The five musicians returned with the rest of their equipment, each carrying a different sized steel drum.
“You guys all set? Electric is good?”
One of them shook his head, bending down to a sound unit on the far corner. “No juice,
mon
.” His accent sounded Jamaican.
I gave a curt nod. “No problem. I’ll fix it.” Following the cord up to the house, I found it had been disconnected, the plug lying on the concrete border. I inspected the prongs to make sure they were clean and dry, lifted the cover of the metal-capped outlet on the wall, and plugged it back in.
I turned around and raised my arms to get his attention. He bent down and flipped a switch on his unit. I got a thumbs-up signal a second later. I nodded, satisfied.
Then I scanned the area, searching for signs of panic or anyone in need of direction.
The cabana boys congregated on the patio again. I headed up there, unwilling to leave anything to chance or assumption. The group laughed about something the guy on the end said, but none looked guilty or uncomfortable by the time I approached within earshot.
“You guys have everything you need? Have my sisters briefed you on protocol?”
One nodded. “We’re good. Half of us have experience. I used to wait tables all through college at a five-star Zagat rated restaurant. Your guests are in capable hands.”
Impressed, I stepped closer. “What’s your name?”
“Zach.”
I nodded to Zach but addressed the group as a whole. “I’m Cade. Any of you have any questions, feel free to ask me, but follow Zach’s lead and example. He’s in charge if you need anything and can’t find me. Oh, and Zach?” I clapped a hand on his shoulder, wincing at the coconut oil now on my palm. Yeah that shit would be wiped the fuck off in a minute.
I scanned their faces. “Gentlemen? By ‘capable hands,’ Zach meant metaphorically. No one touches any person here, guest or otherwise. No one propositions or accepts invitations. None of you are to drink a drop of alcohol; there are nonalcoholic beverages for you in the kitchen. Part of your personal responsibilities entails keeping the guests safe, even from themselves when the alcohol flows and filters disappear.”
Zach laughed. “We got it covered. Don’t we, gentlemen?”
The rest nodded in agreement.
“Good.” Confident our guests would be taken care of, I turned toward the open door.
“Cade?” Zach arched his brows, and I paused. “Do we have to worry about any of the guests, regarding your concerns?”
I barked out a laugh, nodding. “All of the women, my two single sisters, and Bertrande.” I pointed a finger at the group. “Watch out for Bertrande. He may distract you, then grope you, pretending like it was accidental. You’ve all been warned.” Bertrande was a neighbor and an old friend of my Mom’s.
Half the guys burst out laughing and the other half’s eyes bugged wide open, wondering if they were in danger of stealth groping. I walked through the alarmed group. “Don’t be so concerned about Bertrande. At least a quarter of those women haven’t seen naked glistening chest muscles in years. Some touches won’t be accidental at all. A few might take a lick.” I smirked. “You simply step away and smile, flattered but polite. And are we clear that as long as you’re being protective of our guests, none of what goes does down, unintentional or otherwise, is considered sexual harassment?”
They all nodded, many laughing.
“Good.” No lawsuits with that cover-our-ass overview.
Chuckling to myself, I headed back up toward the house while I imagined one of our female guests chasing after one of our man-candy waiters with grabby hands. Those poor guys would have their work cut out for them today.
“Hey, Lisa.” Loading Zone’s best bartender had been sacrificed from the bar for the event. But Ben and I’d both had agreed that the other bartenders performed more than adequately when she had the night off. A full bar had been rented and set up outside the kitchen door, stocked with top-shelf liquors, a variety of barware and glasses, and a box of brightly colored drink umbrellas. “Have you taken inventory? Missing anything you need?”
Earlier that morning, I’d stocked the bar myself the way we did it at Loading Zone, with a few minor adjustments to allow for the variety of tropical drinks she’d be serving.
“Yep. And nope. All set.”
I grinned, nodding over her shoulder as a small group strolled around the corner of the house. “Good. The first guests are arriving. Get ready to dance.”
She raised her fist up for our kickoff ritual that we did at each bar opening. “Dance, monkey, dance.”
I bumped knuckles with her. “Shout out at me or one of my sisters if you need anything.”
Before the crazy began, I slipped back inside the house and found Hannah at the sink, washing her hands. “You all set?”
She nodded. “It’s perfect. Time to go change?”
I planted my hands on her hips and spun her around toward the stairs. “I thought you’d never ask.”
We raced up the stairs and down the hall, opening the door to my room. Ava let out a high-pitched whine from her crate in the bathroom, and Hannah rushed over to let her out. “Hey, Ava. It’s okay, girl. Mommy and daddy are here.”
I blinked, lungs stuttering on a breath as Ava’s pink tongue coated Hannah’s face. Finally, I sucked in a full breath of air. Kids and parenting were a distant someday thought with no bearing on present-day. I’d never imagined we
were
parents. But I guess, to a little German Shepherd puppy, when Mase wasn’t mothering and spoiling her, we were, which was okay. Puppy parents I could handle without too much anxiety.
Hannah handed me the leash and clicked the other end into her collar. “Will you take her out while I change? She’ll never make it through the party.”
Now I whined. “But I planned on crowding you into my walk-in closet to make us late for the party.”
She put her hands on her hips, giving me the classic impatient woman look.
Where did those annoyed looks originate, anyway? Women must’ve patented the damned thing and gifted the ability to each other when men weren’t paying attention. I sighed, raising my hands in surrender. “Fine. I’m going. Shit patrol first. Naughty closet groping later.”
Hannah snorted, closing the door after us with a firm click.
The mundane task of walking a dog turned into an adventure, but I enjoyed the low-energy break. Whenever Ava stood in one patch of grass, intent on grid patterning by the square inch to capture every distinct scent, I had introspection time, grateful again for our quasi-getaway weekend. In spite of the hectic pace of the party, I’d seen more of Hannah in the last twenty-four hours than I’d spent with her all week. And to be isolated from outside stressors, namely Madison’s meddling, was worth the cost of Hannah and I having to share ourselves with others, even our dog.
By the time we returned from ten minutes of investigating every flower pot and bush for the perfect place to pee and take a doggy dump, and another ten minutes where sharp-as-a-tack Cade had to tie up an excited puppy while he went in search of a plastic bag he’d forgotten to bring, Hannah was fully dressed and ready to go.
And I couldn’t even be mad. I stood in the doorway, staring in as she twirled with a beautiful smile on her face, happy.
“
Wow.
You look stunning, Maestro.” A white dress with pink straps and a low neckline hugged her body until it reached her hips, where the material flared out.
My gaze traveled down to where those sexy toned thighs stretched out from the dress. “Are those petticoats?” I blinked. In Pavlovian response, my cock began to harden at the instant flood of memories. Hannah’s petticoats and I had a naughty history. Our first closet encounter, actually.
“Sure are.” Her eyes danced with amusement.
I pulled my T-shirt over my head and ripped open my button fly, gaping at her. “But I didn’t even get to have any closet time.”
She laughed, spinning me around toward the closet and shoving me forward. “
You
can take your closet time now, if you want.
We
can make closet time later.”
I growled and shucked off my jeans in the cold, dark space, wishing her warm naked body was wrapped around me. “Fine. But I may be in a grouchy mood until later rolls around.” With a yank that sent a hanger flying to the ground, I pulled a pair of black linen pants down and stabbed my feet into the fabric, before pulling them up, buttoning them, and zipping the fly.
Her light laugh sounded out closer behind me as I slid my arms into a linen shirt. I turned to find her standing mere inches away with a pretty little smirk. Shirt hanging unbuttoned, I bent down and crushed her lips in a heated kiss, wiping that smirk off her face.
She gasped, and I slowly grinned against her lips.
It wouldn’t take much. Another couple seconds of kissing, a few strategically placed brushes in her most sensitive places, and I’d have her shivering, begging for more.
Before I got the chance to enact any of my covert plans, she broke away and pushed me back. With a stern look, she began buttoning my shirt from the top down, keeping her distance. “Later.” Her single word was emphasized with an arched brow.
“Later. I’m beginning to like that word, actually. It’s now weighted with all kinds of filthy thoughts.”
She fought a smile. “I bet I could make you love ‘later,’ when we have all the time in the world to explore the dark closet you drag me into.”
“Oh,
fuck
yes. Later keeps getting better and better.” I growled low, chest heaving from thoughts drifting into my mind.
She laughed again and ran off.
My mood soared. My heart felt heavy in my chest, in the best way. Hannah’s laughter did that. That megawatt smile. Her playful teasing. Everything about the woman running down my parents’ hallway made any trouble out in the world seem insignificant.
I snorted, shaking my head, then chased an amazing girl in petticoats out of my bedroom—for now—and back down to the unfolding party.
***
Within thirty minutes, I’d become a one-man response team. The circuit breaker had tripped twice before we rerouted the band’s power to a different outlet than one the kitchen shared. Mom had us move the umbrellas on the east side of the pool toward the foot of their corresponding lounge chairs for the angle of the sun, even though it obliterated a clear walking path along the edge of the pool. The Pearsons, my parents’ new neighbors down the street, insisted I give them a guided house tour. Then Trina Hobbs and Stella walker, two of Mom’s charity volunteers, wanted their own tour the moment I returned. Of course, my parents were busy mingling with guests, so I was happy to honor their requests.
When all flowed smoothly, I took a breather away from the party. Off to the side, I leaned up against a stone column on the patio. I glanced over my shoulder to see Hannah inside the kitchen. She had a smile on her face as she spoke animatedly with one of the caterers.
Everyone else was in party mode. Half of the sports-model waiters brought hors d'oeuvres back and forth from kitchen to guests. The rest balanced colorful drinks on their trays. Party goers laughed, mingled, danced. Some had jumped into the pool already.
I let out a slow breath, analyzing the scene from the big picture. We created an escape.
Hannah and I had looked forward to a distraction from the stress from the week, but so had all in attendance. Susie Carrington had just gotten over a messy divorce, yet she had an umbrella drink in hand and was laughing with Monica Kemp. The Olsons were at their first event since having to check their son into rehab for drug addiction. Gertrude Hoffman had just lost most of her fortune in an investing scheme, yet there she was, chatting and drinking. Forgetting. Escaping.
Out of the couple hundred guests on the lawn, I’d bet not one of them lived an actual rose-colored life. No one did. So with divorce, drugs, theft, and countless other life-altering events, dealing with the unnecessary drama of a stalkerish ex seemed more tolerable.
Mom moved into my line of vision.
I put an arm around her shoulder. “Party looks great, Mom.”
“Thanks to you.” She scanned the action down by the pool. “You looked deep in thought when I walked up. Is everything okay?”
“Yeah. Just thinking about how parties make us forget about real life for a while.”
She took a step to the side and faced me. “What portion of real life are
you
trying to forget?” Her gaze was penetrating. The Mom look. That one where I could tell the truth or a lie and it wouldn’t matter; she would see right through to the real story.
“Madison. She’s inserting herself into my life. Unwelcomed. It’s causing problems.”
Staring back out to the party, she leaned in close, lowering her voice. “At the country club a couple of weeks ago, I ran into Madison’s mother.”
“Ah. I didn’t know you and Shirley Kensington were still close. So that’s why you weren’t surprised to see Madison at the anniversary party.”
“Yes. She shared with me the problems Madison is having.”
“What kind of problems?” I couldn’t imagine them discussing sexual addiction. Shirley would rather die than make that public knowledge.