Geoff chuckled. “Yeah, I’m sure the city would be thrilled to discover one of their ADAs is doing erotic stage work on weekends.”
Yep, had the attorney part right.
“You can wear a mask.” Julie shrugged. “Several of our regulars do that. One of our writers drafted a skit for the next show that could have been written for you three specifically.”
“It probably was.” Sam leaned against Geoff’s side and had her thigh pressed against Chris’s. “You’re just innocently saying it ‘could have been written’ for us.”
“They know you too well, love.” Des tugged Julie’s hair. She was relaxed against him, her hand lying loosely on his thigh. They looked content, but Rory suspected Des was about as tired as he and Daralyn were.
Des had a couple challenging health issues, with insulin-resistant Type I diabetes at the center of it. Though he and Des never talked about it much, Rory suspected that commonality had helped them warm up to each other quicker than they probably already would have, since Rory was all good with someone who made Julie this happy. But Des knew what it was to have his life revolve around his health choices, not just as a look-good-for-the-girls or keep-the-doctor-off-your-back thing.
Tired they might be, but never tired enough to give family a hard time. “Run while you can,” Rory advised Sam. “Julie’s like a cute and fluffy pit bull.”
“Cretin,” Julie said.
Rory made a show of scratching his head. “What’s a cretin? Itn’t that them things you put on top of a salad? They’s good when they have cheese in ‘em.”
Julie snorted as the others chuckled. “Just you wait,” she told Rory. “I’ll get you up on a stage one of these days.”
“Only if you’re thinking of doing something over my dead body, and I think there are laws about that.”
Tyler was leaning back in his chair. While he listened to the banter with a light smile, Rory noted his attention wasn’t fully on them. He was waiting for someone, and Rory had a good idea who it was. When the light in his eyes became focused heat, he knew she was headed for the table.
Since he didn’t expect anything about Marguerite Winterman had changed since he’d seen her at his brother’s wedding, Rory made sure he didn’t take a swallow of beer before turning to follow Tyler’s gaze. He’d probably choke on it.
Though the small handful of people hanging out in the tent likely saw her more often than he did, he wasn’t surprised to see their attention drawn to her as she moved into the tent, headed toward her husband.
With a lithe body, silky, thick white-blond hair and pale blue eyes, Marguerite was stunning, but not in a cover model kind of way. It was a quality, not a group of physical features.
He’d remembered her correctly. She walked like a goddess touched down to earth. And after a night of being around Doms and subs, now he was certain she fell in the Domme category. Her attitude projected it, how she measured and appraised those around her.
But the way her eyes met and held Tyler’s as she crossed the space between them, how she put her hand in his once she was within reach, sent another kind of message.
She was a Domme, yes. But not with him. She belonged to him. Rory guessed the right term was switch, but that submissive side was exclusively for Tyler. As soon as she looked away from her husband, the Domme was a hundred percent back.
Flowing white pants draped her hips while a gray sleeveless velvet top hugged her slim upper body. The fabric coaxed the fingers to stroke, if the owner of them didn’t mind having the digits broken into little pieces by Tyler. Or, as he shot a second look at that Domme expression, by Marguerite herself.
On her swan neck was a twisted double strand of seed pearls, interspersed with tiny silver pieces that looked like icicles. A silver angel pendant had wings shaped to look like the icicles. The pendant rested just below the hollow of her throat. It was the only jewelry she wore.
“Ma’am,” Rory said. Though he knew around here “ma’am” had a whole different meaning, for him the address was automatic manners.
Her gaze rested on him, and then moved to Daralyn. Yeah, he remembered that about her too. She didn’t say much until she was darn good and ready. He wouldn’t say she was unschooled in social cues, the way Daralyn