“What are you looking for, baby?”
“The caged tiger,” she said with a serious tone. “Where’d he go?”
“The only place he’s ever wanted to be. In your cage—forever.”
She smiled, and he tried to pull her in for another kiss before his brothers and Ally tore them apart, but she resisted.
“I thought you didn’t believe in the fantasy.”
“That’s my girl, needing all the answers. I don’t believe in the fantasy, but I believe in our reality.”
He took her in another heart-pounding kiss. Their friends crowded in, cheering and teasing and pulling them apart, the way only people who loved them could. As Mick was passed from one brother to the next, his gaze never left his radiant, beaming bride-to-be, and he had only one thought—reality had never looked so perfect.
Chapter Eighteen
“ARE WE REALLY doing this?” Ally asked Amanda.
“You can do what you want, but me?” Amanda grinned at her sister in the bathroom mirror. “Hell yes. Just try to stop me.” She ran her fingers over her simple white dress, fluffed her hair, and breathed deeply. It was Tuesday night. She’d been engaged for exactly twenty-four hours, and tonight she and Ally were both marrying their forever loves—at the Kiss.
“I want to do it; it’s you I was worried about.” Hands on hips, Ally mocked the big-sister-questioning-little-sister look Amanda had refined over the years. “You’re supposed to be the careful sister.”
“Careful went out the window when I bought The Handbook,” Amanda said with a laugh. She’d stayed at Mick’s last night, and they’d already made arrangements for her things to be moved into his—their—apartment this weekend. They’d stayed up all night talking about their hopes and dreams and their love for each other. It turned out Mick had hopes he’d never articulated, even to himself, and they all included Amanda. They’d joked about burning The Handbook, but neither could deny that the book had actually been instrumental in bringing them together, so they’d decided to frame it. Their inside joke, and another shared secret.
“Thank God for that stupid book,” Amanda said. “If not for it, I might never have mistakenly seduced Mick.”
They both laughed, and Ally’s expression turned thoughtful.
“Don’t look at me like that. You’ll make me cry.” Amanda fanned her glassy eyes. She’d been an emotional mess ever since Mick proposed. She’d experienced the strangest rivaling sensations. On the one hand, she’d been shocked, but at the same time, her heart had known all along that he was her one and only true love. The night had gotten even better when the owner of the bar, Poppy Kiss, had been so touched by Mick’s proposal she’d offered to host their wedding. Mick and Amanda had exchanged one look that said a thousand words and in unison had asked, When? Ten minutes later the double-wedding date was set, and lucky for them, Heath had made a phone call to his family friend Treat Braden, who happened to be in town from Colorado. Treat owned resorts worldwide and had become ordained in order to marry guests. He was thrilled to host their wedding ceremony, and had even tried to talk Logan into finally tying the knot with his fiancée, Stormy, and making it a triple wedding. Logan had insisted he had wedding plans already in the works, though he refused to share any of the details.
“I’m just so happy for you,” Ally said. “You’ve found your one.”
My one. Boy, did she like the sound of that.
“Mick says its kismet. Can you believe my man who doesn’t believe in fantasies believes in fate? Try to figure that one out.” Earlier in the day she and Mick had met with Treat to discuss the ceremony, and Treat had gushed about his wife, Max, and their children. He’d told them about how he and Max had met at his Nassau resort during a wedding, and Mick had said, It was kismet. Like me and Amanda. She had been floored, but then again, Mick had been blowing her away for three years.
“No, thank you,” Ally said, waving her hand. “He’s way too complicated for me. I’ll stick with my very easy to read doctor, thank you very much.” She put her arm around Amanda, both of them smiling like fools and looking in the mirror. “We’re totally hot brides.”
“Brides, Al! We’re in love, getting married. I swear I need…”
They shared a knowing smile and both yelled, “Pinchigans!” as they danced around the bathroom laughing hysterically and pinching each other. The door flew open and Sophie, Mick’s assistant, came in, snapping pictures on her cell phone. Ally and Amanda hammed it up, making silly faces.
“Those are totally going in the office holiday party mash-up!” Sophie leaned in for a selfie and they all stuck out their tongues. “You guys better hurry. Dylan and Brett have kicked the bartender out and have been liquoring everyone up the whole time you’ve been in here. Carson’s eyeing Poppy like she’s dinner.”
Ally and Amanda exchanged a curious glance. Brett had been shamelessly hitting on Sophie all night.
“Don’t even start,” Sophie said, heading for the door. “The man hits on anyone with boobs.”
“She does have great boobs,” Ally whispered.
Amanda giggled and grabbed Ally’s hand. “I’m so nervous. What if I mess up my vows or puke? Ohmygod! What if I puke? Or pass out?”
Ally took her by the shoulders and tried to keep a serious face, but laughter burst from her lungs.
“Not helpful,” Amanda said, stifling her own laugh.
“You’re not going to barf, and if you pass out, Mick will catch you. Besides, we’re brides; we’re supposed to be nervous.”
“But I’m not wearing any underwear,” Amanda whispered. “Promise me if I pass out and the EMTs come, you won’t let them cut my dress off, or lift it, or—”
“No time for underwear woes,” Poppy said as she draped an arm around each bride and ushered them toward the back of the bar. She was like a gorgeous Martha Stewart on speed—incredibly organized, with impeccable taste and a firm but lovable hand. She had transformed the stage into a wonderland of satin and roses, lilies, and lace, and she’d even rolled out a red carpet as an aisle for the girls to walk down. She’d done it all while still running the bar. Amanda and Ally had asked her not to close the bar for the wedding. Because so many strangers had generously shared their romance with others every week, they wanted to share theirs, too.
Poppy led them to their father, who was waiting with a proud smile and tears in his eyes, the old softie. Poppy hugged them and wished them luck, then left for one last practice stroll down the aisle with their adorable flower girl, Melody, Cici and Cooper Wild’s daughter.
“You are gorgeous, pumpkin,” their father said to Ally, then to Amanda, “And you too, precious. I can’t believe my little girls are getting married.”
They both hugged him.
Jackson and Cooper were moving through the bar, taking pictures, as fluid and quiet as the moon lifted into a night sky. Cooper’s camera was pointed at them, and their father pulled them in close for the shot. Amanda knew she looked more beautiful than she ever had. She felt radiant—and not just in appearance, but from her love for Mick, which she no longer tried to hold back. She knew she’d glow with that love forever.
Amanda took in the beautifully decorated stage, where their mother stood beside Mrs. Bad and Mrs. Wild, each clutching a handful of tissues. Mick’s father was talking with his and Heath’s brothers. Mick looked like his father, towering and stable like a California oak, but his father’s eyes were dim and cold, unlike her future husband’s sharp, loving gaze. She looked at her one and only, standing tall and proud and more handsome than ever. He and Heath flanked Treat, but the other men could have been stick figures or models and Amanda wouldn’t have known. Her eyes found Mick’s, and as usual, the rest of the world faded away.
**
THE BAR HAD filled with people during the ceremony, but while Mick was aware of their presence, his thoughts were focused on the woman talking with his mother a few feet away. Amanda’s eyes had brimmed with light as they’d recited their vows. She lo
oked happy, wise, and beyond beautiful. She looked like a woman in love, and knowing she was in love with him brought a sense of pride and responsibility Mick gladly accepted.
“The hot blonde at the bar said to tell you congratulations,” Dylan said as he came to Mick’s side.
He glanced over and nodded at his client Tiffany Winters, wondering what the hell she was doing there.
“How do you know her?” Dylan asked.
“Client,” Mick said, sensing the interest in his brother’s tone. “She’s a cutthroat sports agent. Stop looking at her like she’s sex on legs. She’ll eat you alive, Dyl.”
Dylan scoffed, eyeing the blonde. “What makes you think that?”
“You have a thing for needy women. You’re a savior, and she wouldn’t let a man help her if she was hanging on to the edge of a cliff and he was her only hope.”
“Why does that turn me on?” Dylan said with a smirk.
Mick shook his head as Dylan walked toward the claws that would surely tear him to shreds. The man must have a death wish. Not my problem.
Their father stepped into Mick’s line of sight, blocking his view of his wife. Damn, he liked the sound of that. My wife.
It had been a long time since he’d seen his parents in the same room, and he hadn’t been sure how tonight would go. He watched his father making his way toward him. There had been a time when Mick had seen him as all-powerful, even untouchable, but that was so long ago and buried so deeply under the visceral anger that consumed him every time he thought of the man, he had a hard time conjuring up those memories. They felt more like a story he’d been told. There was once a man…
Mick took a drink as his father came to his side. He bit back the distaste of the past and vowed not to allow it to eat away at his future. He had a wife now, a woman he adored, and one day they hoped to have a family. A family. Their family. He spent so much time afraid of the thought, and now all he wanted was to revel in it with Amanda.
Until now, when the very presence of the man standing shoulder to shoulder with him made his blood boil, opening the door to the ghosts of their past. As they stared out at the crowd—instead of at each other—Mick wondered if his father ever tired of carrying around the weight of their familial destruction. He sure as hell did.
“How does it feel?” his father asked.
“Different.” Mick finished his drink and set the glass on the table beside him.
“Better?” he asked, without looking at Mick.
Mick turned his head and took in the rugged and somber profile of the man who was too weak to pull his shit together for his family. The man who’d spent fourteen years pushing him to be the best person he could be—and in two short years made him fear the man he could become.
His father lifted his glass and met his gaze. The jet-black hair they’d once had in common was now layered with silver, magnifying the inky blackness of his deep-set eyes. His square jaw visibly tensed, deepening the etched markings of his shadowy past.
“I don’t know, Dad. Is it?” The question came unbidden, and as his father’s eyes narrowed, he knew he understood the question had nothing to do with his recent nuptials. A long, silent moment stretched between them, each stubborn man holding his ground. Mick was no longer sixteen years old, frightened and fighting to hold their family together. The rest of them had made it and remained willing to lay their lives on the line for one another, but Mick had absolutely no clue where that left his father.
His father’s lips curved up at the edges in a hint of a smile, stopping short of coming to fruition. It was the smile of a pleased mentor and the smile of a man who knew better than to show his hand.
“No,” his father answered.
Mick swallowed hard at the unexpected response.
“Nothing has, or will ever be.” His father lifted his drink, watching his son as he swallowed it down. “For me, that is.” He looked out over the crowd. “But I sure as hell hope it will be for you.”
Anger burned up Mick’s chest. Dylan lifted a glass, catching his attention and sparking thunderous memories of that fateful, stormy night. He and Carson were heading toward them. Brett, watching the troops rally, fell into step behind the others while their mother watched with pride and hurt in her eyes. She was a strong woman, and she’d built a life around what she had, not whom she’d lost. They were happy despite their scars, each pushing through their own silent battles. Each brother there to help the others. Comrades, confidants, and friends. They’d made it despite their father’s fall. They all had.
“It could have been better for you,” Mick challenged his father. “But you chose to throw it away.”
His father drew in a deep breath, his jaw tight, eyes unflinching. “Devastation isn’t a choice, son.” He turned with a rueful expression that cut Mick to his core. “Not a day passes that I don’t wish I’d been stronger.”
His brothers’ faces grew serious as they approached.
“Me too,” Mick said honestly. He wished his father had been stronger, and he wished he’d been stronger, too.
Dylan, the peacemaker, inserted himself between the two of them. Carson, his strong, silent brother who had the strength of ten men—emotionally and physically, though an onlooker would never think it, given his easy demeanor—took up the space on Mick’s other side. Brett stood before them, arms crossed, the unyielding corner pin rounding out the group.
Mick looked past Brett, to his new wife, and realized his group, his cavalry, had expanded, as had his charge. He’d become the patriarch of his small family. Amanda turned, and the space between them sparked and hummed. Love was a powerful thing, and Mick knew in his heart he’d never lose sight of that. He was stronger with her by his side, and if life brought a shit storm, he’d shelter her. If life brought pain, he’d nurse her through it. But he’d never in a million years allow his weakness to overpower their love. His father was right. Devastation wasn’t a choice, but how a person treated the people they loved was.
Dylan looked over his shoulder at Amanda and smiled at Mick. “You going to stare at her all night?”
“No,” Mick said, holding his hand out to his wife and pulling her in close. “I’m going to stare at her for the rest of my life.”
—Ready for More Bad Boys After Dark?—
Each of Mick’s siblings will have their own books.
Are you ready for Dylan Bad?
Sinfully sexy bar owner Dylan Bad has a thing for needy women. He’s a savior, a knight in shining armor, and his mighty talented sword has no trouble bringing damsels in distress to their knees. Enter Tiffany Winters, a gorgeous cutthroat sports agent who looks like sex on legs, fucks like she’s passion personified, and wouldn’t let a man help her if she was hanging onto a ledge and he was her only hope. One night and too much tequila might change their lives forever. The question is, will either one survive?
Buy: BAD BOYS AFTER DARK: DYLAN
**
Love Mick Bad? Meet the WILD BOYS AFTER DARK
And get your sexy on… All 4 books NOW AVAILABLE!
Logan – Heath – Jackson - Cooper
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CONTINUE READING for excerpts from 2 more of Melissa’s publications
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Fall in love with Trish & Boone
Chased by Love (The Ryders)
“I’M GOING OVER. Should I go over? Tell me I shouldn’t. Or should I?” Trish Ryder clutched her cell phone, pacing inside her trailer on the set of her latest film, No Strings. She’d been trying to study her lines all night, but her costar, famed rocker Boone Stryker, had a full-blown party going on at his trailer, and she could barely think past the noise.
“It’s midnight and you have to be on set in seven hours,” her best friend, Fiona, reminded her. “You’re the star, so yes. Get your ass over there and pull a diva.”
Trish stopped cold. “But I’m not a diva!”
; “Of course not, but you know that’s what his groupies will think, which you do not care about. Right?”
“Right.” She nodded curtly, but she did care. She cared a lot, and Fiona knew that about her. She’d worked hard to keep a professional reputation clear of any diva attitude or impressions, and she didn’t want to blow it for a self-centered rock star making his film debut.
Fiona groaned, and Trish heard her friend’s fiancé, Jake Braden, say, “Give me the phone.”
“Do not give him the phone.” Trish paced again. She adored Jake. Not only was he an amazing stuntman, but he treated her bestie like a princess. But Jake, like each of Trish’s five brothers, had the protective alpha thing down pat, which meant he’d want to take care of this for her.
“Like I have a choice?” Fiona giggled, and Trish heard them struggling over the phone.
“Trish?” Jake’s tone made her name sound like a command she should salute.
Trish Ryder saluted no man. “No, it’s Mary Poppins.”
“Okay. Well, listen, Mary,” Jake said without missing a beat. “March your pretty little ass over there and tell the guy to straighten up. If he gives you any crap, call me back, and I’ll come to the set and knock some sense into him.”
Of course you will. “Thanks, Jake, but I can handle it. I just wasn’t sure I wanted to stir up trouble. He’s already messed up so badly, the whole crew knows the film’s on thin ice.”
“Even more of a reason for you to set him straight,” Jake said. “You don’t have to be a bitch. Just be your normal, confident self. He’d have to be a real dick not to rectify the situation.”
She sighed, and heard Jake pass the phone back to Fiona. Maybe they were right. She was a well-respected actress, and this was Boone’s first film. Maybe he simply wasn’t up to speed on film-set etiquette. Obviously, since in the span of a few weeks he’d missed the preproduction meeting, showed up late to the set, and screwed up too many scenes to count.
Bad Boys After Dark: Mick Page 19