Remy slammed the empty shot glass on the bar and raised both arms in triumph. Kelly lagged a second or two behind with Tori and Meghan in a tie for third.

The Macallan coated her tongue, leaving a burning trail of whiskey fire in her throat and belly. Deep inside, she felt a chuckle building and gave a little start. This sort of activity didn’t generally have a laughter track.

But then again, she’d never gotten shit-faced with a bunch of ass kicking females before, so this was definitely a first and maybe that was enough to alter the dynamic in her head.

“Shit, Remy,” Heather declared while thumping her between the shoulder blades, “you didn’t say you could Marion Ravenwood us to our knees!”

She snickered, followed it up with a loud snort, and then shrugged off the comment. “Everyone has hidden talents.”

Murmurs of, “Word,” and, “Truth,” accompanied a group fist bump.

Reaching for another bottle of Finn’s private reserve, she caught him smirking at her and shaking his head. She smiled, gave him the finger, and poured another round.

Barry approached wearing his usual amused grin and dropped an enormous platter of hot wings on the bar in front of them.

“Ladies,” he charmingly drawled. “Fat free bleu cheese dressing as requested although don’t tell my partner that. He has strong opinions about how his food is presented.”

Lacey inspected the platter with her arms crossed and a dubious frown. “Is the celery organic?”

It was amusing as shit to watch the blonde lay it on thick—especially when it was so hard to tell if she was serious or not. Angie squawked with laughter, grabbed her pregnant belly, and nearly toppled off the barstool. Actually, everyone laughed. Even Domineau.

Meghan let Barry off the hook when Lacey’s question registered as alarm on his face. Remy enjoyed the Justice ladies team spirit.

“She’s joking, Barry. We all know my brother is a cheapskate who isn’t going to pay for organic anything.”

“I heard that,” Finn hollered from the other end of the long bar.

Brother and sister stuck their tongues out, made rude finger gestures, and brought their signature sibling mayhem while the platter of wings was devoured.

Domineau lofted a sauce-covered wing and saluted Finn. “Well done, Beantown.”

His happy, grinning reaction was so … Finn.

Remy smiled and tried to hide behind her hair, but Kelly gave her so much shit, she ended up roaring with whiskey-fueled laughter.

“Don’t try to be sly, Remington,” she teased. “We all know you’ve got the hots for the ginger-infused chef. You’re not fooling anyone, ya know.”

“Fuck my life.” She giggle snorted. The sound and reaction were so unfamiliar that she covered her mouth from embarrassment and realized that she’d better slow down her alcohol consumption if she didn’t want to end up acting like a fool.

Calder came toward them with Stephanie in his arms. Had she twisted her ankle or something?

Possibly half-stoned or on the way to being drunk, Calder slid his wife onto a barstool and fussed over her until she smacked his hands away.

“What the hell?” Sophie sniggered in her drier than dust way.

Stephanie did her Southern belle act and twanged a snippy explanation. “My oversexed husband has some ridiculous idea that I should conserve my energy. For later,” she told then with a wink-wink.

The entire group of women froze. Was he referring to the energetic and epically exaggerated display of raunchiness they were set to unleash, or was he just being a guy?

Calder Dane’s good-natured and indulgent chuckle made his wife smile and overrode the ladies’ reaction. He didn’t explain or make a funny. He simply wrapped a hand around Stephanie’s neck and held her in place for a surprisingly over-the-top kiss that didn’t leave much to the imagination.

When he’d made his point and released her, Stephanie was the color of a stop sign and had to wipe the corners of her mouth. Was it weird that all the women sighed?

A loud roar of manly laughter caught Remy’s attention. She looked at the guys crowded around Caleb Merrill and wondered what they were talking about.

“Oh, dear.” Charlize Wilde chuckled. “That laughter has a Formula One tone. Dollars to donuts my man is doing his race car driver shtick.”

Everyone turned in unison and stared at the men.

It was Victoria who brought the house down with just one comment. “When do they pull out the tape measures?”

Remy thought Meghan and Sophie might laugh themselves to death. Same for Kelly and Heather, who fell on each other with gales of laughter.

Lacey giggled and shook her head. “You don’t really think they do that, do you?”

“You mean measure their wangs?” Angie delivered this line as though the subject matter was perfectly reasonable.

Domineau unsuccessfully choked off a spit-laugh that ended up spewing into the air.

Eyeballing Finn, Remy took a telling detour in her imagination—wondering how the sexy Irishman stacked up and where he ranked. Had she contemplated this question on more than a few occasions during the time they’d been sharing a bed? Yes, she had.

Shifting on the stool, she crossed her legs and squeezed her thighs together hoping to quell the surge of arousal that wouldn’t be denied. Did she also all but melt down every time he was in the shower? Yes. That too. Apparently imagining Finn O’Brien naked was becoming a habit.

Tori rubbed Lacey’s shoulders. “Sorry, sweetie, but yeah. I think each one of our alpha hotties comes with a number tag.”

“Well, I don’t like that,” the blonde grumbled.

Meghan chimed in. “I don’t think my bottom would survive asking for a statistical check.”

“I measured Roman,” Kelly told them with deadpan seriousness.

Domineau grunted before cackling with laughter. “And?”

“Pulled the tape measure away, slid my fingers to a spot I knew would infuriate him and gave him a pitying smirk. Mr. Bishop did not take kindly to the number four.”

Hoots of laughter rang out while Domineau climbed up on her barstool, somehow managed to balance, and pointed at Roman, shouting, “Twig and berries!”

The men turned and gawked while she kept up her ribbing.

Holding up her fingers, she dramatically counted to four in several different languages and audaciously mocked her old friend. After a minute of this, a squirt of mustard shot through the air as Roman aimed, squeezed, and landed a direct hit to the middle of Domineau’s chest.

That was when the Amazon Warrior who saved Remy’s sanity jumped and crowd surfed into the center of the men’s group to start wrestling Kelly’s muscled fiancé.

A hand slid under Remy’s ass and made her jump with fright. Before she could turn her head, Finn bit her neck and growled in her ear. “You look so fucking hot.”

The way he kept touching her was messing with all attempts to act composed. From the second she slid the skirt on, Remy knew she was making a statement that Finn would notice and react to. Right this moment, though, she wasn’t sure if either of them qualified as drunk and couldn’t be entirely certain she wasn’t imagining everything. Both those things mattered.

“No. Not nearly as drunk as I want to be,” he assured her in a deep, sensual voice that sent ripples of awareness into every corner of her being.

“Are you a mind reader, or did I say that out loud?”

He grinned and reached around her to pour two shots. Having confessed a little of her drink-’em-under-the-table-for-dollars past to Finn, his dad, even Domineau, and Jace, she realized as the list tumbled from her brain that, in actuality, she’d been revealing this uncomfortable facet of her past to anyone and everyone.

She’d done a lot of fucked-up shit after being violated and left for the trash. It wasn’t easy to let go of regret. Finn’s simple act of pouring the shot was his way of telling her it was okay. She was okay. They were okay. And that it wasn’t a bad thing to enjoy herself.

They tapped shot glasses and downed the whiskey—both of them grinning when they slammed the empty glass.

To say she was shocked when he stepped into her body space was an understatement. When he leaned close and ran a finger from the base of her throat to the valley between her breasts, Remy didn’t know what to do.

“I have a confession,” he murmured.

His warm breath on her face and in her ear was deliciously sexy. She moved just a fraction so their lips hovered mere inches apart.

“I’m listening.”

He continued touching her chest and playing with the necklace dangling on a long chain between her boobs.

“Had to get something from the store room. Stumbled upon a not-so-hidden clothes rack.”

She watched his eyes sparkle and tried to understand what he was saying.

“Which color are you wearing? Please tell me it’s the white costume. With your hair and some nasty red lipstick, you’d look devastating.”

Oh, crap. He saw their costumes? Remy glanced about nervously. Finn ruining the surprise wouldn’t score her any brownie points.

He bent close and licked her ear. “Relax, babe. Your secret is safe with me.”

She grabbed his shirt and pulled. “Promise? I don’t want to have to hurt you, Beantown.”

In the next second, he became serious as a heart attack.

“You don’t ever have to worry, Remington. I know what tonight is costing you,” he softly murmured. “I’m in your corner, and honey, for real, I’m proud of you.”

A swift, unexpected admission made him offer a hug. “I’m terrified.”

“I know,” he whispered.

They separated, but he remained in her body space. “Lacey is going first. Are you ready? Can I get you anything?”

“This one’s easy. All eyes will be on Cam’s Ponytail. Except for Rafe. His eyes will be on Domineau. I’m just the piano player.”

“Piano player,” he scoffed with mocking sarcasm. “Yeah, right.”

A bald giant marched up to the bar with a wiggling Domineau slung over his shoulder. He smacked her butt and dropped her onto her feet. When he grabbed a bar towel and wiped the splotch on the front of her shirt, Remy and Finn laughed at Rafe’s obvious boob fondle.

Every person watching this little scene either gasped or catcalled when Domineau calmly unbuttoned her blouse and took it off. She wadded it into a ball and hurled it at the back of Roman’s head. Then she hoisted herself onto the bar and reached across and under to retrieve a Pete’s T-shirt from the stack Barry kept handy.

The guys applauded as she made a show of shaking out the folded shirt and slowly put it on. Rafe, for his part, tried to block the view and ended up snarling like the Incredible Hulk at the male audience.

Finn sniggered. “I think you’d better hurry Lacey along. Things are going to get weird soon.”

She agreed with an eyeroll. “Thanks for the piano rental, by the way. An electronic keyboard just wasn’t going to cut it. Not for a live performance.”

He fingered a lock of her hair. “Anything for my lady.”

They mutely stared into each other’s eyes until she blinked and looked away. But not before dropping a compliment she hoped he enjoyed.

“And you’re boyfriend of the year, Finn O’Brien.”

His grin gave her courage.

* * *

“I call dibs on the last of the spareribs.”

Heather and Brody, still in their Dirty Dancing getups, were boldly canoodling and completely ignoring everyone while Finn’s workers finished setting the stage.

Until Parker claimed what was left of a Whiskey Pete’s favorite, Smoky Spareribs. The ones slathered with a secret sauce recipe that Finn guarded like the crown jewels.

“I don’t think so,” Brody exclaimed.

Angie looked at Heather. They both shrugged. When it came to men fighting over meat products, there really wasn’t any other reaction.

Heather slid off Brody’s lap and stood as he and Parker lunged at the tray of ribs.

Alex sniggered. “Did you know Parker once flirted with vegetarianism?”

She smirked at her brother’s question. “Yeah, I remember. Lasted five minutes. Until Uncle Matt turned him back to the dark side and taught him his grill master ways.”

Sophie said, “I remember that! Oh, how funny.” She excitedly explained to Jace. “Parker was 4-H. We all were. Do you know what that is?”

Some things were universal. Jace responded. “Agriculture club, right? There are similar programs all around the world. Why is it important?”

“It’s important”—Sophie simpered—“because ole Parker lost his shit in spectacular fashion after a lesson in animal husbandry. If I recall correctly, he hurled into a trash can. Am I right?” she asked Alex.

“You tell the story wrong. As usual,” Parker grumbled to her grinning brother and sister. “It was food poisoning. I wasn’t squeamish.”

Angie bit back a laugh when Alex answered the verbal challenge. “Is that why you cried over what happens to chickens? Because of food poisoning?”

Finn laughed a bit too loud and earned an immediate dark scowl from her snarling husband. To Angie’s astonishment, the Irishman instantly backed down and even gestured his surrender. Unless she was mistaken, Parker had something on Meghan’s little brother.

Hmm. Interesting.

Their entire group looked up and went silent when Cam stomped up to them and took a belligerent posture. Angie’s eyes swept left to right. Everyone had a teenager in detention expression. Even her.

She gulped. What the hell made his scowl so ferocious?

“If even one of you fuckers has a dirty thought, I will use you for batting practice. Understand?”

Draegyn laughed first and raised his hand. “Call on me,” he quipped.

Angie heard Alex’s soft chuckle and figured everything was all right—despite Cam’s menacing behavior.

Drae kept going. “Should I tell you if my thoughts get dirty? Or draw a picture?” Tori shoved her husband with her shoulder and told him to behave.

Rafe stood and flexed his ridiculous muscles. “Don’t worry, Popeye. If anyone looks sideways at your girl, I’ll pound ’em into the floor.”

Roman groaned. “Jesus. The last thing we need is you two going at it. Sit down and shut up,” he snarled. “Showtime, people.”

Angie giggled and wrapped around Parker’s thick arm. She didn’t know what Lacey had planned, but it involved Domineau, Remy, a piano, and a dancer’s pole. If this was what she thought, there wasn’t much wonder in why Cameron was acting possessive and territorial. He shouldn’t worry, though. Lacey took pole gymnastics took a level beyond eleven. She was beauty in motion, and every single one of the ladies envied her skill.

Meghan shushed them all and motioned to Finn, who stepped onto the stage. He took a microphone off its stand and walked the lip of the stage while he talked.

“I know what you’re all thinking,” he said with his usual disarming smile. “How much does it cost to close down Pete’s for a private party.”

Alex yelled out that his brother-in-law was a money-grubbing son-of-a-bitch—a comment met with agreeing nods and mild applause.

“There’s a published fee,” he continued, “and then there’s the Justice modifier.”

“Family discount?” Jace yelled.

Calder laughed loudest and got there first with a reply. “More like family price gouge, right Finn?”

Finn’s arrogant grin was pure gold. “Don’t think of it as a gouge. Think of it as a surcharge. Thousand dollars an hour.”

“Plus food and drinks,” Meghan countered.

Parker took her hand, lifted it for a kiss, and chuckled at the banter. Princess Sullivan decided this was a good time to wake up and join the party. Rubbing her tummy, she murmured, “I’m pretty sure your daughter will be a troublemaker.”

“Why do you think that?” he asked.

“Because she tends to get active when the snark begins. I think she likes it.”

“So here’s the deal,” Finn explained. “After some arm wringing and a technical assist, Pete’s is now outfitted with a removable dance pole.”

He took the audience on a tour of the modifications this equipment called for.

“Oh”—Brody chuckled—“I get it now. This is why people thought Pete’s is gearing up for pole dancing.”

Cam shot to his feet and glared at them. “It’s not pole dancing. Understand?”

“Touchy, touchy,” Parker jested.

“Be nice,” Alex grumbled. “Enough talking, Finn. The more they talk, the higher the likelihood that punches will be thrown.”

“Get on with it, you spotlight hog,” Domineau hollered from the shadows. “Nobody cares about your tiny dick problems.”

“That’s my girl!” Rafe proudly declared. “Filthy mouth and all.”

“On that note,” Finn drawled, “let’s turn the fuckery spigot on and see where we end up.”

He put the microphone back on the stand and waved the first act to the stage.

“Performing “Glitter in the Air,” for the first and probably last time, give it up for Remy, Domineau and the incredibly impressive Mrs. Jason Cameron.”

Angie gasped with surprise when Lacey appeared in a very sexy black leotard that covered her from shoulders to ankles. Swirling designs in glimmering gold accented her fantastic figure. Her hair was swept out of the way into a halo of blond that shimmered in the stage light. She walked up to the pole and grasped it with one hand.

As Remy’s haunting piano filled the room, Domineau’s smoky voice started softly.

At first, Lacey stood still. Then she gracefully walked in slow circles, building the anticipation. Angie held her breath. When Domineau sang about a fistful of glitter in the air, Lacey flipped and twirled as her long, lithe body outlined in sparkling gold swung into a mesmerizing routine that rendered everyone speechless.

As the stunning piano and pitch-perfect vocal filled the air, young Lacey Cameron schooled them all in the ways of being a total goddess. Angie didn’t know half the moves she pulled off were possible. It was as though she possessed unlimited strength, flexibility, and had the ability to defy gravity.

She looked at Cameron. He was in a trance, but she understood. Such beauty took your breath away.

When it was over and Lacey had gracefully landed on her toes, a long moment of thunderstruck silence hung in the air.

Then, she gave a waving flourish and took a deep bow the way only a true goddess could.

Charlie jumped to her feet, hollered, “Bravo,” and began clapping. The sound must have shaken the group from their stupefied lull because, as a whole, they all stood and unloaded a round of applause.

“Well, fuck,” Parker murmured into her ear. “Shit just got real, huh?”

Being a pregnant wife and dutiful sub meant she’d used whatever advantage those two things gave her and drove her husband crazy until he gave her a tiny glimpse of what the boys had planned.

She stroked his face. “Honey, all sorts of new hashtags are being generated as we speak. I wouldn’t worry all that much. Not after kilted alphas take the stage.”

He didn’t just kiss her. He grabbed her hair and moved his mouth on hers, smothering and demanding. The things he did with his tongue made her moan with longing.

Before leaving to get ready for the next performance, he stroked her bump. “Are you okay? It’s been a long day, and you’ve been on your feet a lot.”

“I’m fine,” she assured him. “Although this seems like the best time to ask a question.”

He arched a brow.

“Is it okay to spank a pregnant woman?” She shrugged off the inquiry and mumbled, “Asking for a friend.”

Meghan freaked them all out earlier with her panic over Alex’s reaction to their musical number. She was concerned that the costumes were skirting a line and wasn’t sure strutting their goodies on stage was such a great idea. Maybe she was right. As it was, she had all sorts of considerations going on for her part in the scheme, including making damn sure her belly remained covered at all times.

Her dominating husband had no problem with her wearing something stretchy and skintight that showed off their baby bump. But he reacted like a grumpy bear when skin was visible. To him, the bump where their child curled inside her was something sacred. Special. And for no one’s eyes but theirs.

“Asked like a wife who knows in advance that she went too far.”

She made a face. “I told you, asking for a friend.”

“Is anyone but you pregnant?”

Damn. She forgot.

He snicker-chuckled and lifted her chin with his finger. “Angelina Sullivan. The day you stop being a handful is the day I get worried. Am I expecting you to challenge the boundaries? Of course! You also know the rules,” he gravely reminded her. “As long as you don’t color too far outside the lines, your bottom is safe. Maybe a little pink, but nothing requiring a pillow to sit on.”

Oh, my! It felt all kinds of wicked that she pulsed with interest. Parker knew his way around an erotic spanking. And taking the kinky habit into the realm of an actual punishment was not a horrifying thought. What did that say about her?

“Just answer me one thing before you dash off. Will the kilts include coverage? I’m not okay with anyone catching a glimpse of the Sullivan cock.”

He grinned. “We all have rules, Angel. Even me,” he conceded with a slight nod. “I believe Alex and Finn are trying to outdo each other with authenticity, but everyone else will be sporting bloomers.”

She giggled at his choice of descriptive words as he swaggered away.

* * *

“Alrighty then,” Domineau drawled into the microphone. She held up a piece of paper. “I got the short straw, so this introduction is on me.”

Meghan couldn’t stop smiling. She didn’t know what was coming but was relatively positive it would be memorable.

Slipping on a prop pair of rhinestone cat-eye reading glasses Domineau cleared her throat and spoke like a college valedictorian delivering a major address.

“The Haka is a traditional Maori ceremonial dance. Originally performed by warriors to proclaim their strength and prowess, the vigorous movements have been adapted to suit the occasion and audience.”

She looked up from the paper and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. C’mon, ladies,” she cheered. “Give it up for the Justice clan with their interpretation of the Haka.”

A loud grunt boomed from the shadows, and then all the guys streamed onto the stage from both sides. Instead of Haka garb, they were outfitted in kilts and Doc Martins. Beneath the stage lights, it was obvious that they’d oiled up for maximum muscle viewing.

Meghan swooned, and then she screamed like a champion fangirl.

“Holy shnikes.” Stephanie giggled.

Remy burbled a stunned sounding, “Oh my god.”

Lacey, still dressed in her gold embellished leotard, let out an impressive wolf-whistle.

Charlie screamed, “Hubba hubba,” when Caleb crossed his arms and struck a pose.

Kelly laughed. Then laughed some more. She was having a hard time keeping it together—maybe because Roman and Rafe were the stars of the routine.

Barry and Grey, who were manning the bar and keeping the food moving, laughed their asses off.

“Dammit!” Sophie yelled. “Cell phone embargo. Not fair!”

Meghan kind of agreed. More than a dozen chest thumping alphas in kilts was a visual she hated to let pass without being photographed—but Duke put his foot down and demanded this be a no-photos after party. Part of being in a security bubble included not inadvertently giving anyone ammunition that might prove embarrassing.

Murmuring, “Oh my goodness,” she put a hand on her heart and exclaimed, “They’re so sweet.”

Sophie seemed bemused. “Sweet?” she yelped over the loud grunts.

Finding her sister-in-law’s confusion adorable, she pointed out the obvious.

“Yes. Sweet, Soph! Do you really imagine any of the guys just woke up one day and thought—Ya know what? I’m going to put on a kilt, get on a stage, and act like a caveman.” Meghan’s expression conveyed her certainty on this. “C’mon. Sweet barely covers Jace or Cam or Draegyn participating in this foolishness. Finn and Alex are sort of obligated. And maybe Calder. But all of them?”

They watched the chest slapping and foot stomping for a few seconds. Then Sophie shared her feelings, and Meghan silently happy danced.

“Jace is amazing,” she very quietly murmured. “He loves Teo, and even my dad is a card-carrying member of his fan club.”

“He’s a great guy, Soph. We all see how much he adores Teo. And you.”

Sophie’s gaze met hers. A slow-moving smile crept onto her sister-in-law’s face.

“It’s his ass,” Sophie drawled.

“His what?”

“His ass,” she repeated. “First time I noticed him was here. At Pete’s. I was having lunch with Parker and noticed a guy with hot cowboy ass leaning on the bar.” Her face colored, and she smirked. “Great view.”

“But I thought you two knew each other. From before.”

“We did. But the European businessman I met on a vacation in Greece was the last guy I expected to find at an Arizona bar dressed in cowboy boots and booty molding jeans. To say I was stunned when he turned around is an understatement.”

Meghan smiled. “That’s how I felt the day I knocked on the Villa’s door. When it opened, and I saw your brother standing on the other side, well”—she chuckled—“nothing’s been the same since.”

The kilted Haka ended, and they cheered, whistled, hollered, clapped, and caused general mayhem. Meghan noticed when Jace winked at Sophie. Observing the lovebirds was like watching a Doris Day movie. Sexy fun without any obvious hanky-panky. In other words, old-school courtship done in the age of public excess.

Sophie said something between cheers that made Meghan look at her twice.

“I think he’s the one.”

She replied bluntly. “Does he know that?”

“Yes.”

Hmph. She chewed her lip and pondered this nugget. “Is there a problem?”

“I have difficulty expressing certain things.” Sophie shrugged. “It’s silly, really. In our case, he can say it, but I’m the one with the language problem. Usually the other way around, isn’t it?”

Interesting observation and very astute. It made sense that Sophie would have a hard time with the whole dance of love concept. After what she’d been through, it was hardly a surprise. But it was also a surprise how genuinely sweet and loving she actually was—as a person. After you stripped away the protective outer shell, she was just as vulnerable and fragile as everyone else.

She considered several options for a response and went with something personal.

“Maybe what you describe is a family trait. I had to level some threats before your brother found his sense. Are you waiting for Jace to force the issue, Sophie? Are you prepared for what that may mean? Be careful, sis. Sometimes patience is misread. Compassion isn’t passive—it’s actually a strong alpha trait. He wants you to meet him halfway—that’s all. If I were you, I’d take the leap.”

The house lights came on, and teams of waitstaff started weaving through the group to take orders and deliver food.

Sophie grabbed her in a surprise hug and said, “Thanks.”

“Any time.”

A waitress approached, holding a tall glass filled with ice, lemon wedges, and several lime chunks.

“Sparkling water, Mrs. Marquez. Compliments of your husband.”

Sophie laughed. “Is his message to stay hydrated, not drink, or is this one filed under general bossiness?”

“A little of all,” she answered with a sly grin.

* * *

“Calder, you got this?”

Parker checked out Alex’s uncle and made sure he was stage ready. The whole idea of this craziness was to bring the unexpected. Calder at the microphone qualified.

Brody was having a good laugh. Probably because the aging surfer dressed as Billy Idol was fucking fantastic. The hair was a bit of a challenge, but with enough styling shit and some clever lighting, it was fine. Plus, nobody would be focused on his hair. Not when they got a look at the black leather getup and his practiced snarl.

Finn and Parker huddled in a corner with their instruments. Another of Alex’s heavy-handed edicts for tonight included banning Berger from being part of the event. It made sense, and the bass player didn’t give a shit. But passing on his contribution meant Finn had to play bass to Parker’s lead, and those two had a habit of pushing each other’s buttons. In other words, a potential shitstorm stared them in the face.

Alex walked by, twirling his sticks. He smirked at Brody and then turned to Calder. “Nice boots, man. You def look the part.”

His uncle snarled into the wall mirror and raised his leather-bound wrist. “Yeah, I’ve got this.” Calder chuckled.

Fluent French came across the PA system and earned a group snigger. Jace must be doing the intro.

Brody straightened. “All right, men. I’m out. Have fun.”

Calder reminded him to make sure Stephanie was in front of the stage. He waved a thumbs-up and dashed into the audience as Jace babbled who the fuck knew what.

Finding Heather, he twirled her in a circle and stuck his tongue down her throat because why not. She tasted like butterscotch and whiskey.

They clung to each other. She was still in costume although he knew a change was coming.

“Stephanie Dane,” he boomed when Jace shut up. “Move your ass down front.”

Everyone laughed and pushed her forward. When she was in place, the guys strode on stage and ripped through a rocking version of “Rebel Yell” that got the ladies dancing. Stephanie danced most energetically of all, twirling and stomping to the beat.

As the song neared the end, everyone got in on the chorus, screaming, “More, more, more,” in the appropriate spots. Calder did a passable Billy Idol. So far so good.

There was lots of good-natured ribbing when the song wrapped up and Calder jumped from the stage and dropped a raunchy kiss on his shrieking wife. Within minutes, the piano was back beneath the spotlight with Angie’s hands on the ivory keys.

Nobody sang like Angie. Her vocals were always so mesmerizing that she held the audience in the palm of her hand from the first note. There was a huge lump in his throat, and Heather was sniffing as the talented chanteuse brought “Tiny Dancer” in for a landing. The poignant Elton John classic and the Sullivan’s baby ballerina references gave him goose bumps.

Parker was waiting at the edge of the stage. When she finished and the last notes faded, she stood and walked into his arms. It occurred to him that he and Heather were surrounded by a lot of love.

* * *

Remy shivered when Finn pressed her against the cool wall with his hot and sweaty body. Not from the temperature—from Finn’s ravenous hunger and forceful demeanor. She wasn’t used to being so boldly taken. It felt right. Oh, so very right.

His tongue tracing her lips sent her pulse racing, and waves of desire crashed into her center. The music released his bad boy side. Remy liked Finn’s inner hooligan. That was what Paddy called his youngest son—a hooligan. In a weird way, the term fit.

“Thanks for leaving me my tonsils,” she chided after a particularly yummy oral invasion.

He grinned down at her. The dark hallway behind the stage shrouded them from view. Though she ended the kiss, her hands continued to fist his T-shirt. Too late she realized that if she’d jumped on him and wrapped her legs around his waist in a skirt, the experience might be more than a little naughty.

“Maybe I should check those tonsils from a different angle.” His leather-clad thigh pushed between her legs. Without thinking, she ground her pelvis on the convenient ridge.

Flustered, she clutched at him and murmured, “What angle?”

His grin got bigger—more wicked. “From the other end.”

Oh, Jesus. He was talking about his tongue doing things between her legs.

Tempting but, nah. Not this second anyway—so she playfully smacked his chest and gave a gentle shove. The smirk she tried to tamp down bloomed on her face anyway.

“For god’s sake, Beantown.”

“What?” He chuckled. “No good? Too fast or too direct?”

“You’re pushing again.”

“Yeah,” he agreed. “But you’re not running away quite so fast. I call that progress.”

Changing the conversation’s direction was her best move. Now wasn’t the time to discuss this.

“I have to change.” She wasn’t kidding. This costume thing took time. “We’re up next.”

“Need any help?”

Strangely, she didn’t know how to answer. Surprising herself first and him second, she put a hand on his neck and felt his strength. Her kiss was sweet and full of promise. Promise she finally felt might be more and more possible.

Staring at each other in the darkness, Remy’s eyes felt fully open for the first time. She’d done everything she could think of to drive him away, yet, through all of her bullshit, he remained constant. Finn never wavered, not even once. That fact alone made her a fool for not taking him on. What was she waiting for? If not Finn, who? Did she imagine someone else would be more faithful? More tolerant? More understanding?

Oh my god, she thought. What the hell am I doing?

The tiny bubble of an idea bounced around in her brain. Waiting for her to declare her feelings was a really stupid move. She wasn’t that brave. At all. Not about this. Fear that she’d fuck up or, worse, fall apart when things got intimate, had her in a bind.

His eyes bored into hers. She wanted to do something. For him. A gesture. He earned a public declaration. Could she do it?

A fast grin spread on her face. He jolted at her sudden change.

“No, I do not need help. And yes, I’m the one in white.”

“My angel.” He chuckled.

“Fallen angel, Finn. Don’t forget that part.”

He stroked her throat and gently teased the skin above her shirt.

“The color white doesn’t only signify innocence or purity.”

She was listening with her heart—a new experience that shifted her awareness.

“It also means new beginnings. Wiping the slate clean. You’re an artist. White is the color of a blank canvas. Did you choose the color, or did it choose you? Either way, honey, this is your chance to paint your life however you want.”

A mildly startling confession tumbled out of her mouth. “I didn’t want to stand out. Draw attention to myself. White seemed safe. Neutral.”

Did he find her bemusement funny? Was that why he was smiling?

“Newsflash, my beauty. A white corset with your black hair? Add some red lipstick and baby, you’ll be a boner-inducing Snow White.”

Boner inducing? What should she do? She blinked in stunned silence. Him teasing her about sexual stuff was new.

An involuntary snort of laughter took the decision out of her hands.

“Oh, nice!” She snorted several times because apparently laughing like a normal person wasn’t going to happen. “Now I’ll be thinking about boners.”

His answering chuckle was sexy as all get-out.

“The only boner I want you thinking about is mine.”

He shocked the holy crap out of her by taking her hand and pressing it on his leather covered bulge.

“One hundred percent pure Irish Grade A Prime.”

Oh, come on. Seriously? How the hell was she supposed to keep it together in the face of such audacious macho-speak?

Maybe what Mr. Smarty Pants Hooligan needed was a reminder that she wasn’t a twit. She had a few comebacks guaranteed to make him crazy.

“I like brisket,” she told him in a dry, matter-of-fact voice. “Your brisket especially. Done to perfection. Meaty. Tasty. A glorious mouthful.”

She intended to keep going, but he smacked her ass and pushed her toward the dressing room.

“Cut it out, Ms. Bisset. You already have my full attention. No need to make me embarrass myself before the main event.”

Well, okay then! She giggled, marveled at the sound, twinkled her fingers, and took off running.

* * *

“What the hell is that laughter about?” Meghan griped. “It’s been going on for ten minutes.”

Charlie moved to the doorway of the makeshift dressing room and listened. “Unless I’m mistaken, your brother is entertaining your husband with dirty limericks. Judging by the sounds, I’d say the men enjoy Irish vulgarity.”

“Ooh, limericks! Awesome.” Tori sniggered. Her playful friend stepped up alongside and nudged her. “What are they saying?”

She stuck her head out the door in time to hear a good one that she repeated with gusto.

“There once was a fellow named McSweeny 

Who spilled some gin on his weenie 

Just to be couth 

He added vermouth 

Then slipped his girlfriend a martini”

The whole room cracked up.

“Moulin Rouge and Irish Limericks.” Charlie laughed. “Sounds about right for this bunch.”

Sophie made some rude comments that made Meghan laugh.

Stephanie came from behind and wrapped her arms about Charlie’s waist. She dropped her chin on her shoulder and hugged her.

“We’re so glad you’re a part of this.”

Turning around, Charlie kissed the woman’s cheek.

“Being here is like plugging in for a recharge. The current of energy this group creates is unlike anything I’ve ever experienced. And that’s saying a lot, considering my pedigree. Shit, I’ve got a Broadway legend for a grandmother, so breaking into song at the dinner table isn’t exactly a foreign concept.”

“I know, right shugah?” Stephanie motioned with her head to the room of ladies. “In some ways, this is what I’m used to. Pageants, know what I mean?”

Charlie sniggered, rolled her eyes, and nodded. She wasn’t a fan of female objectification—not when done for ratings or financial benefit.

“But I know what you mean about this being different. It might be part of the reason I feel so complete. Nobody here is competing. It’s funny but true. The love and absolute support these gals have for each other is truly extraordinary.”

She admitted something out loud for the first time and let the words take flight—out into the universe.

“I’m thinking about talking to Caleb—feel him out. See what he says. Our families are back east, but we really love it here. When we went to check out the place Kelly and Roman decided on for a vacation home, there was a big plot of land nearby that would be perfect for Jax and Caleb’s dream of creating a tiny home compound.”

“How weird,” Stephanie murmured. “Calder has been going on about tiny homes. He has some nerd plan for sustainable this and that. Solar things and all kinds of cool stuff. Alex and the boys have been talking about a tiny home scheme for vets needing a hand.”

This didn’t surprise Charlie. “It’s not just the women creating extraordinary energy.”

Domineau swaggered over to them and wolf-whistled Stephanie’s outfit. “Gurl,” she drawled. “We make this ringmaster shit look good!”

It was true. They did. Wearing similar but differently colored corsets and cutaways, Stephanie wore cute, sexy ankle boots and a burlesque meets steampunk looking skirt.

But Domineau, she of the incredible height and long legs, she took this shit supersonic. Working off her strengths, the Amazon badass went for dangerous cleavage, a cinched waist worth dying for, and a pair of shiny stretch leggings that disappeared into thigh high leather boots with dangerous heels and naughty BDSM-style laces.

Remy wandered toward them with a surprisingly confident swagger. Before now, she’d been working overtime trying to be invisible.

Domineau offered a few staggeringly raunchy comments about her friend’s costume. Stephanie gurgled with delight when the two went at each other for a short yet highly amusing verbal bitch-fest.

“You’re just jealous because my tits are real,” Remy snarled.

The group of ladies gasped at the same time before sniggering with laughter.

Domineau gave her the finger. “Suck my dick, Bisset. These babies are the gen-u-wine thing.” For emphasis, she shook her ta-tas and gestured with her hands. “See?”

Charlie grinned and snicker-laughed.

“Shugah!” Stephanie cooed to Remy. “The red vixen lipstick is perfection!”

“Shhh!” Meghan hissed and held her hands up for silence. “I think our intro is happening.”

“Buckle up, gals,” Heather stage-whispered. “Remember, the chorus first followed by the principle performers.”

They shuffled into order with her, Remy, and Kelly doing chorus backup.

Domineau and Stephanie would follow.

Then the star performers took their place.

Meghan in naughty and revealing teal.

Angie in a sexy but demur baby doll-style costume.

Heather rocking a nearly see-through pink blush corset and outrageous shoes.

Sophie in vivid green.

Lacey and Tori in black and vibrant purple.

Showtime!

* * *

Feeling more than a bit inebriated and way too pumped on adrenaline, Alex made a mess of the girls’ introduction. Not even the cheat sheet pressed into his hand before he started talking made any difference. The minute he saw the words Moulin Rouge, his dick got hard, and his brain took a hike when he finally understood his wife’s earlier words.

Crumpling the paper into a ball, he scraped a hand through his hair right before a deep, drawn-out belch rumbled out of him and into the microphone.

A cacophony of answering grunts and forced burps rang out.

Yeah, this wasn’t going so great.

And it didn’t help that Drae was giving him a barrage of nonstop shit at the front of the stage. He frowned at the guy’s antics.

Finn cracked open a case of Macallan that was currently unleashing a case of the stupids. And stupid when coupled with Justice always led to consequences.

Rafe’s big, brawny paw shot out and grabbed Sinjin by the earlobe. Drae squawked and went to his knees in record time.

“Shut the fuck up, you monkey dicks,” he bellowed. “And show the Major some respect.”

“Ignore these cretins! Continue, Wolf Pup,” Calder drunkenly hollered.

Roman shoved Cam out of the way. Catching him unawares and unprepared for the assault, the guy crashed to the floor.

Parker was so wasted that all he could do was laugh and point.

Finn, who refused to take off his kilt, kept threatening to flash anyone who refused a whiskey shot.

Fuck. What was he supposed to be doing? Alex covered his eyes to block the spotlight. Oh, right. The girls. Moulin Rouge. His dick.

He caught sight of Barry and Grey behind the bar. They were both grinning and laughing.

“Snap to it!” he barked. It was enough to get nearly everyone standing at attention.

Satisfied that at least his voice of authority still worked, he swallowed and tested his ability to speak.

“I have no idea what the ladies have planned– and neither do you,” he reminded the men. “And I’m too shift-aced, um, shit-faced to read, but I don’t think, ‘here they are’ will do, so I’ll just say this. Earlier, my wife reminded me that she is the mother of my children. I think in wife-speak that was the equivalent of a pre-emptive defense for what’s about to happen.”

Murmurs and nods greeted this comment. Good.

“So, blah-yada-blah, and something about Moulin Rouge. Give it up for Lady Justice.”

He jumped off the stage, miscalculated the short distance, and nearly landed on his face. Luckily, Parker’s reflexes kicked in and saved him from a bloody nose and mouth.

Laughter boomed from the speakers, and Remy, Charlie and Kelly strutted into the spotlight in a flurry of feather boas and fancy moves.

Domineau and Stephanie followed. Dressed like strip club circus masters, they taunted the audience, suggested strapping on a pair and told them to get ready for Moulin Bendover.

The music started. So did the vocals. Next thing he knew, his eyesight was flooded with more makeup, hairspray, rhinestones, and Victoria’s Secret-style shit than he’d ever seen. Than any of them had ever seen if the slack-jawed speechlessness was any indication.

The men went wild with appreciation, and shit got wild. Their bump and grind moves were right on the edge, but what got him and Parker looking at each other with raised brows was the decorated flogger Meghan was swinging around, the black leather crop with the red heart-shaped tab Angie used with great flourish, and—holy fuckballs on a stick—Kelly had a mini whip that she wasn’t afraid to snap and crack. The expression on Roman’s face was fucking epic.

Angie handled the rap stylings with mesmerizing aplomb. He had to give it to his sister—she had tremendous talent.

What stopped them dead was sweet Lacey Cameron putting Cam on his knees, literally, when she knocked it out of the ballpark with her version of Christina Aguilera’s titillating performance.

All of the women brought it.

Alex was stunned. Pleased. Territorial. Turned on. Seeing his wild Irish fuck goddess in a costume intended to seduce got the desired effect. So did watching her joyful performance. The rhinestone bling’ed flogger was a nice touch.

Beside him, Parker growled, “Give me strength.” They looked at each other. “Your sister is asking for it.”

He laughed. “You mean your wife, right? Get in line, pal. Have my own naughty spouse to handle.”

By the song’s finish, he was sure every single couple was actively planning the appropriate fuckery for the night’s end.

* * *

Nobody changed after the burlesque number. They high fived and giggled together in the dressing room for five minutes and then went to face the music.

Kelly already knew how Roman felt about the performance—and her intentional teasing. It was plain to see—right on his face. Her man gave the best lustful leer around. Not that she noticed or cared about the other guys. In Roman’s case, that smoldering intensity was part of who he was. She understood why his prowess as an interrogator was acclaimed. When he got mad and got a certain look, she was more than willing to confess her every sin.

Stashing the cute leather whip in her bag, she snicker-coughed, remembering his expression when she cracked it. His eyes burned with a fire that nearly singed her skin.

Did she hope he’d use the sexy apparatus on her later?

Absolutely.

They were greeted with playful scolding and quite a few raunchy, possessive kisses. She flew to Roman’s side and rubbed on him like a cat in heat. His cock was hard, and she growled against his throat when her fingers mapped his flesh.

“Is that for me?”

“Oh, most definitely.” He chortled. “Turn around,” he commanded.

“Why?”

His eyes burned with lust. “So I can decide.”

Her whole body pulsed and throbbed with staggering arousal. He threatened to take her ass more than he actually did. She wasn’t sure what was sexier. The way she responded to ass play or the promise of when. It wasn’t something she wanted on the menu all the time, but she kind of liked those special occasions when he took everything. Kelly enjoyed those times when he left nothing on the table.

She performed a burlesque twirl, bent slightly for maximum presentation and wiggled her butt in low seductive arcs. It didn’t matter that they weren’t alone since all of the ladies were in similar situations.

Barry whistled and drew their attention. “Ice. Glasses. Whiskey.” He pointed at a table set up with drinks.

He taped his watch. “Five minutes and then the next performance.”

Roman grunted. He snagged two shots and handed her one. “This little stunt is making you far too giddy.”

They clinked glasses, and she shrugged through a smile when shooting back the whiskey. She tried not to giggle, but the whiskey made it difficult.

“What penalty do you have in mind?”

The minute the words came out of her mouth and she saw his eyes flare, she knew she’d handed him a huge advantage. She just wasn’t sure what the advantage was until he spoke.

He looked around, poured them each a second half-shot, and then kissed her into quivering submission.

“The wedding is in April. Spring break. You’ll make a beautiful spring bride.”

“What?” she squawked.

“Someplace in New York. Maybe a bed and breakfast upstate where we can hang out and plan events.”

“Roman,” she murmured. “Hold up.”

“Nope. Sorry, Tesoro. No can do. You can’t strut your stuff like that and not be wearing my ring. There are just some things that I’m not okay with. You belong to me. I want it legal. And I want Matty’s adoption wrapped up. Oh, and I want a kid. Soon.”

She considered smacking the arrogant off his face. His beautiful, handsome face. The face that did wicked things between her legs. The face that she woke up to every morning. The face of her future.

Pouting for all she was worth, Kelly leaned against him, drew things on his chest and even cocked a hip. “Do I have a say in any of this?”

He lifted her chin with his finger. “What do you want to say, Kelly?”

Many things came to mind. What came from her mouth, though, were the only words that mattered.

“I love you, Roman Bishop.”

* * *

“Raise your hand if there’s a spanking in your future.”

All their hands went up except for Sophie and Remy when Red asked the question.

Tori smiled happily. For her first real outing since Ryder was born, this whole day had been more than fun. Her boobs, however, needed some relief. She’d nursed the baby after the variety show and sent him off to the Villa for the night in the capable hands of Carmen the family elders along with extra milk But that was hours ago and her gauge was set on full.

“Shugah honey,” her mom cheerfully drawled. She pulled her in for a big hug. “You were magnificent! Draegyn’s face was priceless.”

“Baby pooch and all,” she joked. “Although a corset helps.”

“Oh, sweetie, good lord. You could grow a second head, and that man wouldn’t flinch. He’s changed, Victoria. And I’m not the only one who thinks so. Calder has known him a long time, and I see it in other people’s eyes. Until recently, it’s safe to say the general opinion was that he didn’t deserve you. Now? Hell. When I catch him unawares with Daniel or when he’s got Ryder in a Snugli, my heart melts. He’s a good man, and I’m proud to have him as a son-in-law.”

“Stop, Mom. You’re going to make me cry.”

“Some tears are good. You go ahead and cry. Have you given any thought to where you and Draegyn are going? The baby is seven weeks old now. You two need a break and some couple’s time.”

“I’m not sure. We’ve kicked around a couple of options. Don’t laugh but we’re gravitating away from a romantic spa getaway in favor of something a bit more vigorous.”

“Vigorous? What does that mean?”

“Draegyn knows someone who can hook us up with a luxury houseboat and all the toys for a Lake Powell adventure. We can hike or jet ski. Or do nothing. Whatever we want. There’s a crew to do the boating and facilitate, so it’d be so relaxing. Away from things. Just the two of us. We can arrange for the crew to leave at night.”

“It sounds romantic and perfect.” Her mother beamed at her. “You’ve grown up too, Victoria.”

“Here we go, here we go,” Heather squealed. “Shh! Let’s hear what Lacey says.”

“Ladies, I just want you to know that no matter the boys bring, we totally killed it!”

They jumped up and down, chanted, “Nailed it,” and high fived with glee.

“It is now my pleasure to give you the Men of Justice performing to “Need You Tonight.”

“Oh, my fucking god,” Tori screamed when the guys, led by a grinning Rafe, swaggered into place.

As soon as the classic INXS song boomed through the speaker system, they were treated to a Magic Mike-style male review that rivaled the ladies’ raunchy burlesque show.

There was screaming. And fangirling. A few dollar bills may have been thrown. When they stripped, each guy wore a pair of black briefs with their woman’s name spelled in silver glitter across their groins.

Tori felt her face flame. Draegyn’s manly parts were barely contained in the skimpy undies. She glanced at her mom and found her smirking at Calder. She squeezed her eyes shut—determined not to check out her stepfather’s appearance.

Rafe had no problem being lead exhibitionist. Domineau snorted with barely disguised admiration when she said, “He did Chippendales. Did you know?”

Obviously mesmerized by Cam’s participation in this fuckery, Lacey was giggling with a hand over her mouth. Tarted up as she was, her friend made a fetching picture. So did her husband. Jason Cameron was one of those guys who either didn’t realize or didn’t care how gorgeous he was. All the ladies agreed that this unconcerned quality helped make his smoldering hotness highly appealing.

Tori watched Cam for a few seconds. He and her husband had matching tattoos—a fact that she rarely connected with unless they were shirtless and side-by-side.

Brody, of course, put his theatrical hamminess to good use—spurring Rafe on because guys were normally competitive. Jace knew his way around some sexy moves that got a couple of woot-woots.

Parker and Alex looked like matching bronze statues. Big, solid, and imposing.

Roman swaggered to the lead position and gyrated through a couple of jaw-dropping moves that made Kelly blush.

The surprise was Caleb Merrill. He had kept away from the performance stuff but not so much when it came to an end-of-night strip routine. Charlie looked like she was about to eat him alive.

Something at the periphery of the activity caught her eye. It was Remy. She stared at Finn with an intensity hot enough to strip paint from metal.

It was over far too soon, and everyone settled into a gaggle of lap sitting females and barely dressed males.

Barry tossed a pile of pants onto a table and suggested the men cover up.

They were fooling around, mugging jokes, and making general mayhem when Tori noticed Remy was missing. She looked for her and found the raven-haired beauty on the side of the stage talking to Grey.

“What’s that all about?” Angie asked.

Tori murmured, “Dunno.”

Parker swept into their midst with an armload of socks and boots. The men hurried to add some dignity to their wardrobe situation.

She glanced at Finn. He was frozen in place about ten feet from the stage—just watching.

Grey and Barry pushed the piano into place and whispered with Remy. She nodded and touched each man on the arm.

Tori’s curiosity was piqued. Within seconds, everyone’s attention shifted, and silence fell.

Something important was up. She could feel it.