Spread Your Wings: Men in Blue, Book 4 (3 page)

Ellie rolled the chair into position and held it steady as Lucas sank his jumbo frame into the seat. When she patted his broad shoulder, she let her hand linger to massage the tension there. Lucas didn’t stop her. Interesting. “There you go. Want me to do your leg for a bit?”

Jambrea thought he’d erupt again.

Instead, he agreed in a gruff whisper, “Yeah. If you don’t mind.”

Well, holy shit. Maybe some men were less obstinate than others. Did she know how to pick ’em or what?

Ellie knelt in front of the man who’d sacrificed a hell of a lot for her safety. No, existence. He groaned, his head dropping back, when she showed no mercy. After a few minutes, the rumble of approaching voices echoed outside their door.

“Enough.” He called Ellie off and she didn’t object, quickly rising to greet their friends.

Thankfully, they’d barely all jammed inside, creating a buffer between Jambrea, Matt and Clint, before one of the event organizers called them to attention.

Jambrea shuffled around people to help Ellie lever Lucas to his feet once more.
 

“Thanks.” He grunted as his injury bore his weight.

“Anytime.” She didn’t suppress the urge to hug him, glad when he returned the embrace. Whispering in his ear—easy to do considering her heels and her natural height combined—she coached him, “You’re doing great. Remember to lean on the cane. You can keep most of the pressure off.”

“I got it.” He tightened his grip for a moment then dropped his arms so fast she thought he might have been offended.

“What’s this? Trying to steal my girl?” Matt.
Damn
.

“Didn’t see your
Property Of
stamp on her forehead. Sorry.” Lucas wasn’t about to take shit from anyone. Not even the hulk bearing down on them.

Before things could really degenerate, the usher lined them up. With Jambrea smack in the middle of Matt and Clint. Each one of them curled a hand around one of her elbows. And it was as if she’d never abandoned the steamy cab of the truck. Electricity arced between them. Damn men.

Izzy and Razor were the first couple to march down the aisle, beaming at the guests gathered to witness the exchanged vows. Everyone else shuffled forward.

“Look, we only have a few seconds, but…we’re sorry, Jambi.” Matt wasn’t really the smooth-talker of the duo. To see him struggle to right things made her a little more confident.

“Yeah, we know we keep fucking up.” Clint took over, making the most of their precious moments. From behind them, Lucas issued a brief laugh and muttered something that sounded like,
No kidding.
“We want to make things right. Later, can we talk about how?”

“Of course.” She might have said more except just then they were called forward. Her two dates escorted her to the front of the room before leaving her with the lingering trail of their fingertips. Minutes later, she still tingled where they’d touched.

From her spot in the line of attendants, Jambrea could see the place of honor Lily had given to her submissives. Ryan and Ben sat closest to the center aisle. Then Ramone. Bruce and Daniel. Cameron and his new Master—whom he’d met at Gunther’s—and all the others took up the entire front row. Behind them sat Lily’s assistants—Kitty, Dawn, Ive, Suz and Gigi. Each man and woman seemed genuinely thrilled for their Mistress, boss and mentor, who would pledge herself to the only man she’d ever knelt for. On Jeremy’s side, the police chief and a woman JRad had once rescued, Zina, held hands as they sat among a slew of other friends and relatives. Jambrea even thought she spotted Rhonda—a woman they’d all gotten to know and love at barbeques when she and Lacey had shared a backyard—sitting next to Mama Rose, Tyler’s mom.

And just then, the music changed. Violins played classical music that might have seemed at odds with the somber interior of the club if Jambrea hadn’t become educated on the sanctity of this place for its members.

Jeremy strode to the front of the room. He stood tall in his black leather pants and matching satin shirt. A watch set in a studded cuff adorned one wrist. His wedding present from his soon-to-be wife. The women had all helped her design it. On him, it was perfect.

He looked formidable and knockout sexy. Comfortable in his own skin. Jambrea couldn’t believe she hadn’t realized what he kept hidden beneath his police uniform back in the early days of their acquaintance.

Maybe everyone needed that one special person, or people, to unlock their inner spirit.

Jambrea glanced across the room at Matt, then Clint. Both men were staring at her. She fidgeted with her dress, smoothing any wrinkles as best she could given the flowers in her grip. Clint winked at her.

Though she tried to smother it, a smile tipped up the corners of her mouth. Why did he have to be so damn fine? And always know how to make her feel less self-conscious.

A murmur ran through the crowd.

Jambrea glanced toward the back of the room. She could see why. Lily. Gorgeous and austere in her black lace dress—a red leather corset molded her torso with the long skirt and train flowing from beneath—she clung to the arm Gunther extended and accepted his kiss on her artfully rouged cheeks. Lily’s locks waved down her back, unstraightened and unbraided. A rarity. Loose and free, they rippled alongside her face then over her shoulder all the way to her waist. If Jambrea had hair like that, she’d never wear it any other way. As hers was thin and fine, she’d always chosen to keep hers short to maintain the illusion of fullness.

Jeremy made a small sound that drew her attention. The computer geek turned Master rubbed his chest over his heart and the bunch of lilies she knew were tattooed there. Razor, JRad’s best friend, clapped him on the shoulder for support. The groom didn’t appear to notice. Instead, his world seemed full of Lily. The palpable love connecting the two people Jambrea cared about, despite their distance, wrung her guts with joy and envy simultaneously.

She peeked at Matt and Clint. Again, she found them both gazing at her.

Maybe she’d been too harsh on them earlier.

Maybe they could make up at the reception.

Maybe tonight could be different.

Please, let it be different.

After one last prayer, all thoughts turned to her friends and the pledges they swore. It was beautiful. Perfect. Everlasting.

“Can I bring you another drink, ma’am?” The waiter swung past her table in his circuit of frequent rounds. No extravagance had been spared in the party Gunther had thrown for his protégé, who might as well have been his son, and his new quasi daughter-in-law. Fitting since the pair were also the stars of his shockingly successful new facility.

“I’ll take two this time.” She slammed the last of the prior fruity concoction, then set the glass on the waiter’s tray. If it wobbled a little, it was probably because he held the platter precariously balanced on one palm.

“Are you sure, Jambi?” Clint leaned closer to be heard over the music, which all their friends danced to. “The cocktails are stronger than you might realize. They’re using the good stuff, so it doesn’t taste as much like booze.”

“I know my limits.” Daring him to object, she stared daggers at him, then Matt just for the hell of it. Talk, her ass. They’d relegated her to the friend zone the moment they’d sat down to dinner together. Sure, it’d been fun. She always had a great time with them, but it was fake. They were ignoring all the other layers deeper than pals.

Pretty soon she was going to lose it. But not here. Not in public.

Awkward, she and her dates comprised the sole occupants of the dais designated for the wedding party. Even Ellie and Lucas seemed to have wandered off somewhere, maybe the gardens.

“Hey, Jambs, come on,” Izzy shouted to her from the dance floor, waving to their group. The couples had split up a bit now that something other than endless love songs bleated from the speakers. All too eager to leave her dates, Jambrea shot to her feet.

Clint braced her when she teetered. Damn heels. She smacked his overly familiar hand before it could work any of its hornifying magic.
Enough with the pheromones already
.

Then she sauntered onto the floor in time to the beat and tried to burn off a little of the buzz she might have underestimated. Lost in the music and revelry, surrounded by friends, she forgot about some of her angst. Until Lacey leaned in and whisper-shouted, “Matt and Clint are about to choke on their tongues over there. Show me some hip shimmies!”

Fuck them. Why not?

Jambrea obliged.

It wasn’t long before Lacey’s face lit up. “Incoming.”

“What?” Jambrea peeked over her shoulder. Sure enough, the two men she’d obsessed over for the past year or so stalked closer. She whipped her head back around toward her friends. “They don’t dance.”

“Maybe they will for you.” Izzy grinned as she ground her backside against her fiancé, who wrapped his arms protectively around her and the child she carried.

“I doubt it.” Jambrea refused to let them ruin her fun though. If anything, she redoubled the swivel of her ass and dug into the groove of the beat.

And then there were hands on her waist, turning her. From the way her captor’s thumbs nearly touched in the base of her spine, they could only belong to Matt. He tucked her close to the furnace of his body and rocked in a basic side-to-side step, mostly in time to the music. She closed her eyes and settled against him, thrilled to feel the growing erection he pressed to the small of her back.

“Hey, mind if I cut in?” Clint asked.

Jambrea blinked when he reached out, cupping her ribs in his palms. Four hands on her at once nearly short-circuited her brain.

“Actually, I do,” Matt growled.

“Too bad.” The other man wasn’t retreating. Instead he pressed closer, flanking her with their gyrating bodies. Her breasts brushed his chest as she undulated, caught between rubbing herself on one or the other. Or both, after Clint took another half-step in.

Instinctively, she wrapped one arm around his neck while the other reached behind her to palm Matt’s ass. Her head fell back, resting on his chest. Clint leaned in and took a taste of her exposed neck. When someone whistled, they all jolted. What the hell was happening? Where were they again?

Oh, right. The reception. Jambrea shook her head, clearing the blazing desire from her mind as best she could. Unfortunately that only made the dance floor rock like the deck of a ship. Uh oh.

“I’ve got you,” Matt rumbled in her ear.

“No,
we’ve
got you,” Clint corrected.

For a few minutes, she stopped fighting and pretended that they meant it like it sounded. It was the best one-hundred-and-twenty seconds of the year so far. Then the song ended and the DJ announced the final dance. A ballad.

“We’re getting the hell out of here,” Matt proclaimed.

The guys corralled her toward the guests of honor. They exchanged congratulations one more time.

“Have a good night.” Lily’s sly grin didn’t allow any room for misinterpretation.

Before Jambrea could respond, her dates whisked her to Matt’s waiting black chariot. Clint didn’t bother to boost her into the truck. This time he encircled her waist and lifted her onto the seat as though she weighed nothing at all.

“What were you trying to prove out there?” Matt rubbed his jaw. “Every single guy in the room was drooling over you. You’ve had too much to drink to be advertising like that.”

So they hadn’t rushed her home to sample the wares she’d been hawking? No, they’d just planned to cock block any other interested man. The wave of disappointment that hit her made her feel sick. Fortunately, she only lived a few blocks away.

They spent the entirety of the ride in silence.

The teeter-totter they’d been balancing precariously on slipped from its fulcrum. She couldn’t take another minute of the erratic highs and lows, and especially not these weird, forced, blah middle points. No more.

Despite her protests, they insisted on walking her to her apartment. Granted, she lived in a relatively crappy neighborhood that had deteriorated bit by bit since she’d moved in nearly a decade ago, but she’d never had issues before. Her pair of cops were more dangerous to her than random thugs.

When they held the door, she couldn’t help making one last bid for what she felt slipping through her fingers. It was now or never.

“You know, I didn’t even see any other guys at the reception tonight. What do I have to do to make
you
like me?” She rubbed against Matt, uncaring about how pathetic she looked or how much she’d hate herself in the morning.

“Son of a bitch. I
do
like you. Too much.” He stared at her in horror as they squeezed together into her apartment, Clint close on their heels.

He groaned in the background. She spun on him. “Come on, tell me. What’d I do wrong? How did I screw things up? Am I supposed to pick one of you? Is that what this is? Some stupid male contest? Was it because I kissed you both? Was that some kind of test? Did I fail?”

“Jambi, no.” Matt spun her around again. The world tilted and she wondered when the last time was that she’d been so hammered. “You’ve got this all wrong.”

“Then why? Tell me what I did!” She couldn’t believe that she raised her voice, but it felt good to finally let off some steam so she kept ranting. “One minute you were sucking my face off and the next time I saw you, you wouldn’t even look me in the damn eye.”