Sympathy for the Devil (International Bad Boys Book 4) (14 page)

She put them on and he thought that maybe, just maybe, he might have the self-control later this evening to let her leave them on while he feasted. She found her dress next. Her shoes were at Eli’s. She wouldn’t need them.

He tidied himself up and dressed quickly. He ran his fingers through her hair and only managed to make her look more tousled. Her eyes shone bright and her lips looked well used, which they had been.

“You look a little smug,” she said.

“Absolutely.”

“Do I need to tidy up in the bathroom?”

“Use the one in Eli’s apartment.”

He waited for her, went in after her, and then together they headed downstairs.

Eli saw them and smiled.

Something to see here, brother. Something to see.

Zoey saw them too, her smile wide before she blew them a kiss. Someone had stuck long strands of seaweed to the back of her coronet.

A work in progress, Zoey had said.

So was Bree. “Caleb, do you trust me to do the right thing by Gemma? Because I’d like to meet her. Will you come with me? Introduce me?”

“She’s a sweetheart, Bree. You won’t regret it.”

He took her hand and wound them through the crowd and down onto the tiny strip of riverbank sand where his brother played soccer with Gemma and her kids. The soccer game faltered and came to a standstill, those little boys so totally attuned to other people, so watchful and wary, that his heart ached for them. It had always ached for them and he’d done what he could. Whether it would be enough . . .

Cutter shot him a dark glare. “I’ve got this,” he grated grimly, and Caleb nodded, because he knew it was true, but he trusted Breanna to do no harm here and he stood beside his brother and watched as she walked over to Gemma and held out her hand.

“Hi,” she said. “I know we crossed paths back there, but we didn’t meet. I’m Bree, Caleb’s girl, and you’re Gemma and these are your beautiful, precious boys. And from me to you, for what it’s worth, I will always make you welcome.”

“They’re crying. They’re both crying. What are they crying for?” asked Cutter.

“Maybe they’re bonding.”

“Is that wise?”

“I don’t know, but they’re doing it. Do
you
want to stop them?”

“I’d rather stop the tide.”

“We could always play soccer instead.” Caleb eyed the two solemn little boys. They’d seen a lot of tears in their time, he surmised. Too many. And far too many fists. “Toby. Liam. Soccer. You in?”

Two little boys nodded instantly.

“I’ll take the little guy,” said Cutter and winked at the little guy’s big brother. “He looks fast.”

“I want the other one,” Caleb demanded instantly. “He looks smart and strong.”

“And eight,” said the boy.

“Good point. The girls can choose sides of their own once they’ve stopped crying.”

The two sides squared up either side of a soccer ball, man to man, and Caleb knew that his ribs and his bruises probably weren’t going to thank him for all the punishment he was inflicting on them tonight but he didn’t care.

Gemma squared up on Cutter’s side.

Bree showed up on his, and said, “I’ve got your back.”

And Caleb nodded to the youngest boy who took the kick and sent it straight past the offence and down the sideline.

“New plan,” said Bree. “What say we attack?”

Caleb laughed at the sheer joy of living and watched as Bree ran after the ball, all long legs and laughter and golden hair flying.

That woman, right there, she was his now, it was settled, and his heart said,
finally,
and his brain replied,
better keep up, man
.

So he dug his toes into the sand of his childhood and he ran . . .

C
aleb had a
plan but he needed the help of his brothers and his sister-in-law in order to see it through. It was a good plan, not as showy as some, but it would make a worthy memory. One that would live on in hearts and on mantelpieces forever.

The plan required great stealth and cunning, and owing to the sheer number of people involved. Fortunately for him, they were qualities he possessed.

Bree and Zoey had taken over the second-hand antique barn for a few days in the interests of turning it into a photo set. They were photographing Zoey’s latest creations, according to Zoey. They were taking a family portrait at the same time because they hadn’t taken one in forever and they needed one
right now
, according to his mother. The upshot being that Zoey had insisted on designing costumes for every Jackson and Tucker in the bay and had taken on two apprentices to help her.

The entire shoot had become this huge production, and Bree had simply rolled her eyes and said welcome to my world as she set about bringing order to chaos.

So today was the day and he and Eli had been at the antique barn since early morning getting all the props ready and into position.

There were gilt framed mirrors and dusty old velvet chaise lounges, walnut dressers and high-backed, black lacquered chairs. There was a chandelier the size of a small planet that Bree had wanted shifted into a corner and upon pain of death they weren’t allowed to disturb the cobwebs.

There were costumes, racks of them, custom made to fit and neatly labelled, because it turned out that Bree liked order on her photo shoots and just kept right on working until she got it. She was a perfectionist who could turn around and surrender to him with reckless abandon. She was his lover and his companion and sweet autumn days had never been more crammed with the work he loved, laughter and exploration.

Three generations of Jackson men and their partners began rolling in and costumes got handed out and makeshift dressing rooms were erected out of old sails and handy corners. Bree’s father arrived, looking healthier than he had in quite some time, owing to his cancer treatment finally kicking in and being of some benefit. Seven full grown men dressed as members of the upper echelons of steam-punk society, with stopwatches and crazy eyepieces and a hand-held ebony and brass telescope for his grandfather, and if Caleb had any doubt at all that his family would do anything for him, this quelled it.

As far as costumes for the women here today, Zoey had outdone herself. His grandmother was a steam-punk grand-dame and loving it, and his mother was the grand-dame’s successor. Marguerite Tucker, in breeches, waistcoat and a very feminine greatcoat, was a woman of letters. When it came to the younger generations, Zoey and Bree vaguely resembled nautical adventurers only with more skirt and definitely more breast.

There were hair stylists and make-up artists, lighting assistants and did he mention Bree’s thirst for absolute perfection?

There were couple photos and individual ones and eventually Caleb set up a smuggler’s bar in the old Dodge truck out the back of the building, with Cutter his willing accomplice.

All part of the plan currently being executed to perfection.

“Tell me why I agreed to this madness,” she said as everyone started getting into position for the big finale photo shot with absolutely everyone in it. His family and hers. Zoey’s sister, Sophie, who was indeed one of the most uniquely beautiful women Bree had ever seen.

If she had her way, she’d be using Zoey’s sister in photo shoots again.

And again.

“You agreed to this shoot because this is exactly what Zoey wanted,” he said.

“That’s because she’s certifiable.
I’m
certifiable for agreeing to it.”

“No, you’re not, you’re loving this. You want this memory too,” he told her dulcetly. “You want to catch it and frame it and be able to look back on it forever.”

“Maybe.”

She wasn’t fooling him for a minute and her grin told him she knew it.

“Okay, I do love it. I live for this, but if it’s going on mantelpieces forever it has to be as perfect as I can get it. And it really won’t be perfect if you’re not in it.”

He was counting on it.

“As for your brother . . . did someone give him too many gummy bears this morning? Cutter, can you move that chair a little to your left? Yep, a little more . . . a little more . . . there! No, now back a bit.”

“You’re torturing him deliberately.”

“He loves it.”

Zoey came up to them, her eyes dancing. “Are we ready? I think we’re ready.”

“Did you pin Sophie’s hat on at the angle I suggested?”

“With my own two hands,” said Zoey. “It’s perfect.”

“Then we’re almost ready.” Bree clicked a hand-held button device and flashes lit the big old barn’s interior and bounced off strategically placed reflective screens. “Okay, everyone. Thanks for your patience. If you could all take the positions we talked about earlier. Cutter, would you
please
put your grandmother down—
carefully!
”

But she slipped behind the camera fast and took several shots of the ensuing chaos and grinned her satisfaction.

“You’re in this picture too, right?” he asked.

It was kind of essential.

“Yep. Everything’s on timer and set for rapid shots. Although I will have to reset every now and then.”

He leaned in to kiss her, to claim her, and she put a hand over his heart as if to stop from melting into him, but it was there in her kiss, all slick heat and wantonness.

“Go,” she whispered. “Before you get me into trouble for ruining my make-up.”

Too late.

He could see the make-up artist heading in Bree’s direction with a roll of her eyes, and he got himself out of her way and into the picture before the woman with the little pots and brushes crammed into the tool belt at her waist could descend on him.

And then there was music, something indie with amped-up guitar and a slightly reggae rhythm. Loud enough to be heard and loose enough to get people smiling and Doc Tucker—who was dressed as a physician straight out of Frankenstein’s dreams—to start grooving.

The man had beaten death. Grooving was necessary.

Caleb took his place and waited until Breanna Tucker had looked through her viewer and proclaimed that everything was utterly, magically perfect, and then he fetched the sapphire and diamond ring from the little pocket in his waistcoat and grinned when his mother suddenly started searching for her handkerchief.

“Are you ready?” his older brother asked him with uncommon gentleness, and Caleb nodded and took a deep, steadying breath.

“Born ready.”

“We’re all ready,” said Eli, and Zoey’s walking-stick slipped and narrowly missed landing on her beloved husband’s toes.

“Okay,” he muttered. “Okay, let’s do this.”

*     *     *

There was something
wrong with Bree’s picture. A ripple in the fabric of her carefully constructed composition and it had to do with the men of the family and with Caleb, who’d moved forward, out of position, not quite in focus. Why was he all of a sudden not standing in front of the dresser and the mirror? Why had he moved in front of everyone?

“Hey, Bree?” he called gruffly.

She was still looking through the viewfinder when he got down on one knee.

She jerked upright, pulled like a marionette, and there he was—no viewfinder required at all to see the softly spinning ring he held out to her on a glittering silver and bronze chain.

“Want to get married?”

There were other people in the room, she knew there were, but she only had eyes for him.

“Er . . . yes?”

“Was that a question or an answer?”

“Yes, Yes I’ll marry you. It was an answer.”

His smile lit up his face and arrowed straight through her heart. “How about now?” he asked, and suddenly this entire production made sense to her. The people chosen to be here today and the way Zoey had insisted on dressing all of them, even though the number of costumes she’d had to make in within a one-month time-frame had been ridiculous.

The way that Bree’s gown hadn’t been dark like all the other gowns. For contrast, Zoey had said. So I can sew it at night, Zoey had offered next. Zoey the artisan had made for Bree a veritable cornucopia of butterscotch and ivory—a gown that made her feel beautiful, and sexy, and very, very blessed.