I slid my finger along his smooth-shaven jaw, doing it wondering why he’d hidden that for so long.

Angled perfectly, square, strong.

“You miss the beard too.”

I didn’t.

And I did.

My gaze lifted from my fingers at his jaw to his eyes.

“I love you however you come.”

His expression changed and then I was glad there was a deep slit in the front of my gown because he caught my hips and pulled me to straddling his lap.

This as he slouched down in his seat.

The coke was taking hold, but that wasn’t the only reason I felt the spike in my body.

“You know, I’m quite pleased with myself,” I told him. “Being solely responsible for the band’s new look.”

It was a joke on a variety of levels seeing as I was not.

I’d like to see someone try to tell Dave what to wear, and Tim how to cut his hair.

Actually, I wouldn’t because that wouldn’t be pretty.

Though Dave could be blamed for my pierced ears.

He got his way, somewhere in Canada, and I let him.

Preacher did too, in the sense that it was him that held the ice and the needle.

Dave’s idea—and so Preacher—he took over.

Dave didn’t mind, he got to watch and hand Preacher the little gold studs Preacher slid in after he pierced me.

And I definitely didn’t mind, because now, every time I put in a new pair of earrings, it reminded me of Preacher.

And, well, Dave.

Preacher started chuckling and through it said, “Yeah. It’s not that it’s 1994, and we maybe needed to haul our asses out of the seventies.”

I grinned at him.

He slid his hands under my skirt, up the backs of my thighs to my bottom, asking, “Why we goin’ to this thing again?”

“Because Brad and Gwyneth will be there.”

He burst out laughing, his fingers digging into my ass as he did.

“They’re our only competition for prettiest couple alive,” I informed him. “We have to show them up.”

He stopped laughing, sliding one hand over the top of my thigh.

“Well, cher, lookin’ like you do, Gwyneth doesn’t stand a chance. But I ain’t pretty.”

He was so wrong.

She’d be gorgeous.

And he was wrong times two, of a sort.

Preacher wasn’t pretty, that was true, and Brad was hot.

But Brad paled in comparison to Preacher.

“It’s for the kids, Preacher,” I said softly.

“Right, that’s why I paid fifteen hundred bucks a ticket.”

I smiled at him.

His hand shifted up over my belly. “They already got the money.” His fingers slid into the front of my panties. “We can ditch.”

He found the perfect spot, rolled and my head fell back as my hips moved with his fingers.