Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) (47 page)

They were discussing some shared adventure from his parents’ most recent trip to Europe that Angie was a part of. He listened impassively; his mind drifting from thought to thought. After a bit, his father wandered away and Parker focused on just the two women huddled together on the big swing.

The saints had blessed him with the most amazing mother. She was smart, funny, clever, irreverent, and Parker’s first love. His father had taught him from the cradle to cherish this gift from the heavens and that his mother was the queen of the universe as far as his dad was concerned.

For the first time, he understood all those feelings and sentiments in a way he never had previously.

“Here we go,” his father boomed a bit too loudly. “One guitar, as requested.”

Parker jumped, sat up from his slouch and flinched when his dad shoved the instrument not into his hands, but into Angie’s.

What the fuck?

Angie reacted just as startled as he felt and looked helplessly at his mom.

“Will you play that song, sweetie? The one you sing for your mom and dad?” his mother asked quietly.

“Oh, Aunt Wendy,” Angie cried. “I can’t. You know I can’t,” she wailed softly—giving him a hurried side-glance that grabbed his attention.

Song for her mom and dad? What song and why won’t she play it?

“You’re right, my dear,” his mom said as she patted Angie reassuringly on the arm. “But play something else. You know Uncle Matt loves when you sing.”

Angie giggled and shook her head no.

With a self-deprecating smirk, she asked, “Wouldn’t you rather hear Parker play?”

Dammit if his mom didn’t toss back her head and laugh.

“Aren’t you cute,” she teased Angie. Turning to his dad, she giggled and said, “Matt, honey. Isn’t that cute? She thinks
your
son actually plays for us.”

His dad snorted and held his drink aloft in salute.

“I take that as a no, then?” Angie quipped.

Settling the guitar on her lap, she crossed her legs and pushed her hair out of the way. She’d worn a simple white blouse unbuttoned to the top of her cleavage and tucked into a long, flared denim skirt that had a wide leather belt the same color as her lace-up ankle boots

She looked like a cross between a modern day Laura Ingalls and a denim-clad Megan Fox with overtones of Snow White. He almost laughed at the absurd thought until admitting the comparison was right on. She had Snow’s delicate beauty and innocence blended together with the actresses hot sexiness all dressed up in some Little House on the Prairie clothes.
Fan-fucking-tastic.
He wanted to fuck Laura Snow Fox.

Okay.
Definitely no more to drink ‘cause that was funny as shit.
Laura Snow Fox.
That one was a keeper.

Angie was quietly strumming the guitar, talking with his mom who sat by her side smiling warmly.

There was something about the way her long, delicately tapered fingers swept across the strings that made his blood heat. Remembering how it felt to lay still beneath those same fingers as they explored his body, and every grunt, sigh, and quiver her tactile inspection drew from him, sparked a lusty chain reaction inside Parker.

Out of nowhere, his father leaned over and drawled close to his head, “That’s a special woman, son. Don’t fuck around,” he growled. “You hear me, boy?”

Could this get any weirder? The patriarchal threat of good behavior or else, he expected from Angie’s father. After all, it was the man’s right and as it should be. But hearing his own father admonishing him not to be a dick? Wow, that was eye opening.

The first few chords of a familiar song vibrated in the evening air. What was that? He listened a few more seconds. It was pretty. Melodic. She, of course, played beautifully.

He knew what the song was the second she started singing. Five seconds in his mom captured the harmony and the two women belted out a spine-tingling rendition of Sheryl Crow’s
Strong Enough.

Parker suspected she was singing the song to him, then knew for sure she was when on the last verse, she locked eyes with him.

How much plainer or clearer could she make what she’d said before? His angel wanted the master. Not the judge.

“I’m on it.”

Alex saw Meghan tense all the way from across the room. He’d been on the phone with his father for the past half hour listening as the man went back and forth between dire threats and hopeful ramblings about the Angie-Parker situation.

Seemed like the cat was out of the bag and from what his dad was saying, it was Angie herself who confessed everything to their mother. He was going to kill her when she got back from Uncle Matt and Aunt Wendy’s for not fucking warning him that she’d spilled her guts. Maybe if he’d known that they knew, he’d have been better prepared to handle his dad instead of what was happening now.

He had to end the call and see about Meghan. Frankly, he was sick to death of the Angie-Parker dance. Knowing well where the man’s tastes lay, Alex couldn’t understand why he didn’t just stop all of Angie’s flightiness with a bit of caveman.

“Look, Dad,” he muttered, scraping his hand against his skull and across his face. “Angelina’s a big girl. I know she’s the baby and everything, but we have to give her a chance to figure this out for herself. You know Parker’s a good guy and I think she’ll pull her head out of her ass eventually so just chill, okay? As I said, I’m on it.”

After that last statement, he heard Meghan slam something onto her vanity followed seconds later by the distinctive sound of water rushing into the huge soaking tub in the bathroom.

Cornering her in a tub full of bubbles would make calming her down a whole hell of a lot easier. He knew exactly what was bothering her, making quick decisions on his feet as to how to proceed.

Promising to call with any news, he ended the call and tossed the phone onto his nightstand with a frustrated grunt.

It was time to tell her. He couldn’t stand to see her bent out of shape—not that she didn’t have a cause.

Reefing his t-shirt over his head, he wadded it up and tossed it into the hamper in a perfect three-point throw from the outside. Deftly undoing the heavy buckle on his jeans, he peered over his shoulder toward the doorway to the bath after yanking his zipper down and pushing the denim down his legs.

He picked up the scent of warm vanilla, one of his favorite for shared bath times and quirked a half smile. Surely, she realized the smell was like an invitation to join her.

Naked, he walked in her direction. Though it was something she didn’t normally do, his woman was sulking—for good reason, and he was going to thoroughly enjoy making it all better.

She was already in the tub, her glorious red curls in a sexy mess atop her head. With her head tilted back along the edge, he admired the long arch of her neck and licked his lips. He wanted to bite her there.

Growling, he demanded that she make room for him, knowing his Alpha bullshit would earn him a snicker and a leer. Her answering smirk reminded Alex how much she got off on his lord and master routine.

Settling in behind her in the tub, Alex put an arm around her waist and pulled her back against him. Taking the sudsy pouf from her hands, he swept it across her chest from shoulder to shoulder right above the water line.

“All right,” he murmured when she sighed and relaxed against him, laying her head upon his chest. “Go on—I already know what you’re going to say, but say it out loud, baby.”

Some serious over-reactive shit almost went down when he heard a tiny quiver in her voice.

“Energy. Other people’s. I love Angie, and though it pisses you off, I sorta love Parker, too.”

Dickhead,” he muttered for effect and because he knew she’d smile.

“But look what’s happening. Your parents are in a tizzy about those two. And there they’ll both be—standing by our sides at the altar and I’m sorry for being such a bitch but you know damn well Parker’s parents will be hearing wedding bells for those two and from what I just gathered, your parents are on board with that.”

No. She wasn’t a bitch. He totally got where she was coming from. Those vows were the most important words either of them would ever speak out loud. She wasn’t wrong or crazy for wanting nothing but love and light to surround them at that moment.

He continued to slowly wash her, raising one arm at a time and running the pouf across her skin.

“Baby,” he started in a gravely voice. “I have something to tell you, and I want you to stay calm and just listen. Okay?”

She went absolutely still.
Well, fuck.
At least he knew he had her full attention.

“Breathe, Meghan,” he admonished softly.

Her head turned on his chest until she could look up at him, those alluring green eyes drawing him in.

“Don’t say anything until you kiss me,” she whispered in a small voice.

Ah. She needed some reassurance before he spoke. His heart thudded. This was the way it was with them. Nothing came before this—the connection. Seeing her need gave him dick butterflies.

He put a finger beneath her chin for leverage and lowered his mouth to hers kissing her tenderly, never letting the passion that was ready to explode take control. One thing at a time.

“Better?” he asked with a smile after thoroughly kissing her until the tension left her body.

She nodded and relaxed in his wet embrace.

Discarding the pouf, Alex reached into the water and found her hands, twining his fingers through hers and resting them on her stomach below where her breasts bobbed weightlessly.

“I wanted to wait a little longer and surprise you with this, but we’re close enough anyway,” he told her. “You’ll be jetting off with Angie sooner than we realize and after that, we won’t have any privacy until after the wedding.”

He liked the way she sighed. What a pair they made!

“You saved me, Meghan O’Brien. The day you walked through my door, I felt like my life came back after a long journey through a dark hell that nearly destroyed me. You are my
only
love, and I would do anything to see you happy,” he told her.

Her fingers squeezed his. “I know,” she whispered.

Alex took a deep breath. He hoped to god she was on board with what he was proposing ‘cause, if she wasn’t, he was screwed in more ways than one.

“I’ve been thinking. You’re right. Our families would be crushed if we eloped, but maybe there’s another way to have the private, spiritual moment we want while still giving everyone who’s supported us what they want, too.”

She shifted in the water and looked at him. Her hands were like two tense blocks so he kissed the tip of her nose and grinned.

“What have you done, Major?” she asked warily.

There was something enormously fucking cool about knowing he’d get to hear her ask that question a zillion times in the years ahead of them. He was always going to be fucking shit up and she would always shake her head and use that tone—call him
Major
for good measure and do her best to keep him in line.

Letting go of her hands, he placed his over her floating breasts and gave a gentle squeeze.

“How does this sound? The day after St. Patrick’s Day, which I specifically chose so you’d always remember,” he snickered. “You and I wander out to Amor Vórtice. We’ll get dressed up, take some flowers, whatever you want. And we’ll have our own private ceremony. Say the things we need to say—the way we want to say them.”

She turned in his arms so fast that water sloshed from the tub.

“Are you serious?”

Yeah, he was serious, but he hadn’t even told her the best part yet, and maybe he wouldn’t have to. Perhaps he could keep that one secret a bit longer.

“Would that make you happy, baby?” he asked cautiously.

“Oh, my god! Alex!” she cried. Throwing herself on him, she started pressing feverish kisses all over his face while her hands gripped his head.

“Yes! Yes! Yes!” She laughed joyfully. “Oh my god, yes!”

He laughed, astonished his half suggestion of some dress-up time out in the desert and the promise of some pretty words was apparently enough to make her content. God, but she was ridiculously easy to please and boy, was she in for a surprise. The rest of his laugh was for Carmen who was going to want to kill them both because he had no doubt they were about to make one holy hell of a mess in that bathroom.

With nothing more than the promise of a pretty dress and some flowers, she was all over him.

I’m a lucky man,
he thought.
Luckiest son-of-a-bitch alive.