Their matching snicker-snorts rang out as they turned to study the three-foot chocolate stork realistic down to the gauze diaper swaddling a baby figure swinging from its beak.
If this was what Dixie pulled from his imagination as a welcome, he couldn’t wait to see what the next two weeks brought. Probably a line of Rockette high-kicking storks or musical bassinets.
“You’re all set, and you have my direct number. Please do not hesitate to ask for anything—day or night. I mean that,” she stated bluntly. “You and Mrs. Dane are not to do anything more strenuous that enjoy your honeymoon. And if she wants coconut macaroons at four a.m., I’d love the challenge! Give me something to brag about at the next club meeting.”
“A concierge club?”
“Hey, humor me. This might seem like a weird job, but it’s more fun and exciting than you know. Last month, I looked after a Middle Eastern sheik and his family. They had a visitor’s guide and a hundred YouTube videos bookmarked of things they wanted to try and places to visit. Some of it, I’d never even heard of. In case you’re interested, there are dozens of tiny doors hidden around town whose sole purpose is to inspire curiosity. It’s pretty cool.”
She gathered her stuff and headed to the front door. “I’m going to give you two all the privacy you need, so don’t worry about looking up and finding me in your faces. And I’ll check in every morning by text. How’s that?”
“Are you handling the baby shower?”
“Yes, I am,” she said with a bright smile. “But sworn to secrecy,” she added with a hand gesture, zipping her lips. “Oh, and just a reminder about Tom. He lives in the gate house and is available ‘round-the-clock as your driver. He’s button number three on the control pad, and his number is posted next to the phone.”
“This is great,” he told her. “You’ve thought of everything. Thank you.”
“Congratulations, Mr. Dane,” she said with a wave. “Enjoy Atlanta.”
After she was gone, he shut the door and turned to take in the fantastic private home he had leased for their honeymoon. It was breathtaking, and Stephanie had a near meltdown upon their arrival.
A six-bedroom Buckhead Estates mansion on a private street behind a gate, the luxurious home featured incredible entertaining space, a fully stocked wine cellar, an elevator, and enough outdoor living space to give the Villa a run for its money. Oh yeah, and it had a state-of-the-art media room—something his bride would love.
Her sweet tears when she put together what he’d done for their honeymoon had affected him more deeply than Calder imagined. With the choice of anyplace on the planet, it might seem strange that he took them to Georgia, of all places, but his wife understood. And went into a near total cry fest as a result.
It was nothing short of a miracle that no one had given away his plans—especially considering how he’d roped so many of Stephanie’s friends into helping. When she realized the complexity of planning and the details kept from her by the people she held most dear, the flood of happy tears started again.
Hurrying to the master suite, he peeked his head in and found her still asleep. They’d made love far into the night. When his beautiful wife was finally sated, he stroked the bump of their baby and held her close, murmuring his love and fidelity until sleep claimed her.
She was brighter than the sun—more mysterious and awe inspiring than the moon. Her love ran deeper than the oceans. She found as much joy in his beloved Colorado Mountains as she did in their desert home.
His heart surged with unbound happiness.
They were married—at last.
After a couple of weeks of running around her former stomping grounds so she could bask in the pleasure and love of her friends, they’d return to Arizona and get serious about nesting.
Baby Dane was on the way.
He was a husband now and soon to be a dad. Holy apple pie with a side of whipped cream!
12
The way Cam saw it, his wife was an extraordinary being. She never complained—ever. No hurdle was too high, and obstacles were mere challenges, not barriers. Giving up wasn’t in her nature. Emotions that would take others down didn’t stick. Envy, regret, disappointment, uncertainty. She navigated through it all with a grace and innocent dignity that seared his soul.
Lacey Anne Morrow Cameron was a naughty Madonna in see-through panties. A lioness who loved fiercely and would protect her family unto death. The determined young girl he rescued ended up saving his life. He owed everything to her. Absolutely everything. She held his life in the palm of her hand.
He liked to watch her when she was with the ladies, and he had plenty of opportunities because Casa de Cameron had been ground zero for their little coffee and cakes club from day one. His Ponytail might be the youngest, but holy cow, she was also the Justice Ladies’ wise woman—they sought her opinion and guidance all the time.
She adored them all but was closest to Victoria. Lacey was the first Justice wife, and until Tori arrived on the scene, had been the only female under the age of fifty in the compound. The fierce and feisty nerd queen took to his wife right away, and they’d been bonded ever since.
Meghan, of course, wasn’t called Lady Mama without reason. Her role was the mother figure in their odd little group. Especially for Lacey. She regarded Lady Mama and Big Daddy as her surrogate parents.
The thought delivered a grimace and a sigh. Lacey and her birth parents were a tough subject with no viable path to any sort of peaceful closure. Frank, the odious fucker, and his second family didn’t even rise to the level of squashed bugs on the windshield. His wife had slammed shut that particular door with terminal force—there was no going back.
A couple of times in recent months as she struggled through the pregnancy, he had found her in the study by herself, staring at the portrait of her mother. His heart ached whenever he found her like that.
He’d been a whiny, self-absorbed wimp compared to her. Oh sure, his mother was a demon, and the foster care system he had managed to survive was a verified nightmare with hellish overtones. His wah-wah bullshit about being a castoff, unloved, whatever? Every narcissistic word paled next to the reality of Lacey’s younger days.
Without parental love as part of his narrative, he survived a shitshow—cue the applause. But she survived after losing the love of her parents. Her mother from death and her father to abandonment. Alone and cut off from her grandmother, she had the grit to carry on through unimaginable circumstances. Next to her, he was a crybaby weasel.
She asked him about her grandmother only once. It was after he’d hunted down Frank Morrow and pieced together the man’s sordid tale. His wife knew he’d track every clue he could including her grandmother. When asked, he admitted to tracking her down. And then he said nothing else.
She struggled with his silence while he maintained a fevered grip on his composure. When she quietly asked if the old woman was dead, he nodded once.
He thought she might cry, but that wasn’t Lacey’s way. It took her a minute, but she found what she needed inside to carry on. There was no request for details, and he certainly didn’t want her to know the old woman died less than eighteen months after Frank had spirited her away. But he thought she should know just one thing in case she’d waited and hoped as a kid that her gran would rescue her.
“She didn’t get a chance to save you, baby.” That was all he said. She understood, and that was the end of it.
Until the moment when he held Dylan in his hands for the first time, he hadn’t understood how powerful the love he had for his son would feel. That was when he first started to truly grasp what his wife had lost. To know that kind of all-encompassing love—even if only for a short while—only to lose it was an agony he couldn’t fathom before becoming a father.
Now that he got it, his heart ached all the more for his sweet, loving wife.
The sense of anxious fear, subtle as it was, that marked this pregnancy was changing them in ways he was beginning to make some sense of.
She was his everything. He couldn’t breathe at the thought of being without her. The awesome power of her love—a love that sprang from her faith in him—took Cam from the depths of hell and gave him a life worth living.
Alex was right. Their priorities were changing.
He looked out from the second-floor window of the master bedroom in Calder’s rustic-modern cabin and found his pregnant wife and toddler son laughing happily as they made angels in the snow. Used to seeing his little family in the stark beauty of the Southwest, their winter weather gear struck him as awfully cute.
“Definitely a picture,’” he mumbled aloud. Holding his phone to the window, he took a couple of candid snow angel shots. Without any hesitation whatsoever, he added a jpeg to a group chat named Family Justice and typed a comment.
Colorado Angels—Cameron style
He smiled when the message sent and then grabbed a Justice hoodie off a chair and pulled the thing on. The sound of his booted feet hurriedly pounding down the stairs revealed his eagerness to join the fun. Spying the camera case by the front door, he pushed it into the door’s path with his foot before turning to the pile of hats, coats, gloves, and scarves they’d brought with them.
No doubt about it. The Colorado Mountains were damn cold in January. It snowed every day—even if it was just flurries—and mounded drifts of the cold stuff were everywhere.
As an afterthought, he marched around the kitchen to arrange their hot chocolate ritual. Dylan loved the treat, and his mama taught him how to relax and enjoy the diluted version she mixed for him. This was something he wanted to remember always. The time they spent at Calder’s mountain hideaway playing in the snow and hanging out by the fireplace with homemade hot chocolate.
Outside, he followed the sound of giggling until he rounded the corner of the house and ran into his son. Powering through the snow, Dylan darted away while his mother chased him with threats of a serious tickling. His son’s screeches of delight and the way he struggled against the unfamiliar snow became instant memory classics.
“Daddy,” Dylan hollered. “Look at Mommy!” Laughing, he wiggled through the snow and tried to elude her tickling ways.
“Here I come,” she hooted gleefully. “Mommy’s going to get you, Dyl!”
He giggled with delight and stomped through the white stuff as fast as he could.
Inside of five minutes, he’d probably taken two hundred pictures.
Once again, she’d been right. This was a thousand times better than a sun and sand babymoon.
13
“Judge Talbot,” Angie teased with practiced charm. “You old devil. Mrs. Talbot is a lucky woman.”
The short, silver-haired man let loose with a booming laugh. “Well,” he quipped, “she certainly doesn’t complain much. You know what they say. Happy wife, happy life.”
A scream of laughter almost shot from her mouth. Parker’s dad had said those very same words to his son last week when they had dinner with the Sullivans.
Listening politely as the older man went on and on about the trip to New Zealand he gave his wife for their last anniversary, Angie consciously shut down the noisy distractions lurking in her thoughts. She was in public and on display so everything she did and said would reflect directly onto Parker. Hugely aware of her role in his professional life, she’d taken what she learned during her years representing the family winery and through the wisdom gleaned from a lifetime as a Valleja-Marquez, and put it on full display.
Tonight’s cocktail party get-together was another in a never-ending calendar of business events she and Parker attended. They had a set routine. Arrival and general schmooze, after which they’d separate and work the room from opposite directions.
It was a smart plan that gave them maximum coverage while scoring tons of approval points. People liked them as a couple and individually, so why not use that to their advantage?
Sipping her wine, she followed the judge’s story, nodding politely and laughing in all the appropriate spots. He was a pleasant old coot—half cowboy and half grandpa with a hearty helping of stern litigator thrown in. Plus, he told a damn good story.
A sudden chill skated across her bare shoulders. She lifted her hand and briefly touched her neck. The rawness of the sensation drew a mental shiver out of her. Ten seconds later, an inferno of heat threatened to fry her skin. She fought the urge to close her eyes and let the carnality sweep her away.
She didn’t need to turn around to know what was happening. Parker. He was doing that thing he did. That thing she was helpless to resist.
Somewhere in the crowd of people, he was watching. Undressing her with his eyes. She ran a trembling hand from her waist down and across her hip. She’d worn a halter-style cocktail dress and piled her long brown hair into a mass of casual curls held up with a sparkly clip. The look was classy and sexy at the same time.
Disconcerted by Parker’s wicked attention, she doubled down to keep it together while the judge started bringing his rambling story in for a landing.
“Parker hasn’t shown any interest so far, but the door isn’t shut completely.”
Oh, crud. She’d missed what he was saying, and her sense was that whatever he said was important. Scrambling to pick up the thread, Angie focused on the older man and gave him a shrugging smile.
“I know if he just gives it some careful thought, he’ll arrive at the same conclusion many already have. My dear,” he said in a voice tight with urge. “He’d be an excellent representative. That boy knows his stuff and his time with the Department of Justice would make him a shoo-in.”
Searching for the right thing to say, the judge thankfully gave her an out with his next comment.
“Of course, as my wife pointed out, you two are likely busy at present. New house and a wedding on the horizon.” His full, approving smile made her chuckle.
“Yes!” she happily crowed. “All moved in and counting down to the big day.”
A concentrated blast of heat hit her in the gut. Damn him, she thought. He’d blown past undressing her and gone straight to the sort of salacious musings that assured her eventual meltdown.
Kinky bastard. He knew exactly what he was doing. Glancing to the right and slightly behind her shoulder, she made eye contact and slightly jerked when the fire blazing in his eyes triggered the immediate attention of her inner wanton.
Sultry warmth flared inside her, sending a surge of wet straight to her panties.
He snarled briefly. The lip curl and flash of teeth had an animalistic vibe to it. She knew exactly what he was thinking and what he planned to do with those teeth when he got her alone.
“Ms. Marquez,” a shrill voice called out. One of the night’s hostesses grasped her elbow. “I’m sorry to interrupt, Judge, but Mercy Alter is twisting my arm about getting Angelina’s assistance with the holiday fundraiser. Do you mind if I steal her away?”
The judge boomed with humor. “By all means, Audrey, have at it! Especially if it means having a real professional take the reins instead of expecting us to write a bigger check.”
Angie giggled and gave the good judge a little elbow. “Oh, shush. You know darn well the fundraiser is your weak spot. Hey,” she trilled. “Want to be the master of ceremonies? You’d be great,” she teased.
“Hell to the no.” He chortled. “I’m doing Santa duties this year. Already working on my ‘Ho-ho-ho,’” he boomed.
She reached out and gave his arm a little squeeze. “We’ll catch up soon, Judge. Parker wants you to bring Mrs. Talbot by the house. Some man-speak about checking out his new toy.”
“Oh?”
“My dad just gave him an original, poseable Jawa action figure. Very rare. Found it in a stack of junk at an estate sale.”
“New, in the box?”
The snicker came naturally. What was it about boys of all ages and their silly toys? “Sadly, no. But the box it came in was included.”
The judge laughed. “Oh, so when you say toy, you really mean toy. He’s playi
ng with it, then?”
Audrey drily chimed in. “Have you see Judge’s Darth Vader gavel?”
It was time to move on. More schmoozing to do but she winked and ended her encounter with the influential judge on a snarky comment she knew would get a laugh.
“Play with it? You’re joking, right? Why this morning the Jawa was holding my cereal spoon.”
Audrey snicker-laughed. The judge chuckled.
“That really happened,” she added with an eye roll.
As Audrey led her away, she got rid of her wine glass and took a deep breath before the next conversation started only to have an X-rated image explode in her mind.
He wanted to take her. Now. Here. Surrounded by all these people. She didn’t have to wonder if her wicked lawyer lover had a hidey-hole already picked out where he could do gloriously unspeakable things to her. It wouldn’t be the first time.
How she got through a casual conversation that turned into a planning session without losing her mind was a miracle. At one point, Parker sidled up behind her and greeted the ladies-who-lunch. He made eye contact with each one and managed to say something charming—while his hand did a slow but thorough exploration of her ass. Thank god she was standing in a corner with nobody behind her.
“When you have a minute, darling—I’d like to introduce you to someone.”
Would it be unseemly to ditch the fundraising committee and jump on Parker? She didn’t have to wonder after Audrey gave her a little shove and said, “Enjoy it while you can, my dear.”
Part of her felt the comment was an asshole thing to say, but she plastered a serene smile on her face and nodded to the ladies. “I’ll be in touch,” she assured them and then forgot whatever they were talking about. Nothing mattered except Parker.
He took her hand and led her from the room. He couldn’t be bothered with furtiveness. They walked down a long hallway and turned a corner. Fifteen steps later, his hand swept out before her and opened a door. With his hand guiding her along, she felt a rush of skin-prickling arousal surge into her center.
Everlasting (Family Justice Book 6) Page 17
