Arilyn looked up as the elegant Italian man strode over and leaned in to whisper something in Maggie’s ear. Maggie’s cheeks turned red, which made Carina giggle. “Who’s the softie?” Carina teased. “Your hubby owns you, babe. Admit it.”
“Never. I just let him think so,” Maggie said.
Michael nuzzled his wife’s neck and winked. His Italian accent curled like rich smoke and caressed her ears. “Ah, cara, don’t make me prove to you who’s the real boss in the household. We’ll be up all night again.”
Maggie grinned wickedly. “Promises, promises.”
The third man, a tall, elegant James Bond look-alike—Pierce Brosnan, of course—took his place next to Carina. He was deadly sexy, with thick dark hair and piercing blue eyes. The protective way he tucked her by his side told Arilyn they were just as crazy about each other as the other couples were. “Why do we always talk about sex when we’re together?” he commented drily, his hand stroking his wife’s belly. “What happened to interesting topics like business, politics, and cuisine?”
Maggie rolled her eyes. “Says you, who can’t keep your hands off Carina. When is baby number two due, Max?”
Carina patted her small belly, which was just beginning to show. “Spring. Baby Max is just as excited as Daddy to get a little brother or sister.” Her brows drew together in a frown. “I have to finish my collection before chaos lets loose again. My show is on Valentine’s Day, so you all must come. We’ll go to dinner and celebrate afterward.”
“I don’t want you stressed-out like last time,” Max said firmly. “I’ll cut back on my work hours so you have more time to paint.”
Carina was a well-known artist who brought erotic art to a whole new generation. Arilyn was amazed at the power couples before them. How did they manage? They had huge careers, thriving businesses, children, and were still madly in love?
She looked at Kate. Slade and Stone, who had joined them, stood behind them listening to the whole conversation.
Kate finally said what they were all probably thinking. “How do you do it?” she burst out.
Alexa cocked her head. “Do what?”
“Everything!” Arilyn said. “How do you stay in love while managing careers and babies and stress and life and family? What’s the secret?”
A shocked silence fell over the group. Alexa looked at Nick. Michael rested his chin on Maggie’s head. Max placed his hand over his wife’s belly.
Then they all burst into hysterical laughter.
“Oh, boy, it’s official!” Alexa announced. “We’re old.”
Maggie groaned. “Yep, getting asked by the younger generation how you handle it all sucks. Should we tell them the super secret to lifetime bliss?”
The group leaned in. Arilyn held her breath.
Maggie snorted out a laugh. “Gotcha! Trust me, there is no super secret. It’s a lot of hard work.”
Carina giggled. “And fights. Lots and lots of fights. Oh, and making up. And wrong choices.”
“And crying, lots of crying,” Alexa added.
“But it’s all worth it, as Mama Conte would say,” Maggie pointed out.
Then the three women linked arms. “You’ll figure it out. We did. Let’s go dance.”
The couples left for the dance floor.
Kate sighed. “Damn them. Why don’t they just tell us the real truth?”
Slade leaned over and kissed his new wife. “’Cause we already know, baby. And I’m going to make sure we never forget.”
Kate reached up and slid her arms around his neck. For a moment, they were lost in each other, alone. Just a bride and groom with a brand-new life stretching ahead of them.
“I love you, Slade Montgomery.”
“And I love you, Kate Montgomery.”
They kissed. And when Arilyn turned, Stone was staring at them with a mix of emotions in his eyes, so raw and so real, she wondered if she’d ever figure him out. Because for just a second, it looked like he also wanted what they had.
But that was impossible.
Arilyn reached out and touched his arm. Wanting to belong to him for a sliver in time, she sought connection. He answered the call, drawing her close, his arms wrapped tight around her waist. The music pounded, and guests chattered, and couples whispered.
“I want you.”
His words were stark. Stripped bare. No pretty words, or promises, or poetry. Yet Arilyn felt his wanting in her soul, and bones, and heart. She lifted herself up on the toes of her pretty shoes, and whispered the only answer in his ear.
“Take me home.”
fifteen
ARILYN IMAGINED A few things on their first night together. Pulling at each other’s clothes, slipping into a world of dreamy sensuality with little awkwardness and an all-encompassing, blistering heat. Somehow, in her fantasy, they didn’t walk into her bungalow at midnight and deal with a series of fantasy-popping occurrences beginning with Mrs. Blackfire.
They reached the porch and the slam of a door echoed in the quiet. The scrape of the walker warned her before she heard the familiar, hissing voice. “Officer Petty! There’s been a break-in at Arilyn’s house. I called the police, but they refused to send someone, and I’m going to sue the town.”
She heard his quick intake of breath. Hmm, he still wasn’t practicing the technique of drawing the air from his belly up to his chest. She’d have to go over that in class again on Monday. “If the police didn’t send someone, they didn’t think there was a break-in,” he pointed out. “What did you see?”