Charlie plopped a binder in her lap and put her feet up on a wood crate while she used her phone. All around her was a steady bustle of activity. The finishing touches for the variety show were underway, and with less than forty-eight hours to go, excitement was ramping up.

She was energized by the creative flow going on and couldn’t wait for it all to come together. Her visits to Bendover were like mini-refreshers. These folks were one-of-a-kind, and she was tickled that she and Caleb had been so eagerly embraced.

Speaking of her devastatingly handsome lover, Charlie glanced around quickly to make sure no one was looking over her shoulder and brought up her favorite picture.

Caleb.

Wearing a towel loosely hanging on his hips.

With an erection that made the towel tent in an interesting way.

Her sigh said it all. The man was sex on two legs, and those two legs fit perfectly between hers. Like earlier, this morning, when he’d body slammed her onto the breakfast table and yanked her thighs apart. Her mind burned with the memory. Sometimes, he left his manners at the door—usually after being taunted by her—and the result was always hotter than hot.

Ingrid was making a beeline in her direction, and she looked like a crisis was brewing. Closing the photo file, she cleared her throat and reluctantly sat up. Sliding the phone into her pocket, she flipped the production binder open and studied the tabs. They needed more chairs on the night of the event and finding a solution fell to her. Luckily, there was a list of local vendors, and she was certain one was a rental company.

“The chickie tails aren’t working,” Ingrid griped. “Did you see them in rehearsal? They don’t stick out or wiggle the way we envisioned. Mostly the tails droop.”

“Oh, no. Really?” Charlie worried her lip and thought about the problem. Without the silly costumes, the Junior Justice chicken dance performance might end up a still life. “Wait! How about pipe cleaners? What if we attach some bendable stems to the feathers? It’ll give them movement, and after they’re tied on, the costume folks can adjust for each kid.”

She liked Ingrid Bartholomew. There was something infectious about the woman’s positive outlook—a leaning the world could use a little more of. Being a glass half full person herself, Charlie was drawn to others of similar energy, so it was no surprise they developed an immediate chemistry.

Before their conversation could continue, Ingrid shrieked with alarm and ran toward the side of the stage. The stage crew was attempting to move a piano and doing a piss-poor job of it.

A tentative voice behind her startled Charlie, and she spun on her seat to see who it was.

“Hi. I, uh, wanted to say how great the sets look. You really captured what Meghan was going for.”

Remington Bisset. She’d never known a more standoffish yet oddly compelling woman. They’d come across each other countless times during Charlie’s visits but that never stopped the dark-haired female from coming off as though they just met.

She broke into an open, friendly smile and thanked her for the compliment with a grateful bow.

“Red makes it so easy. Her vision for this place is powerfully evocative. It’s a joy to take her ideas and create something.”

Remy’s dark eyes were sharp and assessing. Her expression made Charlie wonder what had happened to make her so reticent.

“And for real, Remy—you did all the work. All I did was jet in at the last minute, so the credit goes to you and your team.”

Ingrid’s continuing freak-out caught their attention, and they looked toward the unfolding commotion. “What’s that about, do you think?”

“The piano was donated—anonymously. To Ingrid, it’s a holy object, but the kids on the stage crew don’t seem to understand that it’s a musical instrument and not a refrigerator.”

Something in Remy’s voice caught Charlie’s attention. She glanced at the piano and noted the other woman’s keen interest as Ingrid shouted instructions and moved the equipment into place.

A possibility, although far-fetched, made her ask. “Did you say an anonymous donor?”

Remy’s immediate answer seemed to confirm Charlie’s suspicion.

“Yeah. Untraceable. But Meghan thinks Alex’s parents are behind it. She’s just not saying so publicly.”

Charlie was close to one hundred percent positive that the evasive woman trying to deflect the subject knew more about where the piano came from than anyone else.

“Maybe we should check things out. I have a pretty good ear. Let’s see if the rough handling means it needs tuning.”

She didn’t give Remy any choice and hurried her to the beautiful baby grand.

Though Remy played the piano, she tried like crazy to blow off her ability until Jace let slip that she trained as a concert pianist during her younger days.

Charlie pushed her onto the piano bench and motioned with her hands. “Play something I’d know, and we’ll see how it sounds.”

Ingrid caught her eye and raised one brow. She knew what the other woman was thinking.

Remy sat still and stared at the keys. Charlie suspected she might either refuse or would play chopsticks.

For a few seconds, her hands hovered over the keys, and then she stopped every person in their tracks. The deep, rich tones of the baby grand filled the large room. She went with Clair de Lune . The familiar tune and the way she played was mesmerizing and hauntingly beautiful.

When the song faded to silence, Charlie swallowed a lump of emotion. It was not okay that Remy hid her incredible talent.

“Sweetie,” she exclaimed. “You’ve got to perform for the show. That was incredible.”

“I don’t play in public. Not solo.”

She was about to ask why when Remy’s boyfriend strode across the stage and stood sentry at her side.

Finn O’Brien was one hell of a looker—and he was also about the most protective male she’d ever seen. And since Caleb was a protective nightmare—same for her sisters’ husbands—that was saying a lot.

He calmly stared her down with an expression that dared her to cross him. She liked his style and let him know this with an arched brow smirk.

It was interesting, though, because at first, she thought Finn was there to tend Remy’s comfort zone, but he had a few surprises up his flannel sleeve.

“You’re doing something with Domineau, aren’t you, babe?”

He stroked her shoulder, and she looked up at him. “Yeah.”

And that was it. No clarification. She frowned. Charlie was aware of the super-secret musical number Lacey was planning. Why wasn’t she tooting her horn?

Remy pursed her lips. “It’s not about me. All I’m doing is backing up the vocal. And it’s just the after show. No big deal.”

She’d never come across anyone so closed off. Remy’s reluctance to chill the hell out really bothered her. Whatever emotional burden she carried was keeping her from enjoying life, and for Charlie, nothing was sadder than that.

A solid case of the swooning giddies replaced all sober thoughts when she saw Caleb’s confident swagger as he cut across the multi-purpose room. It was definitely amusing to watch every female over the age of consent throw herself in his path. He was stopped no less than four times on his way to her! Once by a giggling senior citizen who asked him to help move something heavy.

Used to the performance, she made a joke of the routine and smirked playfully at Finn and Remy.

“When I met him, he would sign autographs and pose for fan selfies around the clock. I thought when we left Europe behind and he wasn’t gossip fodder any more, this nonsense would stop.”

Finn’s boyish grin reminded her that when it came to men and their toys, Caleb took pole position. His legend as a Formula One driver guaranteed the attention.

“St. John challenged him to a buggy duel in the desert,” the Irishman drawled with a clownishly exaggerated brogue. “I expect that eventually it’ll be pistols at dawn.”

Remy’s whole body shook with laughter. “I’d pay good money to see Draegyn St. John eat someone’s dust.”

Smiling in welcome as her fella maneuvered around and through the piles of props and scooted behind the piano, she forgot everything else when he kissed her hello.

“Hey guys,” Caleb drawled. “What’s up?” He shook Finn’s hand and gave Remy a two-cheek welcome that she returned without hesitation. At moments like this, it was easy to see Remy’s European roots.

Without realizing he was stepping into something, Caleb motioned to the piano and nodded enthusiastically at the other couple.

“Do you play?” he asked, and then as he so often did, he just kept motoring. “My overachieving big brother wants his daughter to take lessons. She’s a toddler,” he quipped with a doubtful chuckle.

Seeing her opening, she took it. Winding around Caleb’s solid arm, she slid her fingers against his and gripped his hand. Support? Maybe.

“Ingrid and I are trying to convince Remy to perform. For the show. She’s classically trained, did you know?”

Remy squirmed, but Finn positively beamed. “And not only that, my girl could wipe the floor with Billy Joel in a piano face-off.”

A flash of amusement crossed Remy’s face. Her reaction to Finn’s jesting quips wasn’t what Charlie expected. She eyed the Irishman with renewed interest. Had the handsome bar owner maneuvered behind the front lines and found the entrance to Remy’s secret emotional fortress?

Wow. Interesting didn’t cover it. The way the other woman engaged with Finn was totally different from her interactions with the rest of the planet.

Remy sniggered playfully. “My dad likes to point out that I can Elton John anyone to death, whip up the troops with the aforementioned piano man, and bring down the house with some carefully applied Jackson Browne. He’s one of dad’s all-time favs.” She shrugged off her talent and then chuckled. “Oh, and my mom still thinks Liberace was the shit, so I have some of that silliness going on as well.”

Charlie pointed out that Liberace was actually a brilliantly talented musician. What she didn’t say was that he hid behind a façade. A little like Remy.

“Babe,” Caleb said with a tug on her hand. “Is it okay if I take off for a bit? I want to take Alex into Flagstaff. Show him the cool stuff at that renovation depot. I’ve got a set of Spanish doors set aside that are perfect for something he wants.”

“Oh, lord,” Finn drawled. “Now what’s he up to?”

“The family quarters in the Villa need a repurpose. There’s a whole wing of empty rooms.”

“Stevie and Aiden have upped everyone’s game.” She detected a heavy dose of affection in Finn’s voice and smiled. Twins were a special blessing.

Remy stood and hugged her arms around her middle. “There are multiples in my family’s gene pool.”

Charlie noted the protective body language and saved it for pondering at another time.

“Really?” Finn seemed astonished.

His shock must have loosened her up because she nodded and had a short laugh.

“Yeah. My grandmother was a twin. On my mother’s side. And believe it or not, my dad has a distant cousin who knocked out triplets without intervention.”

“Dude.” Caleb snorted with laughter as he smacked Finn’s arm. “Better buckle up, man. Your sister has twins and Remy’s family comes packing!”

Charlie’s assessing gaze took in Remy’s every breath and heartbeat. How would she react to Caleb’s teasing?

As she studied the enigmatic female, Charlie watched a slow-moving flush move from her neckline and onto her face. She bit her lip and tried to hide behind her hair.

Very interesting.

And just like that, she was done with them. There were other things for her to think about. Like dragging Caleb into an empty room for some giggles and a quick shag.

“Excuse us, please.” She smiled and winked. “Things to do. But do carry on. I believe the topic was what song Remy is going to share with everyone at the show.”

Twinkling her fingers, she suddenly squealed and flinched when Caleb boldly grabbed her ass.

She took his hand and pulled him along. They left the busy multi-purpose room and stopped in an empty hallway. She looked right and left, deciding where to head.

Then she remembered there was a small lounge at the end of the hall, and off they went with her wicked man chuckling and offering dirty comments the entire way.

Chapter

“There,” Heather said. Their eyes met in the mirror. She was standing behind him as he sat at her vanity.

“See? No need to get crazy and cut your hair. We’ll just give you a 50’s do-wop curl and pretend the ponytail is invisible”

The gentle brush of her fingers on his cheek made Brody’s skin quiver. She had that effect on him.

“I’m guessing you like the long hair,” he teased.

Her playful laugh was confident and decidedly wicked.

“Not many men can pull off the look. I am, however, bummed that the beard is gone.”

He laughed. “Can’t play the part with facial hair, and after all the rehearsing and subterfuge, I want this thing to be perfect.”

She looked more exquisite and beautiful than ever with a warm glow in her eyes that drew him in. He was picking up a shift—one that he couldn’t quite pin down—that demanded his attention. Attention he was happy to give.

“If perfection is on the agenda, rest assured that Stephanie worked her pageant skills on my wig. It’s exactly what we want. Same for my dress. Spot on.”

Excitement thrummed in every corner of his body. The thrill and challenge of live performing was something he’d loved since his earliest memories. The Double M variety show was giving him an opportunity to let his inner theater kid shine in more ways than one.

Not only were he and Heather going to knock everyone’s socks off with an iconic dance performance, but he had also helped choreograph several other numbers and was coming to the private after show stage with a few kick ass surprises.

Shit, even Bella and the kids were pumped up and raring to go. He made no secret of the fact that he found his daughter’s stage presence quite thrilling.

Turning on the bench seat to face her, Brody pulled his ladylove close. Wrapping his arms about her waist, he held tight with his face on her stomach. She stroked his head. He felt her sigh in the way her body moved beneath his cheek.

They’d be married soon, and he found that he was more and more eager to seal the deal. Their wedding on New Year’s Day promised to be the start of an incredible journey.

He’d never been happier.

“I have a surprise.” She sighed.

He pulled her onto his lap. Wisps of hair escaping a messy knot framed her face. She had a happy light in her eyes.

“Tell me,” he encouraged.

“After a bazillion hours of binge watching wedding shows, I’ve found the perfect dress to say yes to.”

A surge of exploding joy burst open inside him. Heather Clarke was his bride, and she had found her perfect dress.

He fist pumped, grinned, and drawled, “Yass!”

Her indulgent eye roll was adorable.

“Now that the dress has been chosen, we can start planning.”

“Do you know what you want?” he asked while stroking her back.

“Have you spoken to Alex? Is he on board?”

Brody smiled. “Hell, yeah, he’s on board! Got all crazy about being an ordained minister. Said maybe Justice could offer warrior weddings that he could officiate—to make a few extra bucks.”

She almost toppled off his lap with gales of laughter.

“A few extra bucks?” She giggled between snorts. “God, that was funny.”

“Where are we doing this? I’m assuming you’ve involved the ladies in the preliminaries.”

“Of course.” She snorted. “I’ve got this—don’t you worry! The actual ceremony will be for family and close friends at the chapel. Meghan strong-armed me into a Villa reception. We’re going to choose a tent next week.”

“Make sure there’s enough room for a dance floor and a band.”

“I knew you’d say that.” Her smile was loving and blissful. “She found a place that will come out and put down a barn floor. Rustic elegance is big business in wedding themes. It’ll be lovely. Lots of draping and twinkle lights. Very romantic.”

Her smile broadened, and he reacted in kind.

“Are you okay about visiting with Pops before our honeymoon?”

“Oh my god, of course,” she assured him. After a lengthy kiss, she told him about a recent conversation with his aging grandfather. “He’s sending Bella an old chess set he bought off an antiques dealer. The pieces are hand carved.”

It genuinely grieved him that getting Pops to the wedding was a wish he wasn’t going to have fulfilled. The man was fragile and wouldn’t enjoy the rigors of traveling. Heather was the one who suggested they visit. The surprise was that she eagerly agreed to go straight to Pops after the wedding.

“I’m glad we’re starting the New Year on a happy note.”

She curled into him with a deep sigh. They both knew what else was coming their way. Juggling the good with the suck was just part of life. He was just grateful that the old guy lived long enough to see the grandson he’d raised get a happily ever after. Finding Bella, bringing her home, settling down with Heather—all things that for a long time didn’t seem in the realm of possibilities.

Now, if only they could put a cherry on top of their joyful saga. Brody didn’t want to deal with the disappointment of shitty timing by praying for a baby to come into the picture before Pops drew his last breath, but late at night, when he couldn’t help it, he envisioned the look in his beloved grandfather’s eyes when he learned that his family was expanding again and would live on in generations to come.

“We sent him some of Bella’s artwork. Tori showed me a postcard maker that let us upload pictures and add a note to Pops. It goes through the mail. Very cool.”

He changed the subject when his emotions got turbulent.

“I found a puppy for the Sullivans. Parker’s preference was a male dog, but he’ll have to deal with his disappointment. The rescue ranch picked up a litter that needs quick homes. Only one left. A black and white border collie. She’s adorbs, and if they hadn’t asked, I’d be bringing her home for Georgie.”

Heather’s sly grin played off her tart response. “Mister, you will sleep alone if another dog finds its way to this house.”

God but he loved her so damn much. His heart could barely contain everything that he felt for this woman. She was his reason for living. Her and Bella. And he never forgot that the chaotic start to their relationship saved him in all the ways that matter. Without that, he never would have reconnected with his daughter.

“Enjoy it while you can, Ms. Clark,” he teased. His fingers slid up the back of her thigh and under her skirt. “Your vows will include several caveats—including no sleeping alone.”

She looked at him with disbelieving mockery. “My vows have caveats? Is that even legal? What about your vows, huh? Can I add footnotes?”

“No can do,” he replied with a barely controlled snigger. “All Justice vows have to pass through a careful vetting process. There are alpha codes and shit that require clever handling.”

His fingers followed the edge of her panties—feathering her leg and the soft skin of her inner thigh. She quivered at his touch. He knew the second they weren’t kidding around anymore.

“We might have to release the beast,” he growled.

A rush of rosy pink stained her cheeks. Was she remembering the careful attention she gave the beast earlier this morning? He rather enjoyed her dedication in the shower. Cleanliness was important, right?

She stroked his face and grinned. “I’ll miss the scruff. It adds a delicious extra thrill to, um … well, you know.”

Of course, he knew! “Is that your way of saying you like a manly licking? I think it is,” he joked. “Your pussy and my beard are intimate friends.”

The rosy hue turned scarlet. Why did she still blush after all this time? Didn’t she know how much he enjoyed licking her to orgasm? Something was incredibly thrilling about the way she went wild with his face between her legs.

They had a long, exhausting day ahead. Excitement for the show and after party was off the charts, but that was just half of what was on each of their plates. The ladies had a full agenda that included a potluck dinner and bake sale. The guys were doing the majority of the heavy lifting. It wasn’t going to be a chill day.

In that light, some pre-gaming was entirely reasonable. Blow off steam in advance. The kids were holed up with Roman and Kelly—enjoying their last days of togetherness before Matty went back to New York. This meant that he and Heather were alone and could fuck from one corner of the house to the next if that was what they wanted.

At least for the next two hours. After that, they had to be ready for the big day ahead.

A parade of debauchery marched in his thoughts. Heather was his equal when it came to kinky times. But this moment was driven by love and less by lust. Sometimes, he just wanted to be intimate—deeply intimate.

“Let’s make a baby,” he growled when her sweet, intoxicating scent overwhelmed his senses.

“I thought you’d never ask.”

She bent and captured his lips in a drugging kiss. Surges of excitement made his whole body pulse with desire.

“Back to bed, I think,” she whispered.

The smoldering flames he saw in her eyes excited him.

They were naked and in the throes of a seductive foreplay that made his dick hard as stone when she became demanding. Brody paid attention to her needs. He figured her body knew, and if he followed where her desire led, their dream of making a baby would happen. It wasn’t about him but that didn’t diminish his pleasure one bit. In fact, it made him feel more masculine than ever that she responded the way she did.

“Brody,” she groaned. “Please.”

He aggressively fondled her breasts and sucked each nipple until she cried out.

“What do you need, baby?” He dipped two fingers into her wet heat and made her shudder when his touch went unerringly to the spot he knew would make her melt.

“Take me. Brody, take me now. I need …”

He didn’t have to hear another word. Her body was on fire and desperate for something only he could give.

Moving between her spread thighs, he watched her writhe in preparation for what was coming. With hands far rougher than he intended, Brody opened her legs more. Her beautiful pussy was wet and swollen with need. He was ready to fill her with his seed.

She moaned when he plunged deep with a single, ferocious stroke. Her body accepted the intrusion and clenched his cock with astonishing fervor. The primal need to conquer took over, and he let the beast have its way. It was the only way to ensure that he made it to the finish line.

First, they fucked.

Hard.

Then they fucked harder.

Heather moaned and whimpered. Her pussy flooded over and over. Her hips bucked wildly and demanded he forget about being gentle.

He was grinding against her with his cock buried impossibly deep when the heat from a twelve-alarm fire shook him. She’d never been so hot, and he meant that in a temperature way. Her pussy was molten and dripping. He shuddered and held on for dear life.

And then something happened. It was as if a switch was thrown, and they went from aggressive pounding to a slow, rhythmic dance of unbelievable eroticism. Her hips asked for everything he had. The choreography of their intense lovemaking swept him away.

Heather moaned her love for him. He felt their souls connect.

When a tumultuous climax seized them, they cried out in unison. He couldn’t think—could barely breathe. All of his being was focused on the love. His love for her. Her love for him.

The ferocity of her orgasm shook Brody. It felt as if she demanded his life force—something he willingly surrendered. His cock thudded against the walls of her pussy as he emptied deep inside. Heather’s passionate cries filled his soul.

Long after the storm passed, they remained entwined. Aftershocks wouldn’t let them separate. Unbelievably, his cock responded, and a slow motion second act followed that drove them to the edge.

When she came this time, her hands gripped his ass as her pussy exploded. Wild grunts that she silenced by biting his neck made Brody shout with triumph. Stroking over and over until he couldn’t come anymore, his mind went blank.

They fell asleep in each other’s arms. His last thought before exhaustion claimed him involved visualizing his sperm finding her egg. To him, nothing could be sexier.

* * *

“Shh.” Roman laugh-growled. “You’ll wake the kids.”

Kelly shuddered and bit her lips to stay quiet. Not an easy thing when her man’s cock was pinning her to the bed in a delightfully raunchy pre-breakfast fuck.

“Wiggle that ass, honey,” he demanded in a throaty purr that unleashed a flood. “That’s right. Let my cock dominate you.”

He pulled back and rammed home. She felt her toes curl. “Oh, god.”

“What?” He sniggered. “Harder?”

Her chin quivered. “Roman. Unf.”

Her hands were tied and stretched above her head—lashed to a slat on the bed’s headboard. She trembled. Roman treated her willing submission as a gourmet treat—to be savored and enjoyed. He also understood her need to be overpowered but never took it too far.

He chuckled, and she felt his big, warm hands on her legs. “Need help with those knees?”

His lusty snicker as he opened her farther and pushed her legs wider made her ache with need.

“C’mon, baby. Fuck me with those sweet muscles. Squeeze me hard. Show me what you want.”

Her nipples became his feast as he set a devastating rhythm with his manly cock. Roman fucked like he danced. With a surprising grace and agility that never let her down.

Plunging deep, he held still and then pulsed against her pussy, setting loose a cascade of aching tingles.

“Ahh.” He chuckled. “My baby girl likes that.”

Like it? Holy fuckballs. She loved it. Kelly gulped and let out a grunting moan. Any second, she would be at the the point of no return.

Suddenly withdrawing, Roman pulled out and laughed. “I need a drink of water. What about you?”

Her pussy objected by pulsing wildly. Tied to the bed, she couldn’t do anything except lay there and pant with frustrating need.

Well, maybe she couldn’t move, but she could watch him stroll across the bedroom with all the cocksure arrogance of a man who knew he fucked like a god.

She eyed his rigid sex and groaned. His cock was swollen and heavy, covered with the slick evidence of her desire. It was at times like this that she remembered when all the layers of nonsense were peeled away, no matter how he wanted to characterize it; he was an experienced lover with delicious dominant proclivities. It was nothing to him to stop in mid-fuck for some refreshment.

When he returned to her, he was guzzling water from a bottle and raking her exposed body with a lusty gaze. It was all kinds of disconcerting when he calmly stood next to the bed, sipped from the water bottle, and fingered her with exacting precision.

She instinctively closed her thighs. Sometimes, like now, she felt extra exposed.

He chuckled, put the bottle down, and taught her a lesson about trying to deny him.

Placing one hand low on her stomach, he held her down and ignored the way she pressed her thighs together. Nothing she did prevented him from teasing her throbbing pussy with his fingers. In fact, when he held her down, and she squeezed her thighs together, her body reacted with unbridled need. It didn’t take much for her to howl with frustration.

“Not enough?” he grunted.

His fingers went from her flooded pussy straight into her mouth. “Taste your need, Kelly. Be a good baby girl and suck your juices off my fingers.”

She gladly swirled her tongue around his fingers and sucked them clean. She liked the sweet flavor of the desire he drew from her body.

He climbed on the bed near her shoulders and lifted her head. “Open.” That was all he said.

Flicking her tongue, she eagerly complied. There would never come a time when she wasn’t turned on by Roman’s big, fat dick in her mouth.

Tied as she was, the only thing Kelly could do was take what he dished out. Her man treated her with care. He was always extra careful when she was restrained in any way.

Wanting all of him and desperate for the sexy way his bold staff slid on her tongue and nudged her throat, she started to get crazy. But he was ready for her and only let things go so far.

Quickly untying her hands from the bed but leaving them bound together, he flipped her over and pulled her ass up. His hands pushed her thighs far apart. She knew what was coming and felt a superheated flood pour from her body.

His first surge was almost brutal in its intensity. As he plunged deep and lifted at the same time, her knees left the bed as he impaled her on his cock.

“Oh god,” she cried out.

Unleashing a furious barrage of strokes that made his cock swell even more, she surrendered to his beautiful domination and came. And came. And came.

Roman’s grunts of satisfied pleasure rang in her head.

Being a gentleman, a filthy, oversexed gentleman, he waited until she was finished and then gave her a two-second warning before loving her into total submission with a ferocious fucking that left her unable to move.

When he was finished and had spent himself in her pussy, he pulled out, spanked her ass, kissed it, and then chuckled with manly delight.

“There’s more where that came from.”

She collapsed onto her stomach and barely moved when he unbound her wrists and rubbed them with his fingers.

“We’re getting a swing,” he grumbled.

Even though she’d just come, her pussy reacted to his words. Her thoughts placed them at Roman’s secret sex club—where they’d gone right before spending the summer in Arizona. She’d been shaken by the experience and though he wanted to discuss it, she’d managed to shut the conversation down each time it came up. She was still processing and wasn’t ready to open up.

It was her bright idea to observe a raunchy demonstration of a swing apparatus. She imagined it’d be hot and interesting. She had not anticipated the eroticism or the way the performing Dom had manipulated his sub. There was something titillating and somewhat scary about the way the handsome Italian Dominant had used the swing to please not just his desires, but also those of his submissive.

The woman came so many times that her fluid dripped on the floor.

It was only one part of their evening, but afterward, she’d been unable to share her feelings and thoughts—something she knew was frustrating her man. Being up close and personal, alone in a room, with two people fucking right in front of her had been a shock to her system. She liked the kink, but no way would she ever be comfortable with an audience.

Kelly rolled over and met his gaze. His smoldering good looks made her quiver. The club scared the shit out of her, and she didn’t know how to explain. If he needed that sort of thing—the public aspect of BDSM—she wasn’t sure that was her.

His eyes darkened. “Are we ever going to discuss this, or not?”

“I’m still at not,” she admitted.

“Shit, Kelly. I don’t know whether to apologize or what.”

“I know,” she murmured. “And I’m sorry for that. It’s me. I need more time.”

“Time for what?” he snarled. “To decide if I’m a pervert or that you’re way too young for an old fuck like me?”

Oh, no! No. No. No. She launched from lying down to wrapping around him in a heartbeat.

“Roman, no. It’s me—not you.”

“Please talk to me,” he pleaded. “I knew you weren’t ready. Let me explain.”

She kissed him to quiet. “There’s nothing to explain. And you’re not a pervert or too old so cut that shit out.”

The conflict rolling off his body made her uneasy. What the hell was she doing? He’d made her promise going in that she wouldn’t retreat inside her head. Open communication was essential, but instead, she’d been a coward and shut him out.

“You have to trust me, Roman Bishop. I know what I promised, and we will talk. You’re the one who keeps pointing out that this relationship and our lives are moving at supersonic speed. Just give me some time to catch up. And in the meantime, everything is fine. I adore you, and if you weren’t a sexy pervert, maybe I’d be bored. Or I’d be the one corrupting you.”

He looked startled. “Carina, you think I’m corrupting you?”

“Well, yeah—at least, I certainly hope so! And don’t stop.”

Poor Roman. His confusion was palpable.

“Kelly, I love you. That’s all I think about. Loving you. Until you let me into your head, I’m a little lost. Ya know what I mean?”

His eyes bored into hers. She didn’t look away.

Pulling him into a hug, she whispered, “May I ask a question and not have it turn into a shit storm?”

He stared at her. She always squirmed when he used his interrogation prowess to read her mood.

“You have the advantage of knowing the question, Tesoro. Suggesting a potential turd explosion piques my interest.”

Yeah, dammit. He knew her so well. She bit her lip and looked away.

His voice was intended to calm—she knew him too. “Perhaps we should get dressed?”

Putting clothes on wasn’t going to make her braver or change his answer, so she shook her head and pulled him next to her on the bed.

“Why did Julian end up running the club?”

She saw the spark of something indefinable in his eyes and studied his body language as he answered.

“What’s the real question?” he asked. “Be more specific. It will save time.”

“You, your cousin, and a silent partner run a secret and exclusive sex club in New York City. It makes a mother lode of money while you play bodyguard to some rich guy and pretend every sexual fantasy isn’t yours for the taking.”

“Uh-huh. And?”

“Why aren’t you involved? Or are you and I just don’t see it.”

“You want to know if being a Master Dom is on my bucket list. Is that it?”

“I don’t know if that’s the question, Roman. Sheesh! Don’t talk at me like this sort of thing is something everyone deals with. You have the run of a kinky dungeon and all the resources to make it something Mr. Grey would envy. What am I missing?”

“Okay, I think I understand. You want to know why I’m not a member.”

She nodded. “Owner—not member. Excellent distinction.”

“The answer is simple yet not. First, excess of anything is a danger. In the long run, I prefer moderation. Julian, unfortunately, has never understood the concept. He played hard, and things got real. Now, he’s empty. Oh, sure. He has all the sex he wants, but it’s just sex. There’s zero emotion involved.”

“Oh.”

“Second, I’m human. Being around that lifestyle is incredibly tempting, but I know my limits and choose to remain on the outside. It’s hard to explain because clearly my desires are very much in keeping with the whole thing.”

He caressed her arm and kissed her forehead. “Until you play with emotion and do those things with someone you love, it’s not healthy. For me. Does that answer your question?”

It did. And it didn’t. She understood why he wasn’t more involved where the club was concerned, but what he’d just admitted about his desires didn’t solve her quandary. The notion gnawing in her gut that Roman had needs she couldn’t answer made her edgy and tense.

“Let me ask you a question,” he quietly murmured.

She nodded for him to continue.

“You like the challenge of being restrained. Dominated. Was this something you knew or suspected before I came along and took your virginity?”

Wow, oh wow. He went straight to it, didn’t he?

“I didn’t have preconceived ideas. Staying ahead of the next crisis was my whole life. And I didn’t know when we got together what that would mean. All I did know was how it felt when you took control. The first time you tied me up? I knew then.”

He nodded. “I can’t pretend that I don’t get off on dominating you. But Carina, that power without love isn’t what I’m about. Do you understand?”

She cuddled against him and sighed heavily. “Yes, thank you. We are on the same page, Roman—even if it seems like I’m uncertain.”

A finger under her chin lifted Kelly’s face until she was staring into eyes brimming with tenderness and passion. “You asked me to trust you. Take all the time you need, baby girl. When you are ready to talk, I’m ready to listen.”

* * *

Meghan flipped through the selfies and snapped pics from the ladies’ final costume fitting. Seeing the bold getup made her unsure. What if Alex didn’t like it?

Oh, she knew he’d like the cheeky rhumba-style bottoms, sexy fishnets, and outrageous hooker heels. Same for the risqué corset and stage makeup. But there was a very real possibility that her beast would not react favorably to her strutting her goodies on stage—even if it was for a closed and very private after party.

Oh, shit. Her heart was pounding. Biting her lip, she scrolled through the front and back view pictures one more time. Stephanie warned all of them that the men might not find their burlesque throw down amusing. Was she right?

She heard Alex’s approaching footsteps and quickly put her phone down.

His voice rang out with command. “Wife,” he drawled. “Front and center, Mrs. Marquez.”

Fixing a smile on her face, she stood when he crowded into her tiny home office—but he wasn’t fooled.

He did a quick double take and then snickered while shaking his head. When he crossed his arms and looked her up and down, she nearly swooned. Nobody did alpha beast like her husband.

“Okay, woman. What? Am I going to be furious or just mad?”

“No way you got that with one look,” she griped. She pulled on a lock of her hair and twisted it nervously around her fingers.

“Meghan?”

She threw herself on him, and luckily, he caught her. “You’re gonna be mad,” she whined.

“What did you do?”

“Um, I didn’t ask. For permission.”

He backed up a step, slapped a hand rather dramatically over his heart, and barked, “Holy fuck! Permission? Did that word actually leave your mouth?”

His act was so funny she couldn’t help her amused snicker. Concepts like permission and the old-fashioned expectation that his wife obey were things she constantly pushed back against. To both of their amusement.

“Stop it.” She laughed. “I’m being serious.”

“Serious?” he asked. “Hmm. Okay. So how mad am I going to be? Is this a quick trip over my knee or a real punishment?”

The word punishment made her lady parts get all warm and tingly. Was it messed up that Alex’s punishments were sexy and hot as fuck? Or that she craved his complete control?

With a half shrug, she said, “It may depend on how much you’ve had to drink.”

His right brow raised a fraction. “Am I drinking Glenfiddich or …”

Some things she just couldn’t let go, and this was one. “Glenfiddich is for pussies. Stop making me say it. Toughen up, bucko. I’m talking the real deal. There’s a reason sin is the ending sound of Jameson.”

“And if I’m sober as a judge?”

Oh lordy—that was what she was afraid of. With a sultry pout, she pushed him away. “If that’s the case, I’ll just ask that you remember I’m the mother of your children and to go easy on me.”

He grinned and needled her. So typical.

“Will there be a disciplinary ass fucking in this scenario?”

She gaped at him and dropped like a rock onto her desk chair.

He blinked. Twice. “Baby, I was kidding.”

Right then, she questioned every raunchy bump, grind, and lewd maneuver of the dance routine. Maybe shaking her voluptuous assets in his face wasn’t such a smart move.

Changing the subject seemed like her safest bet. It was too damn late to alter the act, and at least, she wouldn’t be strutting her stuff alone. This bit of Justice debauchery was a group endeavor. If it ended with a crew of grumbling alphas, they’d just have to suck it up and deal.

“There’s a lot riding on this shindig. Did you know Delilah is doing her Bendover podcast from the Double M? She’s got a sound booth set up to do interviews.”

“Delilah Stanwyck?” He chuckled. “She used to be on the radio when we were in high school. Her smoky voice and suggestive patter gave many a horny teenage boy a raging stiffy.”

She scowled. “Her podcast is hugely popular. Please behave, Alex. And Parker. Make him behave too.”

“Why does everyone assume I can control that king-size fuckwad? Swear to god,” he snarled. “Sullivan and his choirboy shit has gotten old. Anything we ever did that was over the line was one hundred percent his fault.”

Blaming Parker was Alex’s new go-to. It was an amusing tactic. And the way Angie told it, Parker had a similar habit of dumping on Alex as a way to justify some very questionable prior behavior and just about anything and everything in the present tense.

He was doing that thing where his brows bumped together and his eyes squinted slightly. His head tilted. He moved closer. Her office was so small and cluttered that with two steps, he left her no room at all.

Meghan felt the possession in his touch when he stroked her shoulder before curling his big, sturdy fingers around the back of her neck. She reached up and clutched his arm.

“I’ll mind my manners. Promise. This is your day, baby. I’m only along to support my wife. Whatever you need, I’m your man. Okay?”

She wanted to cry. He was so damn wonderful.

His large hands took her face and held it gently. A familiar shiver of total awareness raced through her.

“Why are you so nervous?”

Putting her hands on his waist, she grabbed his shirt. A worried groan rattled in her chest, and she closed her eyes to help stay in control.

Yes, she was concerned that he wouldn’t be pleased by a bit of harmless fun, but her nervous level came from a surprising deluge of self-doubt over her role as the wife of Alexander Cristián Joaquin Valleja-Marquez.

There were whispers—she heard them. Snarky meanness. How she was far too big for her britches with her massive bank account and fancy life.

When Alex, who was blissfully unaware of his place amongst the Southwest’s hottest, richest, and most eligible husband-slash-sugar daddy prospects, married an outsider—from Boston, of all Yankee places—Meghan became a target for contempt.

After the family center opened, she was horrified to discover—via social media where people lived to be assholes—that she wasn’t universally loved. Not everyone was on board with her vision for the Double M. And not because it was a shitty idea.

Nope, apparently all it took these days to be the focus of attack was to breathe. There was always someone, someplace who would be a dick and sometimes the haters grew unruly.

The variety show was another public opportunity to take a swipe at her and through her, Alex.

“I don’t want to disappoint you.”

His hands released her face. “What?” he said with a start. “Disappoint me? Meghan, what’s going on?”

Should she tell him? Was this the best time—the day of the show?

“Remember that stupid local reporter who tried to start shit with Angie?”

“The one with the gotcha angle?”

She nodded jerkily.

“I thought Soph and my mom shut her down. With an able assist from Duke. Tossed them out of the Villa on the morning of the wedding. Do you mean that cunt?”

Alex did not throw the C word around without ample cause. His disdain for the tacky journalist wasn’t a surprise, but her status in the C category was.

“Yes, well, she reached out to arrange an interview.”

He growled, and she froze. “You declined, I hope.”

“Of course,” she answered with a shrug. “But refusing a sit-down isn’t going to keep her from writing an article on the Double M.”

His lips claimed hers. It was a familiar move on her husband’s part to interject a slight pause while he considered her reveal.

“I don’t know what she’s up to, but Meghan, and I don’t give a fuck what anybody thinks.” His gritty scoff was full of derision. “Not giving a fuck is the unofficial Justice motto. We deliberately dropped this testosterone kingdom of fuckery where we did to make it easier to shut out the rest of the goddamn world. Some small town reporter bitch with an ax to grind doesn’t scare me.”

Exactly what she expected him to say. Alex wasn’t easily moved—especially not by bullshit.

“I know, but I can’t help wonder why. Why is she so fixated on us? It bothers me, and with everything else going on, I don’t know,” she murmured. “Something’s not right.”

“Something not being right seems to be a theme lately.”

And that right there was part of the problem. They couldn’t point to any one thing and say, there it was. This was what was wrong. One minute, it was this, and the next minute, that. She was skin-prickling aware of the next-level security bubble surrounding her—especially when she left the safety of the Villa property. In no sane person’s mind was any of this normal.

“Stay close, please.”

He understood what she was asking. “You’re my priority. Always.”

* * *

Finn paced back and forth along the second story balcony at Remy’s Villa apartment. She refused to let him in and banished him to wait outside. For no reason other than he was bored, he considered the building that housed the old Justice business center—a place taken over by the women because, why not?

There were three apartments on the second floor—all vacant except for Remy’s. A one-time hub of activity, once the agency moved further from the Villa and family quarters, the building was dead space.

At the end of the balcony, he leaned on the railing and took in the extraordinary scenery. He wondered why Remy chose the middle apartment—the one without a view.

He swung around when a sound alerted him to his lady’s presence. When she shut her apartment door and turned to him, he all but crapped his pants.

Remington Bisset never ever, ever showed her legs. Ever. The only reason he’d seen her bare legs was because they shared a bed, and it wasn’t like she could sleep in jeans and a T-shirt. He knew the reason for her reluctance and said nothing. So when she nervously ran a hand down her side, he wasn’t sure what to do.

Or say.

She was wearing a skirt. Something long and flowy with a casual Western flair. Instead of her usual shit-kicking boots, she sported a pair of strappy sandals. A beautiful Concho belt made of turquoise and silver that he suspected wasn’t cheap sat low on her hips.

The body-hugging sleeveless top that clung to her stupendous boobs was also dressed up with a turquoise necklace. The southwestern colors and her shiny black hair stopped him in his tracks.

She was fucking gorgeous.

“Say something,” she griped.

Her skittish tension melted his heart. She was worried about dressing like a real live human female.

The temptation to ask for a model strut was hard to tamp down, but he did because there was no need to freak her out more.

Striding toward her, he stuck out his hand. She appeared startled and took it by reflex.

“Hi,” he drawled. “I’m Finn.”

She looked at him like he was crazy. He peered over her shoulder.

“I was just waiting for my girlfriend. I wonder where she is.”

Luckily, she chuckle-snorted and dug her elbow into his side. “Fuck off, Beantown.”

He took both of her hands and held them wide while checking her out one more time.

“You look fucking awesome, babe.” He took a breath and leered at her as suggestively as he knew how. “And to be clear, I will fucking kill anyone who looks at you sideways.”

“My hero.” She sniggered.

He sobered and looked her in the eye. “Count on it.”

Taking her hand, he fed it through the crook of his arm and pressed her fingers against him. “I might have to kick Leonard DiCaprio’s ass.”

He started walking, but sensed her hesitation.

“Whatever did Leo do to you?” she asked with a quizzical frown.

“Let me just say this,” he proudly declared as they descended the stairs and headed for his truck. “With you at my side, I claim king of the world status. Period.”

He saw her satisfied smirk when she settled on the passenger seat, but then her mood quickly took a U-turn.

“I can do this myself, you know,” she objected with a surly bite when he insisted on buckling her in.

“Yes, but when I do it, you know I’m serious about watching out for you.”

Once they got under way, they talked about the weather. It was hot.

She asked about the after party at Pete’s. He told her Barry was in charge.

He commented about the expensive silver belt. She explained it was a gift from her cowboy-loving father.

The drive was comfortable in an awkward way. She wasn’t fighting their relationship status any longer, which was a huge relief. But she continued to struggle with where the next step would lead.

Once he’d talked to his father and had a much clearer understanding of Remy’s inner dialogue, he decided to gently push. Not a lot—but just enough. Enough to keep them moving forward.

“Have you given any more thought to performing? Solo?”

From the corner of his eye, he saw her smooth a shaky hand on the skirt covering her legs. He wanted to salute her bravery for taking what he knew was a gigantic step—going out in public without her suit of armor.

“Um, well, yeah but not solo. I, uh, said I’d do something with one of Ingrid’s students. The fiddle player. He’s amazing.”

Feeling buoyed by her about-face, he launched into a raft of awful jokes punctuated with some bar stories. She always laughed at his take on the shit that went down at Pete’s.

“Domineau is bringing the jaw drops tonight,” she quietly informed him. “And I’m not referring to the after party.”

“Oh? Do tell.”

She shrugged, giggled, coughed, and shifted in her seat. “She’s doing a skit.”

“Say what now? A skit? As in Monty Python?”

“More like Saturday Night Live in a mash-up with the old Gong Show.”

Hmph. That certainly did not sound like the Domineau Rivera he knew and was scared shitless of.

The employee parking area at the Double M was already filling up when they arrived. Before long, the food court would be filled with people enjoying a potluck dinner. Ria and Betty Boop’s church ladies had a well-oiled system for group feeds. He was a little jealous of their take-charge ways.

He caught sight of Calder running between buildings and thought he saw Roman too. At least, he thought it was Bishop. Kind of hard to tell when his body was partially obscured by a helium balloon bouquet.

They separated at the entrance to the multi-purpose building. After a far too short kiss, she dashed off to help Ingrid while he went in search of his sister.

Finn crossed his fingers and did a bit of Saint begging for a stress-free event.

* * *

Lacey settled on a little stool in front of the stage and waited for the announcer to introduce the next act.

So far, everything was going off without a hitch. The local high school marching band started the evening with a rousing rendition of “America the Beautiful” that got the two hundred-plus audience on their feet.

She was still laughing at Heather and Brody’s neighbor—the dentist, Mark Stewart. He and his daughter, Amy—friend of Bella, Matty, and Molly—had performed a spectacularly clumsy juggling act that reduced the audience to gales of laughter.

Two locals who auditioned for America’s Got Talent gave fantastic standing ovation performances. One played an honest-to-heaven harp and the other wowed the crowd with “Five hundred twenty-five thousand six hundred minutes” from the musical Rent.

Next up were her little chickadees. Ingrid caught her eye from the wings of the stage. The vivacious baby booming redhead had an infectious energy that showed in everything she did. Including this show. Wearing a headpiece and carrying an iPad, their show director kept everything moving.

She gestured to Lacey. It was time. The stage lights lowered, and the clever, moveable screens that served as a curtain traveled across the stage—pushed by black-clothed stage hands.

Her heart nearly burst with pride when the audience let out a murmur of “Awws.” Bella Jensen, Amy Stewart, Molly D’Alessandro, Matty James, Danny St. John, and her pride and joy, Dylan Cameron, stood in a halfway straight line. They all wore a crown of bushy yellow feathers, and on the shoulders and short sleeves of their matching yellow t-shirts were more feathers. Tied around each of their waists was a wide sash attached to butt feathers.

She motioned to them for their attention, smiled, and put a finger to her lips. Then she held up her hands, and they each followed along. When the music started, they were off to the races.

The chicken dance is a childhood rite of passage. Her crew of chicks had been practicing for weeks to master the various gestures and movements—in their proper order. When they turned around to shake their tail feathers, and the crowd reacted with laughter, things started to fall apart. The older kids tried to keep it together, but they were giggling too hard, and D Squared was on the runway ready to take off at any second.

Dylan broke ranks and ran to the edge of the stage where he squatted, peered into the semi-darkness, and grinned at her.

“Hi, Mommy,” he yelled with a wave of his little hand.

She laughed, blew him a kiss, and motioned for him to get back in line.

At the end when they were supposed to bow during the applause, Dylan ran toward her and leaped into her arms.

As she gathered her little chicks in the wings, Lacey did a double take when she found Remy lurking in the shadows. Glancing at the callboard, she saw that Mack Butler, fiddle master, was up next. What the heck did Remy have to do with Mack? She glanced back at the stage and was surprised to see two microphones being moved into place and not the piano.

* * *

What the fuck was she doing?

Remy shook her hands and tried to ease her breathing with some deep inhales.

Was she insane? How else could she explain going so far out on a limb—with no warning or warm-up.

“Hey, Ms. Remy,” Mack called out. The young teen ran up to her and nearly took out her eye with the bow to his fiddle. “My mom is freaking out! She brought my grandfather. This fiddle was his.”

“I’m glad your family is here, Mack. That’s really cool. Do they know what song we’re doing?”

He made a face. “Nah and they ain’t expecting a popular song. Usually, I fiddle the classics.”

She laughed at the way he described his amazing talent.

“Are you nervous?” she asked.

“No. I do this all the time.”

She grimaced and made a confession. “Well, dang—I’m nervous as a cat in a rainstorm.”

He sniggered the way only a kid who hadn’t been disappointed by adulthood could. “I wouldn’t worry. You give Miley Cyrus a run for the gold.”

They heard their names over the PA system. Remy shook off her nervousness and glanced to her left. Finn was standing twenty feet away with a garment bag over his arm and a look of shock on his face. He was about to hit the dressing room to get ready for his magic act with Bella.

The moment of truth was upon her. She took a shaky breath and offered him a weak smile. Then, because what she was about to do wasn’t surreal enough, she blew him a kiss, grabbed Mack’s free hand, and walked them into the spotlight.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm Bendover welcome to local favorite, Mack Butler, on the fiddle accompanied by Remington Bisset singing ‘The Climb.’”

The kid’s instrument rang out. He played like a pro. His arrangement of the pop song gave a richness to her simple vocal. During the last verse, Remy looked at Finn when she sang about facing struggles and taking chances.

The applause was loud when they finished and left the spotlight.

She didn’t hesitate or waver and walked straight into Finn’s waiting arms.

* * *

“I fucking hate you for making me do this,” Cam grumbled.

Rafe sneered and made a face. “Pussy.”

Lacey marched out of the darkness and giggled when she saw her husband.

“You’re the only one who could possibly pull this off,” she reminded him. “It takes a real movie buff to understand the comic nuance.”

He nodded at her astute take on the number he and his tongue-in-cheek nemesis were about to pull off. Of course, that didn’t mean Jason wasn’t still going to complain up a storm.

Cam scowled. “The garters itch,” he complained. “And this stupid neck scarf is too damn tight.”

Rafe sighed. “Give it rest, would you?”

He waved Jason off like a bug flying too close but watched Lacey’s every move. The lady fascinated him. And why? Because the changes in his old friend between his former life and today were nothing short of mind-boggling.

The surly fuck who beat opponents to a bloody pulp as a way to blow off steam—the guy who never met a fellow human he didn’t automatically distrust—the touchy, thin-skinned asshole with the brilliant mind who cultivated negativity? Yeah—he completely transformed into a loving husband and father. The way Rafe saw it, Lacey Cameron had to be some sort of fairy princess with magical powers. It was the only way to explain what was right in front of his eyes.

“Don’t fuss so,” she scolded. Slapping his hand away, she readjusted the rhinestone headpiece Jason wouldn’t stop touching. She undid another button on his shirt, and unless Rafe was hallucinating, she also swept her fingers against his chest and sighed.

He frowned. Where the hell was his girlfriend and why wasn’t she fawning all over him the way Lacey hung on Jason?

“Now remember,” she told them with a husky laugh. “This is adorable! You are adorable! So have fun!”

In an unexpected move, Sinjin made for the announcer’s microphone. The crowd erupted with gales of laughter because the normally suave and debonair ladies’ man was in full Urkel costume right down to suspenders, hitched up pants, and oversized glasses. Using a comic voice that he’d obviously worked on, the guy snorted and sniveled through their introduction.

“Brace yourselves, Bendover! Here for the first time anywhere are the legendary Dallas Sisters to perform their smash hit, ‘Sisters.’”

Cam slugged him in the arm and growled, “Really? Dallas sisters?”

“Go get ’em, boys.” Lacey richly laughed.

Opening his blue feather fan, Rafe hid behind the prop and waited for their music to start. For the next two minutes, he energetically played the comedic stylings brought by Danny Kaye to the iconic “Sisters Reprise” from White Christmas.

He loved using his size as an amusing contrast. Him prancing about like a lunatic and driving Jason nuts as they lip-synched through the movie routine was comedy gold.

They curtsied and bowed to thunderous applause and left the stage in high spirits. He was delighted to find Domineau waiting for him, wearing a smirky grin and a big white robe.

Pointing at his costume, she gave him some humorous eyeshade. “I hope this doesn’t mean you’re going to be wearing my undies.”

Barking with laughter, he leaned close and murmured, “Honey, my left nut wouldn’t fit in a pair of your panties.”

Did she quickly glance around and then grab his crotch?

Yes. Yes, she did.

With a smartass squeeze, she pretended to move in for a kiss, only to veer off at the last second and laugh. “Hurry. Costume change.”

He glared at her. The costume she spoke of wasn’t conducive to a hard-on.

“Did you do that on purpose?” He grumbled.

The only thing saving her from a scolding was her quick blush and giggly snort. “Shit. No. Sorry. I wasn’t thinking.”

The next act was a kazoo band of about two dozen older kids. Rafe watched as they scurried into position. He saw them rehearse the other day and thought their performance clever. A little like Glee only with weird plastic instruments.

After them was a choral group of moms and grandmoms who were going to bring the house down with their jaw-dropping version of the “Rumor Has It”-“Someone Like You” mash-up number that was considered de rigueur in vocal competitions.

And after that? He had to chuckle. When push came to shove, Domineau was quick to get on board with a skit Molly and her pals wanted to do. She had a wicked performance bug that he’d barely been aware of before now. They were going to blow minds with their kid-centric act.

Meghan breezed by with Bella hot on her heels. The precocious six-year-old was in half the numbers contributed by the Justice gang. She also had the presence of mind to save Finn’s magic act by mugging through a sloppy tap dance while he took care of a technical issue.

Domineau pushed him toward the men’s dressing room. “What are you waiting for? Get moving.” She smacked his butt and pointed.

“Did you just fondle my ass?” he asked in mock outrage. Her cheeky smirk was just plain cute.

He gave her a left, right, left arched eyebrow performance. “It might be time to explore taking away your handsy habits. I’m thinking the cuffs.”

Thank god she laughed before rolling her eyes and dashing away.

* * *

Charlie waved to Ingrid and motioned her closer. The supermom group just took the stage, so the redhead hurried toward her.

“What’s up? No problems, I hope.”

She smiled. “Are you kidding? Things are going great. People are over the moon. This is a definite annual event. I just wanted to check and make sure you’re ready for the finale. Is everyone in place?”

Ingrid’s beaming grin told the whole story. “I am so glad this whole thing is being recorded! The show has exceeded my expectations. Now, as for the big production number at the end,” she murmured, lowering her voice so no one overheard. “We’ve got extras! A dozen dancers we weren’t expecting are in the audience.”

“Yes!” she cheered and high-fived at the same time. “The Justice gang thinks they have the close-out number. As long as you cover for Brody and Heather missing the cue, they won’t suspect a thing.”

Ingrid’s laugh was rich and deep. “I could hang out with this bunch nonstop! That’s how much fun we’ve had. Loads of hard work but the joyful energy made everything completely manageable.”

She couldn’t agree more. In her travels and through her work with stressed-out hyper achievers and Type A casualties, she’d never encountered another group of such different people who made life something real close to a Broadway musical. These folks broke into song and dance with very little provocation, and she loved every second.

Caleb found all of it a bit daunting, but he’d been open and on board, doing whatever he could behind the scenes.

Ingrid touched her headset and spoke quietly into the microphone. Charlie walked away to give her space.

The mom choir was singing one of her favorite Adele songs. Charlie couldn’t help the way her hips found the rhythm and moved to the beat. She was biding her time and patiently waiting for the after show. For the public performances, she put her talents into the sets and costumes. She wasn’t a Bendover local and didn’t think it appropriate to perform.

But the after show? Ha! That was another thing. She helped Stephanie style the burlesque number and all but promised to paint portraits of every Justice family if only they’d let her be part of the fun. Caleb was going to be hard to handle after he got a gander at her audacious stripper moves.

Giggling kids caught her attention. It was Bella, Molly, and Amy, acting like they were about to pull off the heist of the century.

A slow grin broke across her face when Domineau moved into view. The girls jumped around like popcorn kernels over the flame when she removed her robe to reveal the costume beneath. Charlie’s mouth dropped open.

Beside her, Ingrid chuckled. “Wait for it. This is nothing.”

Another one of the announcers made the introduction and got an instantaneous laugh. Charlie was intrigued and moved to a spot where she could watch.

“Here to perform a fractured fairy tale is Miss Rina’s dance school.”

The little girls in their bright pink leotards and tutus pranced onto the stage and took their places at a ballet barre. Right after, Domineau Rivera in a classic black leotard and Georgette wrap skirt followed them. She had that flat-footed gait so specific to walking in pointe shoes.

Clapping her hands like a good ballet mistress, she put the girls through a few barre moves and then the fun began.

A voice from the wings boomed, “Sorry, I’m late.”

The audience’s attention zoomed to the side of the stage where a hilarious looking Rafael D’Alessandro dressed in a full pink tutu swaggered from the shadows and joined the class.

She threw her head back and laughed. Her professor father loved professional wrestling and Hulk Hogan, which meant she grew up watching a movie from the nineties called Mr. Nanny. Rafe was dressed in a similar way to the tutu outfit Hulk wore in the film.

It was funny and then some because the girls were little, and he was so brawny and big.

The pantomime continued with Domineau getting more and more exasperated by her clumsy male student. Her ballet mistress character also gave a quick but memorable turn on her pointe shoes that got gasps of delight from the girls as she swept back and forth across the stage.

It looked to Charlie as though Domineau was more than a little proficient in the ballet arts.

After some comically clumsy attempts at a simple dance routine, the skit ended as each of the girls, along with Rafe, twirled and arabesqued their way from one side of the stage to the other before Domineau wrapped things up with a beautifully executed dance.

This sure was turning out to be a night of surprises.

* * *

“Well, they’ve missed their cue. I guess something held them up. But don’t even worry about it. Without Brody and Heather, there are still two dozen of you. Nobody will miss them.”

Ingrid winked at Charlie and fussed over the assembled group. The entire extended Justice family, babies and grandparents included, were about to take the stage for an a cappella number following Meghan’s thanking the audience for coming.

A stirring round of applause and shouts of, “Well done,” and, “Thank you,” rang out. Ingrid started shooing the large group onto the stage, and they gathered in groups around a series of microphones—Charlie’s cue to peek into the audience and make sure everyone was in place.

Caleb appeared and slung his arm around her shoulders. “Is this the big finish?” he whispered.

“The start of,” she replied. “Shh.” She put a finger to her mouth. “You wanna listen to this.”

She couldn’t hear what Meghan told the audience, but she was sure an explanation for the song they were going to sing was part of it. From the rear of the crowd, Alex, Parker, and Finn clapped out a specific rhythmic beat. When everyone caught the tempo, they wove a stunning harmony around an old Beach Boys tune called “The Farmer’s Daughter”—a song that Ashleigh Marquez pointed out was covered by Fleetwood Mac.

Her heart did a happy dance when she found Bella and Matty holding hands and swaying together as they sang their parts. Those two created an extraordinary vibe when they were together. Their energy was blazing a trail for Junior Justice.

“I know this song,” Caleb told her with a hearty squeeze. “It’s pretty.”

“Okay, okay. They’re almost finished. Get ready for something amazeballs!” She pushed him away and told him to act normal.

The Justice crew wandered from the stage and were milling about when Meghan noticed the house lights hadn’t come on.

“What’s going on?” she asked Ingrid.

Smiling up a storm, Ingrid hugged Meghan over and over. “We’ve reserved the first two rows so quickly get out there and sit. There’s a surprise.”

Charlie jumped up and down like a manic cheerleader and clapped her hands with glee. “Oh my god!” she squealed to her amused lover. “This is going to be epic.”

She heard Ingrid say, “Cue the spotlight and cut to Johnny.”

A single spotlight illuminated a woman sitting at the edge of the audience. She seemed startled by the sudden light.

A low murmur erupted from the crowd when a man dressed in yummy black and wearing a microphone headset stepped into the light and growled, “My baby doesn’t sit in the corner.”

Gasps and excited chatter broke out in the auditorium as people started to grasp what they were seeing.

The man in black put out his hand. The woman took it, rose, and followed him into another spotlight. They took their places in the center of the stage and their music cued up and just like that, Justice exploded with excitement and the fuse was lit.

Brody’s amazing voice filled the auditorium with a throaty growl and let everyone know he was having the time of his life.

Heather looked stunning and nearly unrecognizable wearing a perfect reproduction of Baby’s pink dress and hairstyle from Dirty Dancing. When her voice blended perfectly with Brody’s and people realized they were going to sing and dance, the screaming started.

She snickered silently. Damn. Brody Jensen was hot! Charlie glanced at her boyfriend, decided no one was hotter than Caleb Merrill, and went back to enjoying the show.

After some very sexy dirty dancing that was dramatically lit so a full shadow appeared behind them and Brody’s magnificent hip twirl of a perfectly poised Heather, the dancers Ingrid placed throughout the audience morphed into an enthusiastic, screaming flash mob.

By the time Brody, as a completely believable Johnny Castle, jumped off the stage and started dancing down the center aisle, all hell had literally broken loose.

Ingrid’s talented crew got into the act and brought it big time—amazing the audience with the precision and blurred reality of a mob performance.

Brody, of course, killed it. The guy was a natural performer. His vocal and Heather’s was spot-on—not easy to do when you are also dancing.

The lift that thrilled movie audiences led the Bendover crowd to shriek, holler, and cheer as the two talented lovers let the world know that they were the epitome of badass.

This jaw-dropping surprise finale would be talked about for a long time.

The dancers grabbed audience members, and before long, the whole room was laughing and dancing along. It was the perfect end to a perfect show.