Meghan shook her head. Ugh. Men.
Tori found this statement ridiculously funny, falling apart into a fit of giggles. “More like your boyfriend looks like he’s sizing your fiancé’s ass up for a DFP.”
Lacey looked confused. “DFP?”
Did she not know what a DFP was? Meghan groaned louder and added an eye roll at what she knew was coming. Another way that growing up surrounded by brothers and the entire Boston first responder community gave her the inside track sometimes.
“DFP,” she drawled. “Disciplinary Fudge Packing.”
It took Mrs. Cameron a good few seconds to put it together, but when she did, an amusing blush crept up her neck as she grimaced comically and said “Oh. Yikes.”
Yikes, indeed.
Studly McStudlerson waved them over to his DJ perch to give them their next song. The girls bestowed the snarky nickname on him because he was one of those man-whore cowboy types who made no effort to pretend he was anything except a pretty face with a hot bod and an available cock.
To his credit, however, he treated them with well-mannered deference. The Justice cachet extended far and wide. Nobody in their straight mind would dream of messing with any of them.
“Reaching deep into the archive for this one, ladies,” he boomed jovially. “Don’t want any finger-pointing or cries of favoritism when y’all dance away with Pete’s trophy. Can’t make it too easy, right?”
He thought they were gonna win? Hell to the yeah!
“Bring it on,” she smirked. With a wink at Angie, she pointed out, “Now that we’ve pulled out our secret weapon, I think we can make a go of whatever you throw at us.”
Lacey and Tori snickered at the challenge and burbled, “Ooooooh.”
Angie, who it turned out was fucking priceless when it came to yanking chains, put on that pigeon-toed little girl lost shtick and actually twirled a goddamn curl at Studly. From the corner of her eye, she saw Alex throw up his hands in defeat as Parker all but leaped onto the stage, ready to destroy whatever man was on the receiving end of her naughty songstress act.
Making matters worse were the two grinning hyenas, Cam and Drae, who had a grim-faced Aldo boxed in. They clearly loved the macho drama.
“Easy isn’t any fun,” Angie purred at the DJ.
Oh, god. Meghan wanted to kill her. Now was so not the time to play sex kitten.
“Hard is so much better . . . don’t you think?”
Thank god the DJ laughed her off. No doubt the stern warning glare being directed his way from Angie’s glowering brother made an impact.
“My mom’s a nut for sixties girls groups,” he told them. “This one had a remake in the eighties, if that helps. I’ve loaded the tracks into the system; you can use the headphones to give a listen. Once I make the announcement, the clock starts ticking and you’ve got four minutes to pull it together. Got it?”
They all looked at the screen, and in unison, she and Angie quipped, “I’ve got this.” Of course, they did! Their mothers were probably the same age.
She quickly set up everyone’s part. Tori threw together some moves, and they were good to go.
While their four minutes ticked down, Studly was amusing the crowd and he honestly looked a bit relieved when they stepped back into the spotlight. Hurriedly handing over the mic, he whipped up the crowd then retreated to his control panel.
The lights dimmed a second and then bam! The song started, and they got everyone dancing and singing along to You Can’t Hurry Love. The Supremes did it first, so they went with that arrangement and basically tore up the stage.
Exhausted and running low on adrenaline, their last number was a request and once again, Studly counted the votes and made the final decision. This time though, there’d be no practice time. It was a cold start and these last songs usually ended up being comic masterpieces of faking it till you make it to the end.
“Oh god,” Tori moaned. “Anything?”
“Hmph.” Angie looked like it was a maybe.
“Oh!” Lacey blurted out. “Wait. I know this. Yeah,” she said shaking her head enthusiastically. “It’s in one of Cam’s playlists.”
“Are you sure?” Meghan was drawing a blank. Maybe she’d know once the tune started and she saw the lyrics.
“Yep. Totes,” Lacey assured them. “You’ll know it too. It’s a straightforward ballad. Love song done country style. Rocks a bit.”
“Oh, you mean like your husband?” Tori snickered.
“Hush, you. I’m saving our bacon! Least you could do is rub my shoulders and give me some encouragement. You want that fugly trophy . . . right?”
They laughed together and went in for a group hug.
“Let’s do this,” Meghan drawled as she nodded to the DJ.
Just five more minutes and then she could collapse in Alex’s arms.
Lacey looked illuminated from within, standing in the spotlight at the microphone. The crowd hushed—her lovely sweetness had a way of doing that. She took the mic off the stand and addressed the audience.
“Great request! Whoever snuck this one in . . . I like your taste in music. Challenge accepted. A little off the radar but a fabulous tune. If you’re not familiar with it, fire up your iTunes immediately and get This Kind of Love by Sister Hazel. We hope you like our version.”
Before taking her spot, Lacey turned back to the crowd and said sweetly, “And we’re dedicating this to the four gentlemen standing in front.”
A kiss got blown and she pirouetted, giving the audience a full view of the outrageous backless dress and the ass which was fast gaining legendary status.
The ladies of Family Justice ruled the house!
THIS HAD TO BE ABOUT the most bizarre circus the Justice brothers had ever found themselves embroiled in. Was it weird that he felt a sense of pride at how deftly and evenly the three of them still worked together as a team?
When his sister’s slimy ex-whatever-the-fuck slithered into their midst and foolishly poked at Parker by calling him an old man, Cam, and Drae were on that shit in a nanosecond—so fast that Parker barely had time to react which was a damn good thing ‘cause Alex had no doubt the taunt was going to get the smarmy little shit’s ass annihilated. Parker could do it, too. And never break a sweat.
But his team’s swift intervention kept the furious boil over about to happen to a slow bubble . . . for now.
Alex smiled to himself. It was what they did. They kept the shit to a minimum. Some things never changed. And while the fireworks simmered down here on the floor, up on the main stage was where the circus was at peak performance. His smile changed to a shit-eating grin at what was happening under the stage lights. Same grin that Cam and Drae sported.
Watching their women own that stage, the crowd, and the air they were breathing was exhilarating. They were secure knowing that Brad Pitt could have walked naked through the room and while each of their women would have looked, the look would end with a giggle-shrug then they’d go right back to what they’d been doing. They were lucky bastards.
But Parker, hmmm—there was another issue altogether. Alex wasn’t dumb and he knew all too fucking well what a hell raiser Angelina could be. From her youngest days, if it meant getting his or Parker’s attention, she’d have readily put her own safety in jeopardy just to prove a point. That quality in a grown woman was beyond scary. No way did he envy his friend on that. The truth was that he was secretly enjoying watching his old pal jump through hoops and grovel on command. He just hoped his sister knew what the fuck she was doing.
As if keeping their Justice drama contained wasn’t enough, the crowd was on fire. Their women were fucking dangerous. They could incite a drunken cowboy barroom brawl with two shimmies and an ass shake. Which was almost exactly what happened when some beer-soaked fucknut in a two-dollar cowboy hat shouted, “Lemme fuck that ass, honey!”
Cam reacted instantly. Without missing a beat, his hand shot out—a direct hit sent the guy flying to the floor. With the asshole at hi
s feet, he kicked him and growled, “That’s my wife, you loser. Show some fucking manners if you want to walk out of here alive.”
The guy’s beer buzz had to have vanished in a hurry. Scrambling awkwardly to his feet, he hung his head and mumbled something. Cam grabbed him by the front of his shirt, grunted into the guy’s shocked face, and then let him go with a vicious shove.
Aldo watched all this play out. His naturally pasty color showed through the fake tan, his eyes guarded and slightly hooded. The douchebag was almost shaking in his polished loafers. A good head shorter than all of them and dressed like the fashion police, Alex mentally opined . . . one of these things doesn’t go with the others.
Seriously though, the guy was lucky he survived the old man barb without losing some teeth. The age thing was Parker’s Achilles’ heel so the Esperanza creep certainly chose a good weapon.
Weapons, circuses, and drama aside, all that shit flew out the window anyway when his Irish goddess was on stage. Good lord, she was magnificent. The lace dress and the dangerously sexy cowgirl boots made it hard to think. Especially when his cock was trying to burst out of his jeans to get to her. The smiles and wicked looks Meghan shot his way let Alex know she was fully aware of and very much on board with whatever his dirty imagination conjured up for later.
It sucked that other passengers in the limo eliminated any possibility of doing her in the car before they even pulled from the parking lot. Damn. But anticipation was a powerful tool in seduction, so he watched her strut across the stage, her voluptuous breasts dancing in time to her movements and imagined his fiery redhead in those sexy as fuck boots, bent over, dress hiked up to reveal her fantastic ass, moaning for all she was worth as he slammed into her wet heat until sweat poured off both of them and their screams and grunts filled the air.
Leaving his erotic musings on simmer, he enjoyed the rest of the show, knowing that it was drawing to an end. Whatever they were performing was pretty and gave them a chance to show off some beautiful harmonies. Lacey was on lead and from the expression on her face as she purred the lyrics, the whole crowd might as well be invisible. The sweet freckle-faced beauty saw only her adoring husband making the public performance a private love note.
He caught Meghan’s gaze. She noticed the touching moment, too. Tori was smiling broadly with obvious tears sparkling in her eyes. No matter what else was going on, there was something about the pure, unabashed innocence that the married couple created from the power of their feelings that moved everyone. Cameron and Lacey were love’s touchstone. They were all blessed for knowing them.
When it was over, the crowd went wild, begging for an encore, but the DJ pulled the plug and said it was against the rules. Promising a close-out set after some re-staging, he directed everyone to the bar. After congratulating all the karaoke acts on a fabulous event, he started up a playlist of thumping rock, and went about his business.
Parker looked at him. Alex tried to read his expression, noticed at the same time that Drae was having a hard time keeping the pussy boy in check, and knew just what to do. Giving his old friend a quick nod, he focused on Aldo. Taking one for the team, he plastered on a smile and tossed an arm about Aldo’s thin shoulders.
“Drinks are on me while the women hit the dressing room! Cam! Get Aldo a glass of wine and grab a basket of tortilla chips while you’re at it.”
Becoming the life of the party, Alex quickly organized a mini-gathering in the back of the bar that drew a crowd of friends while Cam and Drae stood watch. Aldo had no choice but to hang there with the guys and wait for the women to turn up.
Fucking Parker better make this good, he thought. Babysitting Angie’s throwaway was hardly Alex’s style but just this once he was going to be nice.
Sprinting, Parker hurried after the girls as they drifted, one by one, into the darkness behind the stage, making their way to the shitty little dressing room he knew so well.
He was on a one-man mission to tame an angel. Enough dancing around the subject. If she thought for one second that he wasn’t going to make love to her until she couldn’t move—well, . . . really? I mean, she was all but begging. He was good with that. More than good.
He found her leaning against a wall behind the stage in a long narrow hallway lit only by filtered blue light that made her appear fragile. Vulnerable.
She looked at him—her eyes dark but wide and filled with something he dared to hope for.
“I’m sorry.”
“For what?” He couldn’t imagine what she needed to apologize for.
“Aldo.” She bit her lip and looked away.
“He called me old. Said you’re too young for an old fart like me.” Parker said the words before he thought them through. He had to see her reaction. Needed to know how she really felt. Yeah, that’s right. He was fucking insecure, too.
“What?” she wailed. Stumbling in the dark, she pinned him to the wall, her hands tightly gripping his forearms. “Please tell me you’re kidding.”
She sounded pained and upset. Just like him.
“Baby,” he murmured. “You know I can’t kid about this. It’s true, honey. I am older and . . .”
She moved her hands to his face and forced him to look at her. “I’ve waited forever to be old enough for you,” she husked. “Don’t you chicken out on me now, counselor.”
Fair enough. Taking her hand, Parker dragged her behind him down the hallway to the lounge Pete kept for his personal use. It was good to have connections everywhere.
Pulling her into the cramped room, he shut and locked the door, then without any pause whatsoever, yanked on the top of her dress. When he uncovered her amazing breasts, he groaned. Soft, weighty, and capped with . . . what the fuck? Expecting to find rosy areolas waiting for his attention, he saw something entirely different.
Pushing her shoulders against a wall, he barked, “What the hell?”
Angie looked down and giggled. “Oh,” she exclaimed. “I forgot.”
“What in the hell did you do?”
“Oh, settle down!” She laughed, smacking him playfully on the arm. “They’re just nipple covers! They do come off.”
He studied the odd little fabric patches affixed to her creamy skin. Why would she do this? He didn’t understand. Parker lusted after her nipples and felt a peevish annoyance that she was keeping them from him.
Reading his expression—he wasn’t doing much to hide how he felt—she smiled so sweetly. “Six weeks ago, I wouldn’t have thought twice about getting caught in some revealing light with my boobs on display.”
She had the cutest flustered look on her face. “But I was pretty sure,” she confessed while doing a number on her lip, “that my, uh . . . boyfriend . . . wouldn’t like others seeing what was only for him.”
Holy. Fucking. Shit.
No, no—for real. Holy! Fucking! Shit!
She just called him her boyfriend and attached these things to her tits because she knew he’d freak at others enjoying what was only his? Fucking, eh. He didn’t care for the nipple blankets or whatever the fuck they were, but the fact that she considered him at all was huge. Bigger than huge. This was major shit, man.
Parker grinned. “How do they come off?”
She started picking at one of the corners, trying to unstick it from her delicate skin. “I’ve never worn them before, but I think all you do is peel.”
“Let me do that,” he husked, pushing her little hands away. Her tits were his job.
As gently as he knew how, Parker pulled the adhesive edge off her soft skin, both of them watching intently. She moaned a little, and he jerked to a stop.
“Did that hurt?”
“No,” she assured him, her hand resting on his arm.
“Why the moan then?” he asked sharply.
“Because I like seeing your hands on me.”
Her answer was so quiet—so earnest. Parker’s heart thudded.
Uncovering her beautifully puckered nipple, he cupped the full, firm breast and
squeezed; then in a swooping motion, he leaned down to suck the dainty nub into his mouth.
Her hands went immediately in his hair, soft groans rumbling in her chest, and a leg in its naughty thigh-high boot wrapping around his. Greedy for more, he tore the cover off her other breast.
Bending his knees for perfect access, he cupped and kneaded both voluptuous breasts, alternating between licking, nipping, and sucking on the delicious mounds until she quivered head to toe.
In the distance, her name was called. Dammit. Sounded like Tori was looking for her. Their time was up.
Covering her, he pulled the dress into place and smiled into her eyes. “You please me very much, baby girl.”
Parker didn’t know where those words came from. The thing was that she looked . . . delighted. When had any woman ever given a shit about whether he was pleased or not?
Taking her small hand in his, he raised it to his lips for a soft kiss. “Thank you,” he drawled. With her other hand, she ran her fingers through his hair, pushing it back off his face.
“For?
“Caring what I thought.”
She laughed at him. “Fat lot of good it did me. Now when we leave this room, my headlights are on high for everyone to see.”
“Yeah,” he smirked. “True. But you’ll be right by my side and believe me, no one in their right mind will as much as look twice. Not if they want to keep on breathing.”
She grinned but chuckled. “Promises, promises.”
Pushing her against the door, Parker shoved a thigh between her legs, pulled down one side of the dress, cupped a breast and sucked on it till she cried out. An instinct, something old and primal, made him mark her skin. Satisfied, he looked at her flesh in his hand.
“Remember that time I made you come just from sucking your nipples?”
She gasped and slapped him on the arm. Hard. “How can you tease me so when you haven’t even kissed me?” she pouted.
Parker roared with laughter. “Easy. Because you and I both know if I kiss you, neither one of us is getting out of this room with our clothes on.”
He rearranged her dress again but spent a good long time massaging her boobs through the fabric. My god, she had the sexiest tits ever.
Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) Page 41
