Enduring (Family Justice Book 8)

by Suzanne Halliday

  As the stunning piano and pitch-perfect vocal filled the air, young Lacey Cameron schooled them all in the ways of being a total goddess. Angie didn’t know half the moves she pulled off were possible. It was as though she possessed unlimited strength, flexibility, and had the ability to defy gravity.

  She looked at Cameron. He was in a trance, but she understood. Such beauty took your breath away.

  When it was over and Lacey had gracefully landed on her toes, a long moment of thunderstruck silence hung in the air.

  Then, she gave a waving flourish and took a deep bow the way only a true goddess could.

  Charlie jumped to her feet, hollered, “Bravo,” and began clapping. The sound must have shaken the group from their stupefied lull because, as a whole, they all stood and unloaded a round of applause.

  “Well, fuck,” Parker murmured into her ear. “Shit just got real, huh?”

  Being a pregnant wife and dutiful sub meant she’d used whatever advantage those two things gave her and drove her husband crazy until he gave her a tiny glimpse of what the boys had planned.

  She stroked his face. “Honey, all sorts of new hashtags are being generated as we speak. I wouldn’t worry all that much. Not after kilted alphas take the stage.”

  He didn’t just kiss her. He grabbed her hair and moved his mouth on hers, smothering and demanding. The things he did with his tongue made her moan with longing.

  Before leaving to get ready for the next performance, he stroked her bump. “Are you okay? It’s been a long day, and you’ve been on your feet a lot.”

  “I’m fine,” she assured him. “Although this seems like the best time to ask a question.”

  He arched a brow.

  “Is it okay to spank a pregnant woman?” She shrugged off the inquiry and mumbled, “Asking for a friend.”

  Meghan freaked them all out earlier with her panic over Alex’s reaction to their musical number. She was concerned that the costumes were skirting a line and wasn’t sure strutting their goodies on stage was such a great idea. Maybe she was right. As it was, she had all sorts of considerations going on for her part in the scheme, including making damn sure her belly remained covered at all times.

  Her dominating husband had no problem with her wearing something stretchy and skintight that showed off their baby bump. But he reacted like a grumpy bear when skin was visible. To him, the bump where their child curled inside her was something sacred. Special. And for no one’s eyes but theirs.

  “Asked like a wife who knows in advance that she went too far.”

  She made a face. “I told you, asking for a friend.”

  “Is anyone but you pregnant?”

  Damn. She forgot.

  He snicker-chuckled and lifted her chin with his finger. “Angelina Sullivan. The day you stop being a handful is the day I get worried. Am I expecting you to challenge the boundaries? Of course! You also know the rules,” he gravely reminded her. “As long as you don’t color too far outside the lines, your bottom is safe. Maybe a little pink, but nothing requiring a pillow to sit on.”

  Oh, my! It felt all kinds of wicked that she pulsed with interest. Parker knew his way around an erotic spanking. And taking the kinky habit into the realm of an actual punishment was not a horrifying thought. What did that say about her?

  “Just answer me one thing before you dash off. Will the kilts include coverage? I’m not okay with anyone catching a glimpse of the Sullivan cock.”

  He grinned. “We all have rules, Angel. Even me,” he conceded with a slight nod. “I believe Alex and Finn are trying to outdo each other with authenticity, but everyone else will be sporting bloomers.”

  She giggled at his choice of descriptive words as he swaggered away.

  “Alrighty then,” Domineau drawled into the microphone. She held up a piece of paper. “I got the short straw, so this introduction is on me.”

  Meghan couldn’t stop smiling. She didn’t know what was coming but was relatively positive it would be memorable.

  Slipping on a prop pair of rhinestone cat-eye reading glasses Domineau cleared her throat and spoke like a college valedictorian delivering a major address.

  “The Haka is a traditional Maori ceremonial dance. Originally performed by warriors to proclaim their strength and prowess, the vigorous movements have been adapted to suit the occasion and audience.”

  She looked up from the paper and rolled her eyes. “Whatever. C’mon, ladies,” she cheered. “Give it up for the Justice clan with their interpretation of the Haka.”

  A loud grunt boomed from the shadows, and then all the guys streamed onto the stage from both sides. Instead of Haka garb, they were outfitted in kilts and Doc Martins. Beneath the stage lights, it was obvious that they’d oiled up for maximum muscle viewing.

  Meghan swooned, and then she screamed like a champion fangirl.

  “Holy shnikes.” Stephanie giggled.

  Remy burbled a stunned sounding, “Oh my god.”

  Lacey, still dressed in her gold embellished leotard, let out an impressive wolf-whistle.

  Charlie screamed, “Hubba hubba,” when Caleb crossed his arms and struck a pose.

  Kelly laughed. Then laughed some more. She was having a hard time keeping it together—maybe because Roman and Rafe were the stars of the routine.

  Barry and Grey, who were manning the bar and keeping the food moving, laughed their asses off.

  “Dammit!” Sophie yelled. “Cell phone embargo. Not fair!”

  Meghan kind of agreed. More than a dozen chest thumping alphas in kilts was a visual she hated to let pass without being photographed—but Duke put his foot down and demanded this be a no-photos after party. Part of being in a security bubble included not inadvertently giving anyone ammunition that might prove embarrassing.

  Murmuring, “Oh my goodness,” she put a hand on her heart and exclaimed, “They’re so sweet.”

  Sophie seemed bemused. “Sweet?” she yelped over the loud grunts.

  Finding her sister-in-law’s confusion adorable, she pointed out the obvious.

  “Yes. Sweet, Soph! Do you really imagine any of the guys just woke up one day and thought—Ya know what? I’m going to put on a kilt, get on a stage, and act like a caveman.” Meghan’s expression conveyed her certainty on this. “C’mon. Sweet barely covers Jace or Cam or Draegyn participating in this foolishness. Finn and Alex are sort of obligated. And maybe Calder. But all of them?”

  They watched the chest slapping and foot stomping for a few seconds. Then Sophie shared her feelings, and Meghan silently happy danced.

  “Jace is amazing,” she very quietly murmured. “He loves Teo, and even my dad is a card-carrying member of his fan club.”

  “He’s a great guy, Soph. We all see how much he adores Teo. And you.”

  Sophie’s gaze met hers. A slow-moving smile crept onto her sister-in-law’s face.

  “It’s his ass,” Sophie drawled.

  “His what?”

  “His ass,” she repeated. “First time I noticed him was here. At Pete’s. I was having lunch with Parker and noticed a guy with hot cowboy ass leaning on the bar.” Her face colored, and she smirked. “Great view.”

  “But I thought you two knew each other. From before.”

  “We did. But the European businessman I met on a vacation in Greece was the last guy I expected to find at an Arizona bar dressed in cowboy boots and booty molding jeans. To say I was stunned when he turned around is an understatement.”

  Meghan smiled. “That’s how I felt the day I knocked on the Villa’s door. When it opened, and I saw your brother standing on the other side, well”—she chuckled—“nothing’s been the same since.”

  The kilted Haka ended, and they cheered, whistled, hollered, clapped, and caused general mayhem. Meghan noticed when Jace winked at Sophie. Observing the lovebirds was like watching a Doris Day movie. Sexy fun without any obvious hanky-panky. In other words, old-school courtship done in the age of public excess.

  Sophie
said something between cheers that made Meghan look at her twice.

  “I think he’s the one.”

  She replied bluntly. “Does he know that?”

  “Yes.”

  Hmph. She chewed her lip and pondered this nugget. “Is there a problem?”

  “I have difficulty expressing certain things.” Sophie shrugged. “It’s silly, really. In our case, he can say it, but I’m the one with the language problem. Usually the other way around, isn’t it?”

  Interesting observation and very astute. It made sense that Sophie would have a hard time with the whole dance of love concept. After what she’d been through, it was hardly a surprise. But it was also a surprise how genuinely sweet and loving she actually was—as a person. After you stripped away the protective outer shell, she was just as vulnerable and fragile as everyone else.

  She considered several options for a response and went with something personal.

  “Maybe what you describe is a family trait. I had to level some threats before your brother found his sense. Are you waiting for Jace to force the issue, Sophie? Are you prepared for what that may mean? Be careful, sis. Sometimes patience is misread. Compassion isn’t passive—it’s actually a strong alpha trait. He wants you to meet him halfway—that’s all. If I were you, I’d take the leap.”

  The house lights came on, and teams of waitstaff started weaving through the group to take orders and deliver food.

  Sophie grabbed her in a surprise hug and said, “Thanks.”

  “Any time.”

  A waitress approached, holding a tall glass filled with ice, lemon wedges, and several lime chunks.

  “Sparkling water, Mrs. Marquez. Compliments of your husband.”

  Sophie laughed. “Is his message to stay hydrated, not drink, or is this one filed under general bossiness?”

  “A little of all,” she answered with a sly grin.

  “Calder, you got this?”

  Parker checked out Alex’s uncle and made sure he was stage ready. The whole idea of this craziness was to bring the unexpected. Calder at the microphone qualified.

  Brody was having a good laugh. Probably because the aging surfer dressed as Billy Idol was fucking fantastic. The hair was a bit of a challenge, but with enough styling shit and some clever lighting, it was fine. Plus, nobody would be focused on his hair. Not when they got a look at the black leather getup and his practiced snarl.

  Finn and Parker huddled in a corner with their instruments. Another of Alex’s heavy-handed edicts for tonight included banning Berger from being part of the event. It made sense, and the bass player didn’t give a shit. But passing on his contribution meant Finn had to play bass to Parker’s lead, and those two had a habit of pushing each other’s buttons. In other words, a potential shitstorm stared them in the face.

  Alex walked by, twirling his sticks. He smirked at Brody and then turned to Calder. “Nice boots, man. You def look the part.”

  His uncle snarled into the wall mirror and raised his leather-bound wrist. “Yeah, I’ve got this.” Calder chuckled.

  Fluent French came across the PA system and earned a group snigger. Jace must be doing the intro.

  Brody straightened. “All right, men. I’m out. Have fun.”

  Calder reminded him to make sure Stephanie was in front of the stage. He waved a thumbs-up and dashed into the audience as Jace babbled who the fuck knew what.

  Finding Heather, he twirled her in a circle and stuck his tongue down her throat because why not. She tasted like butterscotch and whiskey.

  They clung to each other. She was still in costume although he knew a change was coming.

  “Stephanie Dane,” he boomed when Jace shut up. “Move your ass down front.”

  Everyone laughed and pushed her forward. When she was in place, the guys strode on stage and ripped through a rocking version of “Rebel Yell” that got the ladies dancing. Stephanie danced most energetically of all, twirling and stomping to the beat.

  As the song neared the end, everyone got in on the chorus, screaming, “More, more, more,” in the appropriate spots. Calder did a passable Billy Idol. So far so good.

  There was lots of good-natured ribbing when the song wrapped up and Calder jumped from the stage and dropped a raunchy kiss on his shrieking wife. Within minutes, the piano was back beneath the spotlight with Angie’s hands on the ivory keys.

  Nobody sang like Angie. Her vocals were always so mesmerizing that she held the audience in the palm of her hand from the first note. There was a huge lump in his throat, and Heather was sniffing as the talented chanteuse brought “Tiny Dancer” in for a landing. The poignant Elton John classic and the Sullivan’s baby ballerina references gave him goose bumps.

  Parker was waiting at the edge of the stage. When she finished and the last notes faded, she stood and walked into his arms. It occurred to him that he and Heather were surrounded by a lot of love.

  Remy shivered when Finn pressed her against the cool wall with his hot and sweaty body. Not from the temperature—from Finn’s ravenous hunger and forceful demeanor. She wasn’t used to being so boldly taken. It felt right. Oh, so very right.

  His tongue tracing her lips sent her pulse racing, and waves of desire crashed into her center. The music released his bad boy side. Remy liked Finn’s inner hooligan. That was what Paddy called his youngest son—a hooligan. In a weird way, the term fit.

  “Thanks for leaving me my tonsils,” she chided after a particularly yummy oral invasion.

  He grinned down at her. The dark hallway behind the stage shrouded them from view. Though she ended the kiss, her hands continued to fist his T-shirt. Too late she realized that if she’d jumped on him and wrapped her legs around his waist in a skirt, the experience might be more than a little naughty.

  “Maybe I should check those tonsils from a different angle.” His leather-clad thigh pushed between her legs. Without thinking, she ground her pelvis on the convenient ridge.

  Flustered, she clutched at him and murmured, “What angle?”

  His grin got bigger—more wicked. “From the other end.”

  Oh, Jesus. He was talking about his tongue doing things between her legs.

  Tempting but, nah. Not this second anyway—so she playfully smacked his chest and gave a gentle shove. The smirk she tried to tamp down bloomed on her face anyway.

  “For god’s sake, Beantown.”

  “What?” He chuckled. “No good? Too fast or too direct?”

  “You’re pushing again.”

  “Yeah,” he agreed. “But you’re not running away quite so fast. I call that progress.”

  Changing the conversation’s direction was her best move. Now wasn’t the time to discuss this.

  “I have to change.” She wasn’t kidding. This costume thing took time. “We’re up next.”

  “Need any help?”

  Strangely, she didn’t know how to answer. Surprising herself first and him second, she put a hand on his neck and felt his strength. Her kiss was sweet and full of promise. Promise she finally felt might be more and more possible.

  Staring at each other in the darkness, Remy’s eyes felt fully open for the first time. She’d done everything she could think of to drive him away, yet, through all of her bullshit, he remained constant. Finn never wavered, not even once. That fact alone made her a fool for not taking him on. What was she waiting for? If not Finn, who? Did she imagine someone else would be more faithful? More tolerant? More understanding?

  Oh my god, she thought. What the hell am I doing?

  The tiny bubble of an idea bounced around in her brain. Waiting for her to declare her feelings was a really stupid move. She wasn’t that brave. At all. Not about this. Fear that she’d fuck up or, worse, fall apart when things got intimate, had her in a bind.

  His eyes bored into hers. She wanted to do something. For him. A gesture. He earned a public declaration. Could she do it?

  A fast grin spread on her face. He jolted at her sudden change.

 
; “No, I do not need help. And yes, I’m the one in white.”

  “My angel.” He chuckled.

  “Fallen angel, Finn. Don’t forget that part.”

  He stroked her throat and gently teased the skin above her shirt.

  “The color white doesn’t only signify innocence or purity.”

  She was listening with her heart—a new experience that shifted her awareness.

  “It also means new beginnings. Wiping the slate clean. You’re an artist. White is the color of a blank canvas. Did you choose the color, or did it choose you? Either way, honey, this is your chance to paint your life however you want.”

  A mildly startling confession tumbled out of her mouth. “I didn’t want to stand out. Draw attention to myself. White seemed safe. Neutral.”

  Did he find her bemusement funny? Was that why he was smiling?

  “Newsflash, my beauty. A white corset with your black hair? Add some red lipstick and baby, you’ll be a boner-inducing Snow White.”

  Boner inducing? What should she do? She blinked in stunned silence. Him teasing her about sexual stuff was new.

  An involuntary snort of laughter took the decision out of her hands.

  “Oh, nice!” She snorted several times because apparently laughing like a normal person wasn’t going to happen. “Now I’ll be thinking about boners.”

  His answering chuckle was sexy as all get-out.

  “The only boner I want you thinking about is mine.”

  He shocked the holy crap out of her by taking her hand and pressing it on his leather covered bulge.

  “One hundred percent pure Irish Grade A Prime.”

  Oh, come on. Seriously? How the hell was she supposed to keep it together in the face of such audacious macho-speak?

  Maybe what Mr. Smarty Pants Hooligan needed was a reminder that she wasn’t a twit. She had a few comebacks guaranteed to make him crazy.

  “I like brisket,” she told him in a dry, matter-of-fact voice. “Your brisket especially. Done to perfection. Meaty. Tasty. A glorious mouthful.”

  She intended to keep going, but he smacked her ass and pushed her toward the dressing room.

  “Cut it out, Ms. Bisset. You already have my full attention. No need to make me embarrass myself before the main event.”