"On that note, we're going to grab some of those stuffed mushrooms I see pa.s.sing by," Colin said, pointing to a waiter with a fresh round of appetizers.

As they left, Michael dropped a hand on Marcus's shoulder. "You doing okay?" he asked, his tone one of concern.

"As much as I can be okay," Marcus said softly. "You know what it's like."

"That I do, man. That I do," he said, squeezing his brother's shoulder. Marcus's father, Luke, was headed for trial soon, and it seemed all but a given that the man would be locked up. Marcus would then have both his biological parents in prison. He had a stepmom and lots of siblings who loved him, though.

"But everything else in life is good," Marcus said, fixing on a smile. "And I am kicking a.s.s in school."

"You get that from me," Michael said, deadpan.

Marcus scowled. "I thought Colin was the whiz kid."

Michael laughed. "Yeah, just pretend it's me, though. You gotta humor me. I took a bullet in my chest."

Marcus's eyes widened. "You're still milking that?"

He nodded. "And I will for a long, long time."

Later, Michael joined Sanders and Becky, who were chatting with his dad's old friends. "Retirement treating you well, old man?" Michael asked.

"Best thing I've ever done," Sanders said.

"Glad you got to see your dream come true," Michael said, and he meant it from the bottom of his heart. The man might have bent the rules, but his sins were small, and thoroughly forgivable, especially since they'd been instrumental in putting an end to so much pain and hurt in the city around them. Michael had learned in the last several months that the world was sometimes split into good and evil, into black and white. But more often than not, people were shades of gray, like Sanders. He was still one of the good guys, though.

Michael's attention wandered away from the two of them when a redhead in a slinky green dress and black heels winked at him from across the room. Her eyes seemed to sparkle, lighting up with mischief as she raised a finger to beckon him.

He excused himself, weaving through the crowds of friends and family, heeding the call of his woman.

"Bon soir," she said in a s.e.xy, low voice.

"Bon soir."

"I found a broom closet."

He arched an eyebrow. "Did you now?"

She nodded. "Want to see?"

"In a hotel full of rooms, we need a broom closet?"

She pouted. "But our room is on the fourteenth floor," she said, since they'd booked one here for the night. "And that'll take five minutes, maybe ten, to get to since the elevator is so far away."

He looped his arm around her, brushing his fingers along her back and down to the curve of her lovely a.s.s. He squeezed it. "That your way of telling me you want me now?"

She inched closer, pressing her b.r.e.a.s.t.s to his chest. Her camera was slung over her shoulder. "I do. Apparently weddings make me even hotter for you."

"Can't argue with that," he said as she led him away from the reception and down the hall to the broom closet she'd unearthed for dirty deeds. She tugged him inside, shut the door, and set down her camera, then ran her hands along his chest.

She lingered on his scar, even through the fabric of his dress shirt. Three inches long and jagged, it rested under his pec. "It's one of my favorite parts of you," she whispered.

"Why is that?" he asked as he bent his head to her neck and kissed her throat, inhaling her scent.

She spread her fingers across the fabric. "Because it says you're alive."

He smiled against her skin, kissing her once more as his fingers found their way up the skirt of her dress. "So alive," he said, then dipped his hand inside her panties.

She gasped, and he groaned. Quickly, he unzipped his pants and in seconds he was inside her, making love to her against the wall in a broom closet at his brother's wedding. She looped her arms tightly around his neck, and he dug his fingers into her flesh, thrusting hard, taking her deep.

"Mark me with your words," she said in a breathy whisper. "Like you wanted to that night in New York."

He'd held back then, keeping them inside. He no longer had to. He brought his mouth to her throat, and kissed her hard, breathing out, "I'm so in love with you."

He traveled along her neck, kissing and nipping, biting and sucking, each time giving voice to the words she wanted to hear, and the ones he wanted to say. They were one and the same.

"I'm so in love with you, too," she said, crying out as he rocked his hips against her, filling her, f.u.c.king her, loving her, until they both came together again.

She was returning to Paris in a few days, and he wasn't sure when he'd see her again, but he knew that he would, and that somehow they'd find a way to keep making their long-distance love work.

EPILOGUE.

Two years later With her arm linked around his elbow, Michael strolled with Annalise's mother along the pathway by the fountains at the Bellagio. They stopped at the thick, stone railing that surrounded the manmade lake, gazing at the placid waters and the crowds waiting for the aqua ballet.

"In about five minutes, the water show will begin," he said to her in French.

Marie narrowed her eyes, shooting him a sharp stare. "English, young man."

He laughed deeply, then repeated himself as per her request.

"I cannot wait to see the water show," she said slowly, answering him in English, too.

"You'll love it. It's spectacular."

Marie was learning the local language. She'd insisted on a crash course in all things American, since she was living here now five months a year. Michael had bought her a condo in a nearby building, and he spent time with her a few days a week, helping her around the city, and working on her language skills. Marie saw her daughter nearly every day, since that was the point of this arrangement. Marie's health was improving, but she still needed a.s.sistance from her family, so Michael had devised a solution.

He'd moved her to America five months a year, and Annalise stayed in his home-now theirs-during those five months. They'd spend the next five months in Paris, and while there he worked remotely as much as he could, but mostly he enjoyed his days wandering around the city, eating the occasional coffee eclair and apricot tarte, and spending as much time as he could with his beautiful wife.

The other two months? Sometimes they travelled together. Sometimes they lived apart. But they always came back together, and truth be told, the time apart made some things even hotter.

With the new schedule, his workload had lessened, and that was fine with everyone involved. He'd once thought he couldn't give up work, but it turned out nearly dying changed your perspective. Work didn't matter as much as family. He had two families now-his own and his wife's-and he loved them both dearly. Besides, Sloan Protection Resources had a new partner. Mindy was a part owner, and she and Ryan had become the main forces at the company. Seemed to work well, since Ryan and Mindy had both married into the same family. Mindy was Mindy Winston now.

Colin and Elle had tied the knot a year ago. They'd decided to make it official since they found themselves-rather quickly-adopting a two-year-old girl from foster care who'd lost both her parents. She was one of Michael's truly adorable nieces. Shannon had a baby boy, and then a girl joined them soon after. Another girl would be coming into the family soon, since Sophie was ready to pop any day.

As for Michael and Annalise, well, maybe someday they'd have kids. For now, he was happy with the way things were. He'd be happy, too, if they changed. As long as he had her, it was all good.

"How was your visit to Hawthorne?" Marie asked.

He didn't answer right away. He inhaled deeply, lingering on the question. Seeing his mother was hard. It was tough. It challenged him like nothing else had. But he'd made the decision two years ago to let go of his all-or-nothing att.i.tude toward her. He didn't call it forgiveness. Though he understood more of why she'd made her choices, he could never abide by them.

He didn't have to, though. He could choose to be the man his father had raised. A man who lived a life full of love, compa.s.sion, and hope.

And that was why he'd decided to visit her, now and then. To honor the lessons his father had taught him-lessons in mercy. Lessons in grace.

Today his mother had been chatty, talking about a new soap opera she'd started watching. When she was through, he'd updated her on everyone, telling her about how cute Shannon's babies were and showing her pictures. Then he told her about Marcus. Turned out the kid was a chip off the old block. He'd kept up the long-distance relationship with the dancer and that devotion had paid off. Ca.s.sidy had moved to Tampa recently, having landed a ballet gig there, near his college. He'd graduate with his business degree in one more year.

On prior visits Michael had updated his mother on the other news over the last few years. Luke Carlton had been sentenced to life in prison for conspiracy to commit murder, as well as multiple counts of racketeering. Curtis Paul Wollinsky had received forty years on RICO charges, and T.J. Nelson was in the big house for life, too. There had been no rumblings, nor even any whispers, of gang activity in a long time. And White Box had been shut down. The four Sloan siblings bought the shuttered property and donated it to the city to turn into something else-the Thomas Paige Library.

"It was a good visit," he said to Marie, shooting her a smile as the sun dipped lower and the music began, signaling the start of the show. "It was good to have Annalise with me."

A few minutes later, he felt Annalise's breath on his neck, then a kiss from her lips. "Hi, handsome," she said softly. She was freshly showered after the long drive back.

She gave her mother cheek kisses, and wedged herself between them, an arm around each. "My two favorite people," she said, and then they watched the fountains at the Bellagio spray water high into the sunset sky.

"We finally made it to the Bellagio," she whispered, for him only.

"We finally made it."

Later that night, they gazed out the floor-to-ceiling windows in their Las Vegas home, watching the lights of the city, one of her favorite pastimes. It was something they also loved to do from their home in Paris. Her flat had become his home as well, and was now full of pictures of the two of them.

She pressed her hand on his torso. "You're still the s.e.xiest guy I know, even if you don't have a spleen."

He laughed. "Amazing that I work without it."

"You have all the parts that matter," she said, tapping his head then dropping her hand to the front of his jeans, squeezing him. She travelled up his chest and stopped at his heart. "But this one works best of all."

"Yes. It works pretty d.a.m.n well, if I do say so myself," he said and then took her to bed.

Both outside their home and between these walls, there was peace, and hope, and so much love that she knew it would carry them far into happily-ever after, and then some.

THE END.

MISTER O SNEAK PEEK.

Coming Next! Get ready for Mister O, a s.e.xy standalone romantic comedy! Mister O releases May 4 everywhere and is sure to make you laugh, swoon and fan yourself from the heat! Here is a sneak peek at Chapter One of Mister O! To receive an alert when new t.i.tles release, please sign up for my newsletter.

PROLOGUE.

Ask me my three favorite things and the answers are so easy they roll off my tongue. Hitting a homerun for my softball league, drawing a killer cartoon panel, and, oh yeah, making a woman come so hard she sees stars.

Not gonna lie. That last one is my favorite, by about a mile. Giving a woman a sheet-grabbing, toe-curling, mind-blowing o.r.g.a.s.m is pretty much the Best Thing Ever.

A woman's climax is like summer break, Christmas morning, and a vacation in Fiji all rolled together in one fantastic package of window-shattering bliss.

h.e.l.l, if we could harness the beauty and energy from women coming, we could probably power cities, solve global warming, fix every problem known to man. The female o.r.g.a.s.m is basically the manifestation of everything good in the world.

Especially when I deliver them, and I've given thousands upon thousands. I'm like a superhero of pleasure, a good-deed doer, the once-upon-a-geek-now-a-stud, and my mission is to dispense as many climaxes to my lovers as possible.

How have I managed to achieve this amazing feat? Simple. I'm both a student and a master of the art of giving Os. I consider myself an expert because - in the interest of full disclosure here - I'm completely, 100% obsessed with a woman's enjoyment between the sheets. Getting her off is the name of the game, and if you can't get that job done, you should get the h.e.l.l out of the bedroom.

But, hey, I'm also humble enough to admit I'm still a learner.

Since there is always something new to discover with a woman.

Does she want it soft, hard, fast, light, rough? Does she like it with teeth, toys, my c.o.c.k, my tongue, my fingers? Would she want a little something extra, like a feather, a vibrator, or some sort of fantastic combination of all of the above? Every woman is different and every path to her pleasure is its own erotic journey with so many fantastic stops to make along the way.

I take mental notes, study her cues, and always get out and do the field work.

I suppose that makes me the Magellan of the female o.r.g.a.s.m. A true explorer, venturing forth, fearless and ready at any moment, to map the terrain of her pleasure until she cries out in rapture.

Fine, some might say I have an addiction.

But really, is it a bad thing that I love to make the woman I'm with feel good? If that makes me a guy with a one-track mind, then I'm guilty as f.u.c.king charged. I'll freely admit that when I meet a woman I'm into, I'm picturing in seconds what she looks like coming, how she sounds, how I want to send her soaring.

The trouble is, there's one woman I just can't go there with, even though lately my brain desperately wants to figure out how to drive her wild. It's been an epic battle, and I've had to keep her in a special drawer, locked, sealed and key thrown away because she is the definition of hands off.

Which sucks royally because she's about to make things even harder with the words that come out of her mouth.

CHAPTER ONE.