Cupid In Heels

by Suzanne Halliday

  “Mom!” Chelsea screamed. “Really?”

  “Yes, sweetie. For really real. A family. Mom, dad, and bratty kid.”

  “Oh, Mr. Lloyd,” Chelsea said through unexpected tears.

  He jumped in and said the words he had on his tongue. “If it’s too early for Dad, please call me John.”

  Chelsea looked at him—looked at her mom—looked at the necklace—and then at her mom once more. She scrubbed a hand across her eyes to wipe away the tears and nodded.

  “I’ve never had a dad. He’s dead and everything.”

  “He was a great guy, Chelsea, and we’re never going to forget him, okay?”

  The hesitation was killing him, but Sam appeared serene and calm, so he took his cues from her. “Shall we be a family?” she asked.

  Chelsea surprised him by wiggling off her chair, hugging her mom, and then hugging him.

  He clasped the necklace around her dainty throat. Then he kissed her on both cheeks and smiled broadly.

  “Now it’s official!”

  They whooped and hollered like mindless idiots exchanging lots of hugs and laughs. Quite a few promises too. He told Chelsea she was gaining a grandmother who liked shoes. Samantha explained she planned to stay home and be a full-time mom.

  It was an overload of joyful exuberance.

  When it was time, he and Sam walked hand in hand with Chelsea to the corner bus stop. After the yellow beast pulled up and the other kids clambered aboard, Chelsea hung back. When there was nothing left to do except board, she stopped on the first step, turned, and said, “Bye, Mom. Bye, Dad.” Then she giggled and scrambled onto the bus, leaving them standing there stunned.

  A man who appeared no less than a mirror image of George Clooney adjusted his tie and chuckled. “I have to tell you, Ryan, that I think your dad would find this situation most amusing.”

  “Which part?” he asked. “The suddenness or the undeniable fact that I’m marrying up?”

  Jenna laughed at his jest and poked him in the ribs. “Scruffy rogue. I can’t believe you’re wearing that for our wedding.”

  Judge Winborn’s broad smile made Ryan smile too. The guy had been besties with Greg Lloyd, so it seemed perfect to ask the man—who also happened to be his godfather—to invoke his judicial authority so he and Jen could be husband and wife. It was classic two targets and one stone as he was a dad substitute and the best man too.

  “Afraid you’ll just have to get used to it, my dear,” the judge said to Jen. “Both of Greg’s sons inherited something from their dad. For John, it’s a brain that races a million miles an hour and his love of facts. In Ryan’s case,” he said with a chuckle, “he got the nature boy genes. And with it the sartorial habits of a Sherpa on vacation. He’s just like his dad. Never met a suit and tie he wouldn’t scowl at.”

  “I suppose that explains this ... whatever,” Jen said with a smirk while her hands gestured at his outfit.

  “Aw, come on,” Ryan groused. “It’s not that bad. This shirt was made specially for me.”

  “Would it have killed you to shave?”

  “She has you there, son.” The judge snickered.

  “I didn’t have time because someone”—he smirked with both pointer fingers directed at his bride—“rushed me out of the house so she could raid her closet for this dominatrix outfit.”

  “There’s nothing wrong with my suit,” Jen snapped.

  He enjoyed poking fun at her because she got so playfully salty about everything he said.

  “How do you breathe in that thing?” he asked.

  Ya just hadn’t really lived, he thought, until your bride flips you off while a judge stands there and laughs like hell.

  “Listen up. I’m fine with shackling you two together, but give me the 411 on your mom and her crazy sister. Why aren’t they here? And John? I insist on full disclosure because, frankly, Connie scares the shit out of me. It’s bad enough she’s in cahoots with my wife all the damn time, so please don’t set me up for a Nelson twins smackdown.”

  “Uncle Howie will have your back. I gave him a heads-up.”

  Jen’s brows shot up. “Er, um, huh?”

  “Insider info, babe.” Giving her a cheeky grin, he explained how things worked. “Nobody handles those two better than Howie Brewster. Sometimes, he’s the only one who can get his wife and my mom under control. John and I go to him whenever we need a mediator. Or a cleanup crew.”

  The judge slipped on his suit coat and assumed a lofty air. “All true. Howie’s the master of disaster. But when are you telling your mom what you’ve done?”

  “Tonight,” Jen explained. “She’s demanding her sons show and tell.”

  Barking with laughter, the judge gave a thumbs-up. “Show and tell. Good one.”

  He motioned to them and pointed at a spot next to a window seat. When he and Jen clasped hands and moved into position, Ryan felt the warm rays of the sun shining on them like a spotlight.

  His bride’s face reflected her inner strength, and her eyes twinkled with happiness. He’d just been yanking her chain about the suit she wore. It was perfect.

  In a hue she insisted was called bambino pink, the two-piece outfit had a feminine flair despite the rather formal cut.

  Ryan thought bambino pink was just a clever way of describing a really, really pale suggestion of color. The outfit had a bridal vibe that accented her beautiful hair and chocolate eyes.

  Yep. He was definitely marrying up.

  “Okay,” the judge said. “Details. Are there rings?”

  “Two,” Jen interjected.

  “His and hers.” Ryan laughed. “The jeweler had a rehearsed sales pitch.”

  “All right, kids. Last chance to stop this madness.”

  Jen looked at him and smiled a little before the grin became a long-suffering and very playful sneer.

  “Let’s just do this. The clock is ticking, Judge Winborn, and my parents can count.”

  “Ah,” he groaned with real surprise. “Now, I get it. Explains the suddenness.”

  Ryan had to laugh. “Don’t fall for her innocent act, Judge. And there is nothing sudden about this. After all, we’ve had a couple of years’ worth of foreplay.”

  “Are you going to marry me or not, Ryan?”

  “Definitely marry. Do your thing, Judge.”

  Forty-five minutes later, they were fall down laughing on a city sidewalk, showing off their shiny new rings and tossing one-liners back and forth like old pros.

  “Call John,” she insisted. “He’s probably wondering where the hell I am.”

  He chuckled and whistled for a cab. “He’s with Samantha. I called earlier while you were changing. Tonight is going to be way interesting.”

  “Meaning?”

  “Meaning, Mrs. Lloyd, that you called out for today. We have a marriage to consummate. And don’t worry about my brother. If I’m reading the tea leaves correctly, he and Samantha have a little surprise of their own on the agenda for tonight.”

  They got in a cab, and she gave the driver directions.

  “Where are we going?” he asked.

  “To the Love Grotto.”

  He stared a minute and then burst out laughing. “The what exactly?”

  “It’s an adult store,” she whispered like a prim debutante. “They have a honeymoon special. A kit that their website says no newlywed should be without.”

  He lowered his tone and aimed for serious. “I take it you did some research.”

  “Yes, I did,” she told him. “And not only that, I downloaded a coupon. Twenty percent off any purchase.”

  She downloaded a coupon? Dear sweet baby Buddha. She was fucking perfect.

  “I think I might throw up.”

  The smile he had going on his face deepened when he laughed.

  “Don’t laugh,” his fiancée snarled.

  John wiped the foolish grin from his face but hung onto it in his mind. Samantha was a jumble of nerves, and he’d laughed because, in a way, he understoo
d how she was feeling.

  His mother didn’t know it yet, but she was about to get a couple of shocking surprises from her sons. He might not feel like vomit threatened, but he was nervous. Ryan’s call a little while ago helped John’s nerves, though.

  In one fell swoop, Lloyd Global lost a receptionist, and John gave up his PA. It was ironic on some level—both of them falling in love at the same time.

  Mom is going to crap her pants.

  Then it struck him. Comically. For a guy who had such a hard time catching nuance and deciphering inflection, he got a loud and clear blast from Sam’s icy tone. Progress. Huzzah! She probably didn’t want to hear his drivel about how Connie would love her, so he went with option two.

  “You look beautiful, Sam.” He kissed her hand. “I like this color. It makes your eyes stand out.”

  “Do you?” Her voice had a sweetly uncertain and breathy quality. “I wasn’t sure. Your mother and her sister are so stylish.”

  They were in the back of his limo making the sometimes-slow trek out of the city to the quaint, old money enclave where he grew up. He didn’t know what Sam expected, but it certainly wasn’t Chesterfield Meadows—a picture-perfect 1950’s cluster of mini mansions and quirky homes.

  “There’s this completely badass treehouse in the backyard over by my dad’s greenhouse.”

  “Your dad had a greenhouse?”

  “Yes. Two. You’ll love it, but my point concerned Chelsea. I’ll make sure the thing is in good condition, and then it’s hers.”

  “Hers? Whatever do you mean?”

  He brushed some of her hair away from her face and stared at her lips. Dammit. What was he saying?

  “She’s the first grandchild, so the treehouse is hers to decorate.”

  “I’m definitely going to need a barf bag.”

  Her distress was real, so he did the only thing he could in the situation. He kissed her long and slow.

  “No second guesses,” he growled.

  She raised a shaky hand to her lips. “I’m not usually so nervous.”

  “Would you like me to tell you something that is sure to wipe away your anxiety?”

  “Is that even possible?” She chuckled. “I feel like you’re taking me to an audience with the queen. Being nervous is part of the deal. I’m glad we left Chelsea with her babysitter. I can only deal with one stressful thing at a time.”

  “Well, lucky for you then because I guarantee we’re a five-minute wonder. Ten, tops.”

  She didn’t appear easily convinced and asked, “How can you be so sure?”

  “Because, my love, as shocking and unexpected as we are, my little brother is packing one hell of a surprise. The kind that knocks socks off.”

  “Ryan? What’s he done?”

  John enjoyed the glint of humor in her eyes and leaned in to drop a kiss on her shoulder.

  “He’s gotten himself married. To my assistant.”

  “That Ryan.” Sam chuckled. “He’s such a … what? Married? When?”

  His mouth twitched with amusement. She was genuinely flabbergasted.

  “This morning. He and Jen visited an old friend of the family. A judge. He officiated.”

  “Wait. What? Jenna Carlton and Ryan Lloyd got married today? In a judge’s chambers? Are you sure he wasn’t pulling a fast one?”

  “Positive. It seems we weren’t the only frisky couple. They got, uh, carried away, and let’s just say there wasn’t any protection involved.”

  “Oh, my god,” Sam growled. “That dick! And Jen agreed to this?”

  John had a good laugh while Sam looked on with a bemused expression.

  “Ryan’s always been a direct route type of a guy. First, he draws the straight line between A and B. If detours or roundabouts are necessary, he deals with it. I gather that he made the marriage suggestion based on them each finally admitting what was obvious for years. They were meant to be together. Not only did Jen agree, but she proceeded to force the issue. Something about her mom being a pediatrician and how much her life would suck if a kid and a wedding band didn’t go hand in hand.”

  “Wowza.”

  “Right?” He sniggered.

  “So what you’re saying is maybe more grandchildren.”

  “Yes. A cousin for Chelsea.”

  “Do you want to have a baby, John?”

  He wasn’t entirely sure how to answer.

  “Being Chelsea’s dad is more than I ever dreamed of, Sam. A baby? Just saying the words makes me emotional.”

  She hugged his arm and put her head on his shoulder. “I was so alone when I had Chelsea. It still hurts thinking about it. You’re going to be an amazing father, John. I trust you with my little girl, and that’s saying a lot. So having a baby together seems like part of our destiny. Don’t you think?”

  “You have to stop,” he grunted.

  “Stop what? Oh, darling. Have I upset you?”

  “You have to stop being so wonderful. If you don’t, there are only two options available to me.”

  Samantha raised a brow. “Options?”

  “Yes. Option one is I start to cry. Option two is we make love in my limo on the way to my childhood home where my mother waits to greet us at the door.”

  “Okay.” She snickered. “But did you think both options through?”

  “Meaning?”

  “I know this is a limo and all, but there’s no place to recline and anything remotely cowgirlish will leave messy evidence.”

  “So option two it is,” he said with a husky laugh. “See that seat on over there? Well, you’re going to get on your knees and lean on it. Then I’m going to pull your dress up and bang the shit out of you from behind. A no-mess guarantee.”

  “Lower the lighting, you romantic beast, and help me wiggle out of these panties. Got any Luther Vandross on the sound system?”

  Oh, my god! He had to laugh.

  “Assume the position, love. And leave the panties to me.”

  She got on her knees. He shoved his pants down, stroked his cock as he got into position, and went on instinct after that.

  Throwing her dress up to reveal her panties, he shoved them aside, and put his fingers to work. When she was beautifully wet and begging, he did as promised and banged the shit out of her as the limo sped along.

  “John!” Constance Lloyd exclaimed as he helped his thoroughly fucked fiancée from the car. Samantha’s rosy blush had everything to do with the powerful orgasm he’d given her.

  He hugged his mom with one arm and kept hold of Sam’s hand.

  “I have a surprise for you,” he told her as he turned to introduce Sam. “Do you remember Samantha Matthews? I believe you’ve met a few times.”

  Samantha extended her hand. “Mrs. Lloyd. Thank you for inviting me.”

  He saw the merry, troublemaking twinkle in his mom’s eyes and wondered what was up.

  “Of course, I remember you, Samantha! I’d never forget someone who makes my son’s smile so bright. How’s your daughter, my dear?”

  “Growing up too fast,” Sam muttered. “Something we found out this morning. Kids think they know everything these days.”

  His mom pointedly looked at him. “This morning, was it?”

  Was that a blush moving onto his face? The sudden tightening of his collar and the heat on the back of his neck assured him it was. It didn’t help that his parent arched a brow when he coughed to hide his embarrassment.

  Conversation pivot. Yes. That’s what he should do.

  “Are Grace and Howie here?”

  “Are you asking because of the eyesore at the end of my driveway?” his mom asked with an infectious laugh.

  He and Sam turned and looked at the same time. She tried to suppress her snigger, but he let loose, asking, “What the hell is that?”

  His mother’s expressive face suggested irritation, but her voice was brimming with humor.

  “That, children,” she declared with a pithy snort, “is a 1967 VW Bus. Completely restored. Damn t
hing looks like it just drove in from Haight-Ashbury. Uncle Howie paid a fortune for it.”

  John couldn’t believe what he was seeing and continued to laugh. “Was the paint job optional?”

  “Ah, so you noticed,” was his mother’s dry retort.

  He snickered. “Sort of hard not to, Mom. I mean, psychedelic swirls aren’t something you see every day.”

  Sam chimed in. Her teasing laughter made his heart sing. “I think it’s wonderful.”

  “Grace wants to murder him, of course. Or so she says.”

  Constance Nelson Lloyd’s signature sniff and the way she crossed her arms said so much about the insane, crazy relationship she had with her twin. It also did nothing to diminish the love.

  “Howie will talk your ear off, my dear,” she said to Samantha, “if he thinks you’ll be on board with his baby boomer nonsense.”

  Sam laughed gently. “I’ve always thought the sixties were fabulous.” She looked at him, and he started to drown in her eyes.

  “Let’s move inside. Your aunt wants to give you shit, and who am I to interfere.”

  John took Samantha’s hand. She searched his face, so he eye rolled and winked. They followed his mom, and after closing the front door behind them, he murmured, “Welcome to the Lloyd homestead. Prepare to be amazed.”

  He ushered her into what they jokingly called the front parlor—a long, useless room with a fireplace and a row of arched windows. Mismatched chairs, loveseats, lamps, and tables filled the odd room.

  John loved it because it was as quirky as his family.

  They found Grace Nelson Brewster holding court right in the center—standing, of course—while Uncle Howie lounged at her side, wearing his signature good-natured smirks.

  “Johnny! Stumble your skinny butt over here and give your old auntie a kiss hello.” She fixed her gaze on Samantha as he slowly weaved through the furniture to reach her.

  He hurriedly kissed his aunt on both cheeks, shook Uncle Howie’s proffered hand, and then reached for Sam.

  “Guys, this is Samantha Matthews.” He was about to say more, but she shook him off and finished the introduction with friendly hellos and handshakes.

  No bells were going off, but he sensed he was missing something obvious. Concerned, John carefully looked his fiancée over. Nothing stood out and then he noticed how awkwardly she clutched her small purse.