing the homes as I searched for the specific house number.
    Clusters of costumed children often sprinted past.
    I found the right house and pulled up the winding drive to the front, parking behind a line of vehicles. Totally in awe, I gazed at the mansion before getting out... and gazed and gazed.
    My jitters worsened as I headed for the massive house with hipped roofs and arched windows. Exquisitely placed lights illuminated the upper and lower exterior.
    It was like a palace. Adults in costume passed and disappeared inside. Apparently they'd shown up late as well, so I was glad it wasn't just me who couldn't keep track of time.
    I entered a two-story foyer where a stairwell curved with spiraling iron balusters. Guests scattered the aisle and polished floors led to a dining area.
    Not one person here looked familiar. Costumes consisted of Playboy bunnies, cheerleaders and guys dressed as monsters and superheroes. One wore a macabre grim reaper outfit complete with realistic, full skull mask. And yes, he clutched a life-sized scythe that appeared positively terrifying.
    I avoided the grim reaper as I walked to a big room with a stone fireplace. Party guests flourished here and gathered in groups. Some held wine-filled stemware while others sipped coolers or beer. A few even had shot glasses of rum.
    Silk spider webs covered the corners, ceiling globes emitted orange and yellow flashes, giving everything an ethereal quality. So far the music was a mix of country, R &B and classic rock. The beat reverberated loudly enough to feel the vibrations.
    "Would you like a drink?" A shapely woman asked, dressed as a Dallas Cowboy cheerleader and offering me a wine cooler.
    "No thanks." Couldn't she see I was pregnant? No doubt my orange gut could be seen for miles. Maybe she thought I was overweight. If that were the case, I wouldn't bring attention to it by painting my belly orange.
    The pretty cheerleader politely grinned, sashayed to a group of guys who hollered and whistled at her. I stifled an eye-roll.
    My son stirred as if reacting to the sights and sounds. When I held my stomach, his movements agitated my fingers.
    He entertained me more than the Halloween bash did.
    Then an old song by Alabama began. Love in the First Degree had such a gritty, masculine, sexy-sounding beat.
    And speaking of masculine and sexy—a man lurking near the hallway caught my attention. He was tall, fit and wore a Zorro costume. A Zorro costume! Holy shit, he was a hot piece of ass. A half-mask shaded his eyes and he wore a slanted, black Stetson hat. His outfit included a flashy cape.
    Hot, hot piece of ass.
    He polished off a beer and set it down.
    As soon as his eyes met mine, he approached. His slender hips swiveled as he strutted in sync with the song... as if performing a sensual dance. Damn! He was beautiful. I couldn't take my eyes off him.
    Once he reached me, I glanced somewhere else, anywhere else, for he made me nervous like most hot guys. Pregnancy hormones kicked in, causing my face and body to flush with sexual desire.
    I stared at his ebony cowboy boots. His—familiar—voice brought me out of my trance.
    "I was hoping you'd show up, little Miss Mia."
    My gaze flew to his. "Is that you ,