“Mo—”
He walked to me, tagged the lacy pink bralette I’d laid out on the counter and held it my way.
“Put this on,” he ordered.
My stomach plummeted, and I stared up at his gorgeous face.
“Do you like them?” I asked quietly.
He also stared down at my face.
“Of course I like ’em.”
“You’re not even looking at them,” I pointed out.
His eyes dropped to them then came back to my face.
“You look beautiful, Lottie,” he said. “You always look beautiful. It’s impossible for you not to look beautiful.”
I knew my strengths.
I knew my weaknesses.
I was pretty.
I was not beautiful.
Except to Mo.
That was sweet, incredibly sweet, and he could say that, but after my days of rest, it wasn’t like we hadn’t had sex in the five weeks since surgery. We did. A lot. Gentle at first. Then not so much.
From what I could see, I was fully healed.
I felt great.
And I was due to go back to work the Tuesday after next.
I was ready.
I was also not.
And the not part was mostly the fact that Mo and I made love, but he never touched my tits.
He barely even looked at them.
“Mo, when we have sex, you don’t—” I began.
That was as far as I got because he cut off my words by tossing the bralette to the side, putting two big hands on my waist, lifting me up, planting my ass on the counter and then he put those two big hands to my breasts.
He lifted one up.
He bent to it.
Then he sucked my nipple deep into his mouth.
Oh…
Nice.
My head fell back and my hands went to his scalp, gliding over, fingers linking at the back.
His head and my hands moved to the other nipple while he rolled the one he’d left gently with his thumb.
I was breathing heavy when his mouth went away, his hands covered my breasts, and his lips came to mine.
“You were healing,” he whispered, looking into my eyes.
“I’m fine now,” I whispered back.
“Okay,” he said.
That was it.
Mo said it was okay.
And it was okay.
He ran his thumbs hard over my nipples before he slid his hands to my back, slanted his head and took my mouth.
It was getting serious. I was enjoying the feel of that serious. Mo had moved one hand back to a breast and was kneading it, his other hand shoving in at my back so I was arched into him, when a pounding came at the door.
Mo lifted his head up.
“Mac, open this goddamned door!”
Oh man.
Smithie.
What now?
“I love my job. You love your job. I got a great family. You got a great family. We both got kickass friends,” Mo growled. “And we’re still moving to Hawaii.”
On that, he turned on his bare foot and stalked out.
I moved to snatch up my bralette and pull it on. I then grabbed the cream cotton camisole that matched the cream in the waistband of my shorts and was skintight, even if in the chest area there was less to be tight against, and tugged that on.
Then I went flying from the bathroom just as I heard, “You are not horning in on my action!”
That wasn’t Smithie.
That was Tex.
Oh shit.
I kicked up my pace and rounded the corner at the bottom of the stairs only to slam into Mo’s immovable back.
He twisted to catch me with an arm and pull me to the side just as Tex caught sight of me, jabbed a finger Smithie’s way, and boomed, “Tell him! He’s not hornin’ in on my action!”
“Tex, honey, what are you talking about?” I asked in what I hoped was a calming voice.
“You asked Tex to give you away?” Smithie demanded to know…from me.
Yeah.
Oh shit.
“Tex?” he bit out. “Not me?”
Shit.
“Smithie—” I started.
“I’m her stepfather,” Tex mini-boomed to Smithie.
“I don’t give a shit,” Smithie returned to Tex.
Tex’s face started getting red.
Ah, hell.
“You got other daughters, ones you made,” Tex shot back. “Give them away.”
“I will,” Smithie rejoined. “The ones of my blood and the ones who want me to who dance for me.”
“Dance for you? Dance for you?” Tex was winding himself up and I knew he’d finished that endeavor when he put both hands to his head and then jerked them straight up, bellowing, “That’s entirely loco!”
“What’s loco about it?” Smithie retorted. “No one gets to say what family is.”
He had a point there.
Tex stabbed a finger my way with his gaze still locked on Smithie. “I sleep beside her mother.”
“I introduced her to her man,” Smithie fired back.
He kinda did that too, just not for the reason that brought us to now.
Tex gave up on Smithie and looked at me.
“He is not hornin’ in on my action.”
I had to find a compromise.
Immediately.
“Are you gonna dance with me at the reception?” I asked, thinking Tex would balk at that for sure and I could give the walk-down-the-aisle part to Tex and the father-daughter dance to Smithie.
“Yes,” Tex answered immediately.
I blinked.
“You are?” I queried.
“Fuck yes. The father dances with his girl after the wedding. Right?” Tex replied.
“Yes,” I whispered, and did it feeling Mo’s arm get tighter around me.
Tex nodded sharply and stated, “I’ve already picked the song. ‘Not While I’m Around.’”
Oh boy.
I knew that song.
Uh-oh.
I was going to cry.
While I fought that urge, I felt the room and knew Smithie knew that song too and Tex just won the argument.
“What’s Ray gonna do in all this?” Smithie asked me quietly, giving in without saying the words.
Ray was my biological dad. Since he began his ongoing gambling recovery, our relationship had been somewhat repaired. Like Mo’s oldest sister, for the sake of family, and because she had a generous heart, Jet had asked our dad to give her away at her wedding.
Then again, that hadn’t worked out all that well and not because Dad was a dick. Because Eddie had taken one look at Jet in her wedding dress and broke ranks at the altar to prowl down the aisle and claim her before Dad got the shot to give her away.
It was hilarious.
It super sweet.
It was totally romantic.
And it was hot as fuck.
Sadly, the scars my father left me would never go away, so he wasn’t going to get that honor from me mostly because I was grown up, and Tex still lived the words of the song he’d picked for our dance. On the other hand, Dad played a role in making me, and throughout my life, he’d never lived those words.
“He’ll be invited,” I told Smithie. “But I think he’ll get why he won’t play a bigger part.”
“Right then,” Smithie muttered, lifting a hand and rubbing it over the top of his head. He dropped his hand and went on, “So, guess I’ll see you Tuesday next.”
Current drama over.
It was good to be loved.
I just wished being that loved wasn’t so loud and didn’t interrupt bathroom-counter sex with my man.
I mean seriously, if this shit didn’t stop, my neighbors were going to come over and complain to me.
“Yeah, Smithie,” I replied.
Smithie studied my face, couldn’t process the love I knew was shining there in company, so he turned his attention up to Mo.
“Hey, Mo.”
“Yo,” Mo grunted.
With that, Smithie took his leave, but not before I grabbed his hand as he tried to make by me and made him stop so I could give it a squeeze.
Smithie squeezed back.
Then he vamoosed.
When we heard the front door close, Tex asked me, “Am I gonna have to fight ’em all back with a club?”
He might mean Ray.
He might mean Mag, Auggie, Axl or Boone.
Hell, he might even mean Paul, Taylor or Rick.
My family was expanding, bonds were tightening, and it was just simply the manner of men I was fortunate enough to have in my life.
But for that role, there was only one for me.
The one who made my mother happy.
And the one who would pick that song to dance the father-daughter dance.
I smiled at my stepdad. “No, Tex, I think you’ve successfully staked your claim.”
“I better,” he muttered. Then he asked, “You healin’?”
“Almost good as new,” I told him.
He turned to Mo. “What’re you up to today?”
“Hopin’ I can spend a quiet Saturday with my girl without my sisters, her sisters, my brothers, her brothers, or any other parental units like you fuckin’ it up,” Mo replied.
“Right, that’s my get-the-fuck-out cue,” Tex said, came to me, dropped a hand on the top of my head before he removed it and kissed me there, gave Mo an insane-looking grimace that I was pretty sure was a smile, then he took off.
Mo moved to the front door to lock it behind Tex and came back.
The instant he hit the living room, I asked, “Where were we?”
Then I cried out because I was over his shoulder in a fireman’s hold.
Seconds later I was on my back in bed with Mo on top of me.
Oh yeah.
That was where we were.
* * * *
Some time later…
“Mag, listen to me, it’s gonna be okay,” I said into my phone.
“Lottie, I’m gonna—”
“Mag,” I cut him off, “you’re gonna get married tomorrow. The end.”
Mag was silent.
I was silent.
He broke it first.
“Have I thanked you, darlin’?”
I smiled. “No.”
“Thank you, Lottie,” he said softly.
What he was thanking me for, it was my pleasure.
“Don’t mention it. Glad you’re happy. Glad you’re making Evie happy. Now go get some rest. You don’t need bags under your eyes in the photos tomorrow.”
“Like that’ll happen,” he muttered.
“It happens, even to dudes,” I told him. “You need to hydrate and get sleep, or you’ll have puffy eyes.”
“I meant resting, babe.”
Oh.
He was excited to make it official.
I loved that for Evie.
I loved it more for Mag.
Though I didn’t share that with Mag.
He already knew it.
“I gotta check on Mo and Pooks. Make sure he’s got her down. You good?” I asked him.
“I’m good, darlin’. Say hey to Mo for me and remind him the time we’re hooking up tomorrow and not to forget the ring.”
“He won’t forget the ring,” I assured him. “Later, Mag.”
“Later, Lottie.”
“At least try to rest.”
Soft and sweet came, “I will, darlin’,” and I was again oh so glad Evie was getting a lifetime of that.
And glad Mag had Evie to give it to.
We hung up and I placed my phone on the charge pad before I moved through the kitchen, the living room and up the stairs.
I stopped at the top landing, my breath suddenly catching in my throat.
Mo was in the nursery with our baby girl.
I didn’t know this because he’d taken her up there twenty minutes ago to put her down.
I didn’t know it because I could see him.
I knew it because I could hear him.
“No one’s gonna hurt you. No one’s gonna dare,” his deep voice sounded.
Oh my God.
He was sing-talking à la Bono to our little Pooks.
But better.
I pressed my back to the wall and closed my eyes.
Mo’s voice came back.
“Whistle, I’ll be there.”
Oh God.
That was my baby’s daddy.
My man.
He kept going.
“Nothing can harm you. Not while I’m around.”
I had to swallow the sob that soared up my throat.
I opened my eyes and lifted my hand, staring at the big rock Mo had planted there during our first vacation together. The one we took in Hawaii.
It was nestled above a wide gold band that had a match, the one on Mo’s finger.
Our wedding had been the best.
Even better than Jet’s, and she’d had a hayride.
And my gown had kicked Roxie’s gown’s ass. Sheer bodice and long sleeves with a full sheer skirt, all covered in sparkling diamanté. Plunging neckline that nearly went down to my navel, slit in the skirt that went up to my left hip, all this stitched to a bodysuit that covered only the important bits.
Outside the pictures of me with Mo, the pic of Tex escorting me down the aisle with my skirt flying out behind me, my left leg exposed from the hip down in full stride, me smiling so big at Mo, even in a picture, it was blinding, and Tex wearing his lunatic grin was my favorite.
Jet had been my matron of honor.
Mag had been Mo’s best man.
And Mom had sat between Tex and my dad in the front row after Tex gave me away, Dad smiling huge, fighting tears but not fighting that was the place he needed to be. Just happy he got the honor of being there at all.
By the way, Mo’s dad wasn’t invited.
But he did send us a wedding card with a hundred-dollar bill in it through the mail, writing that he hoped Mo was happy in a way that screamed it was tentatively…and hopefully.
Mo didn’t grab that olive branch.
His father had hurt his mother, his sisters.
For a man like Mo, there was no coming back from that.
Not while he was around.
With that hundred bucks, he took Alex, Dante and Cesar to the batting cages.
As an aside, I’d lost my nephews to their big, badass, commando Uncle Mo. They worshipped him.
I didn’t mind.
I totally got that he was way more fun to wrestle with.
Especially when he didn’t let you win.
Leaning against the wall, after I pulled it together, and after Mo was done sing-talking, I moved into the hall then to the doorway to Pooks’s room.
I rested a shoulder against the jamb.
My mound of hunkalicious husband was in the rocker, the long trunks of his legs stretched out, ankles crossed, using his heel to rock the little bundle in a pink polka-dot onesie held belly and cheek to his wide chest with his hand on her tiny diapered bootie.
Her eyes were closed.
I looked to my man.
“She’s asleep,” I whispered.
“I know,” he whispered back.
Of course he knew.
I said not another word.
I simply smiled at my husband holding our little girl and experienced something I experienced a lot from the minute I met Mo Morrison.
Falling a little deeper in love with him.
Then I left Daddy with his princess, his moon and stars…
And walked to our room.
The End
* * * *
Also from 1001 Dark Nights and Kristen Ashley, discover Rough Ride and Rock Chick Reawakening.
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