“The reason is simple,” I say with a chuckle. “Once that cake is cut and the champagne starts to flow, I plan on dancing my ass off with my husband and then seeing if we can get to some baby making.”
“Planning kids already?”
I nod. “You know that Jake and family are more important to me than my singing. Although, Club Jasmine would flip the fuck out if I made an announcement that I’m pregnant.”
Mindy laughs and kisses me on the cheek. “I’m so happy for you, Roxy. I’ll go take my seat.”
Mindy leaves, and I quickly warm up my voice. There’s no need to stretch out. This performance is like only one other, and I’m quickly ready. I nod to John, who gives me his quiet little smile and nod before he opens the door and I enter the reception hall.
All the lights are off, the only illumination coming from dual spotlights, one on me, one on Jake as he sits in a chair in the middle of the dance floor. The tune is familiar but slowed down, acoustic as I start singing. “It was too long, I had to get out, hitting up the new spot with my girl.”
Of course, I adjust the lyrics just for this performance. Jake smiles as I serenade him, and there’s a few whistles when I straddle his waist, the high slits on my skirt allowing me to do so. “Heartstopper, Heartstopper, can you feel it in my chest? Heartstopper, my husband, showing me the best, your touch is electric, I was yours from the start. You gave it to me, baby, and now you have my heart.”
Jake pulls me closer and kisses me tenderly, his fingertips just resting on the curve of my jaw as our assembled friends and family applaud. I can hear my old friend from Trixie’s, Brad, in the background blowing his nose, his distinctive lisp reaching out over the crowd as he cheers me on, “Yaass bitch! Work it!”
The reception starts, and true to my promise, Nathan catches the garter and Hannah gets to catch the bouquet. Later, I’m stunned as the caterer brings out a five-foot-tall cake. “What is this?”
“This is your stepfather insisting that he gets to do something for you,” John says from the far side of Mom, smiling. “Enjoy.”
There’s enough cake for triple the amount of people who are there, and I make the caterer promise that they’re going to send large chunks home with everybody who works at the hall today. I just can’t imagine seeing this much cake go to waste.
Speeches are hilarious, as everyone from Grandma on down has something to toast me with, and I’m quickly left red-faced as Brad tells everyone about my first time in Trixie’s. “So here was this sassy little thing getting up there and doing the world’s worst twerk and singing her ass off. Thankfully, she had two things going for her. First, she could actually sing. Second, and more importantly, she had me to show her how to move her ass. Jake, you can thank me later, and Nathan, I want my one percent!”
The dancing starts with another surprise, as Jake says he’s got something special for me too. Oliver and Gavin get up as well as they set up three chairs in the middle of the floor in a wide triangle. “My bride, will you, Mindy, and Brianna have a seat, please?”
I glance at Mindy and Brianna, but they’re clueless as we sit down. Jake, Oliver, and Gavin disappear for a minute, and I start to get worried when the lights dim again and the music starts.
“Oh, my God,” I groan as I hear the familiar grinding electronic bass beat. “They’re not.”
“They sure as hell are!” Brianna says as Jake, Gavin, and Oliver come out dressed as male strippers. They’ve got the moves down pretty well too, and Magic Mike is left in the dust as Jake grinds on me, turning around to rub his ass in my lap before taking my hands and making me grab his crotch. My body’s on fire by the time he moves off, and I feel sweat trickling down my neck to disappear between my breasts as the three guys reach for the waistbands of their banana hammocks before stopping and giving the three of us naughty smiles. Jake shakes his head, and the three of them dance for us a little more, Gavin actually hitting the splits. “Whoa, I didn’t know he could do that!”
“It’s useful,” Brianna says, her voice sounding breathy as Gavin bounces back up. The song comes to an end, and while the three of us heartily applaud, Brad is having a fit behind us. I bet he’s thinking he’s died and gone to heaven watching the three handsome men.
Dinner starts, and as we eat, I lean over to Jake. “So tell me, my husband, just what inspired that?”
Jake chuckles. “Well, the guys knew you were going to sing for me, and they wanted to return the favor. Unfortunately, we all know that Gavin and Oli—”
“Those two boys can’t sing to save their lives!” Grandma cackles.
After dinner, the dancing starts, and I feel like I’m in heaven as Jake takes me in his arms and we have our first dance as husband and wife. “So when did you know?”
Jake thinks, then smiles. “I knew I wanted you long-term the first time you sang Heartstopper for me. But marry you? When I first heard you on the radio. It was like from that instant, it wasn’t just about giving you your dream. That was when I realized you are my dream. I’d do any and everything possible to stay by your side, to have you with me. I knew I wanted to be more. I wanted to be your husband.”
“You waited another two months to ask me, though,” I tease as we slow dance.
“I wanted to have a chance to ask you on stage,” he says, grinning. “Took the workers that long to complete the repairs.”
“I—” my eyes are drawn over to a commotion where someone’s trying to teach Grandma how to breakdance.
Jake takes my chin in his fingers and turns my eyes back to him. “Hey, I thought I was doing a good enough job of dancing?”
I feel the thick bulge of his cock press up against my hip, and I tremble, grinning. “You do more than enough to keep my attention.”
“Cheers, you two,” says a voice behind us, and I turn to see Hannah standing there with several glasses in her hand, one of which she holds out to me.
“What’s that?” I ask, taking the glass from her.
“A little surprise,” Hannah says behind a little sip. She gives Jake a look. “Can I talk to your bride for a moment? I know y’all were getting your bump n’ grind on, but it will only take a sec.”
Jake chuckles, stepping away. “Sure.”
Hannah winks at him as I give her a playful scowl over the rim of my drink. “This had better be good for sending my husband away like that.”
“I’ve decided to quit my job at Franklin,” Hannah announces suddenly, causing me to gawk in shock. “I just . . . watching you, Roxy, I realize I want to be more than an office drone too. And with you gone, it just isn’t fun anymore. I’ve already talked to the landlord. I’m gonna move out and downsize to something more affordable, chase my dream.”
“What is it?” I ask, and Hannah grins.
“Not too sure yet, but I’ve always wanted to travel the world and take pictures. Maybe I’ll figure it out along the way. I’ve managed to square away a little nest egg until I get it sorted out, I think.”
I raise my glass, and we toast each other. “Well, then, to Hannah Fowler, who’s going to be the sassiest bitch traveling the globe.”
“And to Roxy Stone, who’s the baddest bitch on stage. I love you, babe.”
I sip my drink and look across the floor. Jake has already found a new dancing partner in his sister, Sophie. She looks gorgeous in her pink gown, her arms wrapped around her brother’s neck, staring up at him with love. I can’t hide the smile on my face. I’m never going to be her mother, but big sister? I feel like that already.
“I love you too, babe,” I say, returning my gaze to Hannah. “And hey, don’t be a stranger, okay?”
“Damn right. I’m couch surfing with a pop star!”
I laugh and take a longer sip of my drink. “Yeah, well, this pop star is going to finish her drink and then find her husband so she can go consummate this union. You’ll never guess what we’re taking to the honeymoon.”
“What?” Hannah asks, and I grin.
“I’ll send
you pics,” I say, giving her a wink.
At that moment, the music cranks up. Unlike the normal moldy mix of old pop classics that are ‘safe’ for some of the older crowd to listen to, Jake and I flew in our DJ from Club Jasmine, and as the bass fills the floor, we’ve got plenty getting down and dirty. This is my wedding, after all, and I give absolutely zero fucks if someone doesn’t like it.
Laughing, I stand there, bobbing my body to the music, watching the room as Hannah waltzes off in search of a dancing buddy. I’ll let Jake get in a few more moments with his sister, knowing that after they’re done, he’s mine for the night.
For the next several minutes, my heart is filled as I take in all the people I love under one roof, having the time of their lives. Mom is dancing with John, Brianna with Gavin, and Mindy with Oliver. Even Hannah has finally found a guy to grind on, Oliver’s younger brother, Tony. It’s weird. They don’t even know each other, but they look like they’re having a good time together.
All feels right with the world.
Feeling like it’s time, I make my way over to my husband, desire heating my core. Jake looks up and separates from Sophie as I approach, a giant grin on his face.
“Hey, Jake, you big stud,’ I say softly, wrapping my arms around his neck. “Take me to bed or lose me forever.”
“Your wish is my command.”
Jake pulls me closer, growling lightly as he sweeps me off my feet, and to the hoots, hollers, and cheers of our family and friends, he carries me from the reception hall and into the rest of our lives.
Enjoy these books? Check out the others in the series. Each are interconnecting standalones.
Other books in this series:
Irresistible Bachelors (Interconnecting standalones):
Anaconda || Mr. Fiance || Heartstopper
Stud Muffin || Mr. Fixit || Matchmaker
Motorhead || Baby Daddy
Excerpt: Dirty Laundry
I’ve got the best job in the world–get dirt on the hottest country star on the charts, Keith Perkins.
I’m supposed to learn all of his Dirty Laundry, his deepest and darkest secrets.
Without sleeping with him.
Easy enough, right?
Wrong.
I mean, just looking at him makes me wonder what those big, rough hands could do to me. With a voice that’s one part velvet and one part growl, it’s hard for me to sass him when he melts me into a puddle with a single look.
And when he sings?
All bets are off.
He owns the stage . . . and maybe some naughty parts of my body too.
But he’s notoriously single and notoriously private.
Given his status as a walking sex god, neither makes sense.
Something is amiss, and I’m going to figure out exactly what it is.
But if I’m not careful, I might just become his dirty little secret.
Elise
“Yes, sir. I’m on it, sir. By Monday, of course.” I sigh, rolling my eyes as Donnie, my boss, somehow manages to both ream me out for not delivering yet and make me feel like I can totally accomplish my latest assignment.
I’m not sure how he manipulates people so well, but he does. It’s a gift, I guess.
Hanging up, I look at myself in the mirror, making sure my disguise for today is in tip-top shape. I’m not famous, but my face is known enough that I want to be sure I’m not recognized. My blonde hair is tied up under a dark brunette wig that falls down in perfect mermaid waves, my usually slightly made-up face is fully done like I’m some YouTube makeup tutorial, and I’m dressed in casual clothes that scream money in quality, not flash. I’ve got on the one pair of designer jeans I own, a perfectly slouchy tee, and a fluffy soft hand-knit cardigan.
With the addition of my huge sunglasses and heeled booties, I’m off . . . looking just like one of the other millions of twentysomethings, out for coffee and to run errands. Which is exactly what I need, nondescript from the masses.
It’s nowhere near my normal look, but that’s what makes it a great disguise. Glancing at my watch, I realize I’ll need to take a cab if I’m making my first observation point on time. At least I can turn the receipt in for reimbursement because taking cabs all over the city is definitely above my pay bracket.
I hope Donnie isn’t going to be a prick on the expense report this time.
After a quick ride, I order a coffee and a blueberry muffin before sitting down at what’s become my table over the last week, taking out a notebook full of scribbled notes. To an interested observer, I’m working on a movie, or maybe a TV show, or something similarly vapid. I assume an aura of ‘don’t-fuck-with-me’ and pretend to work, which makes a great cover because I am actually working, just not on what it seems.
Keeping my head still behind the shades, my eyes move left and right, not missing a thing. From the obviously morning-after coffee date, to the mom juggling two kids while bribing them with muffins that look just like mine and will put those two into sugar overload in ten minutes, to the old man reading the paper. I’ve worked long and hard on these skills. They’re more vital to my career than the ability to type quickly.
It’s not long before my target appears. Keith Perkins, the country music star who’s topping charts and winning awards left and right. He walks in to order his morning cup o’joe. He’s not really in disguise, just wearing jeans and a t-shirt, but the missing cowboy hat and tennis shoes instead of boots seem to be all the disguise he needs to go about unrecognized in this town. Then again, this isn’t a big country town. I bet he couldn’t pull this off in Nashville without getting mobbed.
He tells the barista his name is Kevin instead of Keith, but I don’t think she even looks up. In fact, I know she doesn’t look at him, because if she did, she’d be drooling like I’ve been for the last five days since I started my assignment.
There’s something about the way he moves, like coiled power waiting to spring into action, that makes me hum with anticipation. Combine that with a build that’s tall and wide-shouldered, with powerfully built arms and a tightly muscled waist that’s so narrow that he can’t wear normal jeans without squeezing his thighs and leaving his waist baggy . . . the man’s walking sex on a stick. He’s infused with energy in such a way that you can’t help but wonder what he could to with it.
Or what he could do to me with it.
I shake my head, a small smile tilting up one corner of my mouth. As if. That’s never gonna happen. I’m not the sort who gets wooed and swept off her feet by handsome stars who then proceed to wine and dine me before making my toes curl. No. With my job, I have a better chance of my name ending up pinned on a voodoo doll than my body being pinned to a bed.
My job is to follow Keith and watch that fine ass and dimpled smile as much as possible to find out his secrets. Once those secrets are in hand, I’ll write a damn good story for the online gossip rag I work for. It’s not my dream gig. Hell, I’ve hated it at times, but it’s interesting and pays the bills. I wanted to be a real investigative reporter. I wanted to follow in the steps of Woodward and Bernstein, exposing the back-alley machinations and dirty laundry of those who really deserve it. Those in power who are trying to fuck the average Joe.
Too bad most of the reporters on that gig are just as dirty as the assholes they’re covering. So I get to watch and report on celebs. But it pays the bills, so here I am lusting after the mark I’m following in preparation to expose all of his dirty laundry to readers who circle like vultures. Sometimes, I feel sorry for people like Keith. He’s not into drugs or acting like a jackass, and I’ve even listened to his music. It’s music to make you feel good. And make my panties wet, but that’s his voice. He could read his grocery list and I’d be all ears.
Knowing his routine, I start to gather my things, ready to follow out a few seconds behind him. As he walks out the door, questions run through my head, mental preparation for what’s coming. Where are we going today, Keith? The recording studio? Maybe the quiet spot a
t the gastropub you like to write at that has those bacon cheeseburgers that I have no idea how you eat and still have a six-pack? No jelly there. Or maybe just some errands? I could really use some errands so I have more to complete your picture.
He doesn’t answer, of course, but I carry on the conversation with myself as if he does. Sounds good, I can learn more that way. Maybe after your errands, you can take me home and fuck me stupid? Make that tight ass of yours good for something . . . pounding into my needy pussy. How’s that for a plan, Keith?
God, I need a man.
It’s been months since my last boyfriend, the bastard. While I’m known for being a spontaneous, up for anything kinda girl, I don’t sleep around and have pretty discerning taste. Which, of course, is how I find myself fantasizing about Keith’s ass as he walks down the street, sort of looking down as he walks, maybe to hide his face from the public or maybe because he’s got his own internal dialogue going. It’s too much to hope he’s thinking about the sexy brunette in designer jeans and sunglasses he saw in the corner of the coffee shop and how he’d like to take her home and make all her dreams come true, but fuck it, I’m allowed to fill in the blanks here.
He pauses in front of a store and looks back, so I step over to a potted plant in front of a store as cover, jostling the sidewalk traffic flow as a younger guy on rollerblades yells at me, “Watch it, bitch!”
I scowl, not wanting the attention, and quickly bury my face in my phone but sneak looks out the side of my sunglasses as I catch my breath.
Focus, Elise. Get your brain out of the gutter and do your fucking job!
Suitably chastised by my own more responsible half, I continue on, following Keith into . . . a grocery store?
Wouldn’t have expected Mr. Fancy Country Singer to be buying his own food. With online delivery and personal assistants running rampant around this town, I just never imagined him buying his own jars of basil pesto. Still, the fact that he does is cute, sweet, and maybe even a bit humble. I like this down-to-earth potential tilt to my story, so I sneak a few pics of him pushing his cart around the store, an old-fashioned piece of paper in his hand as he goes over his grocery list.
Dirty Deeds Page 64
