Powerful stuff.
So they adopted a friendly rivalry chock full of taunts, rude language, the occasional fistfight, and a never-ending rotation of pranks.
Having Drae’s wife right at Alex’s side as his geek assistant gave the pranks a technological edge the St. John’s were presently winning. Thanks to his naughty lady.
Which brought him round again to Angie. The girl was a fucking handful and a half. Parker leaned back in his chair and smiled. A burning hot surge of pure pleasure shot to his groin. He liked it. Liked every tingle, each shudder. Hell. He even liked the nonstop female fuckery that came along with surrendering to the serious infatuation he had for his spirited lover.
Angelina Marquez was one hell of a lady. His Desert Angel was also a hellacious she-devil in private.
Thinking his wild days were well behind him, Parker found himself hip-deep in an exuberant exploration of stuff that would make the others blush. She was clever with phrases and delighted in throwing down with him verbally at every opportunity. According to her, they should leave no stone unturned to uncover their style of couple’s kink.
No, seriously. She phrased it exactly like that. Couple’s kink.
They’d been together morning, noon, and night for months, and as soon as he got his shit together and Alex got his ass back from Spain—he intended to put a massive fucking ring on it and march her badass into a church at the earliest opportunity. Time was a-wasting. He was forty, goddammit, and though he didn’t realize it until recently, Parker wanted kids. Bad.
In the meantime, he was building a house for them to live in, located on the far outskirts of Sedona, which conveniently situated them at the halfway point between his work and the Villa de Valleja-Marquez with its adjoining Justice compound.
Squeezed into his current house, because Angie had all her belongings shipped from Spain five seconds after they became an official couple, she started re-everything-ing his life. She didn’t just redecorate. She did a brutal overhaul of his pantry—throwing out anything she deemed unhealthy due to his advanced age.
Spanked her ass good that time. Right there in the walk-in pantry. She was sitting on a rolling stool when she said it. As soon as the words left her mouth, he was the one sitting, and he’d flung her across his lap as he shredded the skirt she had on, tore her panties in two, and laid down a vigorous punishment worthy of her bratty mouth.
Parker chuckled out loud. He’d duly chastised her after that, and she sat there rubbing her bottom as a pout worthy of a fucking award made her lips tremble. His Angel gave good pout. Some of the best he’d ever seen. When she found the audacity to grumble about him being a bully, he grabbed her hair and said a bunch of vulgar things suggesting a better to way to use her mouth. From there? Well, from there, she essentially gagged on his cock.
And no, she didn’t complain. Pfft. Hardly. That was the thing about her. He wasn’t stupid. Most of her brattiness occurred because she rather liked it when he doled out punishment.
They were fucking made for each other, which was why he ended up including a playroom—a couple’s kink playroom—in the new house.
Shifting to give space to the hard-on he couldn’t stop, Parker marveled for the millionth time at his unbelievable luck. Not only were they designing a playroom, but his wickedly naughty Angel also had a shit-ton of ideas and preferences at the ready.
Apparently, red was déclassé. She insisted walls painted red would be pathetic. She wanted something uniquely theirs.
What the hell did that even mean?
Well, for starters, it meant exploring a bunch of websites together that ended with them doing it right there on the floor. Few too many spanking benches and Tantra accessories for them to browse through to keep their shit together.
Plus, every damn day, she had something else to show him. The girl did research like a fucking pro. He laughed at her constantly and threatened to do the rest of the house in redneck shabby chic because all her focus was on the one room.
Twirling around and wheeling back to his desk, Parker attempted to dismiss the deluge of information pouring into his consciousness now that he’d gone there in his thoughts.
Shit. Work didn’t seem so appealing now that he was pondering black silk rope, sex swings, and crotchless panties.
Grabbing his cell phone, he went to his contacts and made a call.
“Miss me that much?” Her voice had a silky, husky quality that made his cock surge.
Witch. His witch. His Angel. He smiled.
“How’s my kitten, hmmm? Had lunch yet?”
Angie’s soft, sexy laugh went straight to his heart. “Oh, god. Kitten, is it?”
Parker growled and laughed at the same time.
“Is that a pussy for lunch reference? Or are you trying to be hip? In an old man way, of course.”
“You’ll pay for that, darlin’. I’m leaving the office,” he told her matter-of-factly. “I can’t concentrate for shit.”
He sensed her hesitation. “Should I have lunch ready?” It was a real question.
Parker glanced at the Chewbacca lunchbox she filled with snacks and treats each day. Despite her youth and natural high spirits, Angie viewed her obligation to take care of him seriously.
“You are the lunch, kitten.”
She hissed at his remark. “Liking where this is going.”
Oh, he bet she did. “When I come through the door, Angel—I want you naked and laying on the dining room table.”
“God, Parker,” she groaned into the phone.
“Oh, and Angel? Be touching yourself when I get there.”
Heavy breathing was all he heard—hers and his.
“Angel kitten—over and out.”
The call disconnected, and he leaned forward to access the intercom and contact his secretary.
“Marsha? I’m heading out. Reschedule, cancel, whatever it takes. Work your magic, please.”
“MY GOD, IT’S stifling. How do you manage in this heat? Can’t that husband of yours install some friggin’ air conditioning down here?”
Lacey chuckled before sitting down across the table from an out-of-sorts and visibly grumpy Tori St. John. Pushing a sports bottle filled with iced water at her friend, she tsk’d a time or two and shook her head.
“Aw, come on,” she joshed, “it’s not that bad. The ceiling fan keeps the air moving.” Following up a shrug with a hefty gulp of delicious coldness, Lacey reminded her friend why she preferred her little office shed to be without a lot of extras and embellishments. Could Cameron install some A/C? Of course, he could and had all but begged her to let him. But she liked her space this way for a reason.
“I love the dry heat. You know that. This is where we live,” she pointed out. “Fighting the desert doesn’t sound like a workable plan. And I don’t want Dylan to be one of those hothouse flower kids who run from one temperature-controlled space to another.”
“I get that, Mrs. Cameron, but holy fuckballz, lady.”
They both laughed.
“Besides,” Lacey added, “I grew up in a hot and steamy hellhole. Believe me; my uncle did not have anything as modern or helpful as A/C.”
She grimaced slightly as memories of those awful years when she’d been abandoned by her father and left in the clutches of her uncle—a man she’d never met before being dumped on his doorstep—who had clear mental problems and lived in a smelly swamp in Florida where he wrangled alligators for a living.
Refusing to let the flood of painful reminders take her under, she did what she always did. Looked for the half-full counterpunch to the half-empty narrative.
“And besides, this dry heat? My hair loves it. So, so, so much better than year-round cloying humidity.”
Her pithy observation got Tori laughing. “Well, there you have it then!” her bestest of best friends hooted with sarcastic amusement. “As long as you look ah-mazing, what’s to complain about, right?”
Noise coming from the other side of the room caught their atten
tion. Dylan was sitting in his corral, a special part of her office cordoned off by a clever knee wall that created a large playpen. Watching them through the baby gate, he rocked on his chubby butt and gurgled playfully. Her son didn’t mind the heat. Not at all.
Wistfully, she murmured, “I cannot believe he’s almost one.”
They tapped water bottles as Tori drawled, “Word.”
“Cameron wants to throw a party.” She tried to sound matter-of-fact, but even she heard the tinge of snarky. An uncomfortable frown made her squint.
“I should hope so. No one feels all that family stuff more than Cam.”
“Ugh, Tori, I know. But what he’s got going on in his mind is more like a carnival than a baby’s first birthday celebration.”
Her concern was real. She was being serious but leave it to Victoria to fall over laughing. “It’s a competition. Didn’t you know? Draegyn burbled out something about getting characters in costume for Daniel’s big day.”
Lacey groaned. “Oh, god. Really?”
“Wait,” she drily sniped, “it gets worse.”
Dylan giggled and crawled to the gate where he pulled to stand and gazed at them as he chewed on the barrier’s rubber top.
“He made Desirée swear she’d come with the kids. Next thing I knew, he was planning an event rivaling the Queen’s Jubilee. And you know him—something simple like a Southwest Christmas theme wasn’t good enough for the son of Draegyn St. John. Nope, nope.”
Yanking on and separating her ponytail to tighten the band, Lacey started cracking up. Nothing led to more foolishness and over-the-top excess than a fired-up Justice brother.
“Continue, Mrs. St. John. What manner of extravagant frivolity is my husband going up against?”
“Grab hold of your knickers, sweetie, ‘cause this one is classic Draegyn. He wants to make a movie.”
“What?”
Tori guffawed, and Dylan answered with a series of loud laughs.
“Yep, yep. You heard me. A movie. With parts and lines to rehearse. Desi’s kids are totally down with it and make things worse by keeping up a running email thread with Uncle Drae. Apparently,” she drawled with her eyes rolling heavenward, “they have suggestions.”
“A movie?” Lacey was incredulous. Only Draegyn could come up with something so … Draegyn. “And where do the costumed characters come in?”
“The kids want a Wild West theme. Old time Wild West.”
Drae’s movie scheme lit up her mind. Sweet, sexy tingles ran along her nerves. How crazy hot would it be to see Drae, Cameron, and Alex dressed in classic gunslinger costumes? Like Wyatt Earp and Tombstone. Or Clint Eastwood. Clint was more her husband’s style since he had every damn movie the guy ever made. Hell, she could almost recite High Plains Drifter line by line; she’d seen it so many times.
“Well, this explains Cameron wanting a Ferris wheel and a miniature choo-choo train for Dylan’s party.”
Tori got quiet, her eyes glued to Dylan. Finally, she looked at Lacey, and all she could see was sadness and worry in her friend’s gaze. Something was not right with the St. Johns.
“Will they be home by his birthday?”
Wow. A straightforward question about as transparent as mud. Would Alex and Meghan be home in Arizona when Dylan’s September birthday rolled around? Definitely.
They might jet in at the last second, but there was no way on god’s green earth that Alex or Meghan would miss it. But Tori wasn’t thinking about that when she asked. Dylan’s birthday was simply a convenient distraction. They were all feeling the strain of missing and needing the newlyweds back—everyone in their own way.
She didn’t answer right away. Her attention moved to the slobbering baby watching them so intently.
“I know this is gonna sound crazy,” she confided to Tori, “but when Dylan looks like he does now—all I see is the Major.”
“What do you mean?”
A small smile played on her face. “Besides being the calmest baby on the planet, sometimes—like now—he gets that Alex look. You know the one. Quiet stillness and regard. I see it in Dylan’s eyes. It’s like he watches us and somehow knows stuff the rest of us don’t.”
Tori studied Dylan for several moments. “Yeah, I see it. But isn’t Cam the same way? Nobody does brooding, thoughtful silence like he does.”
Lacey nodded. “You’re right, of course. He’s the same way. But if you ask him, he’ll tell you he learned that habit from the Major. In the war. For Alex, though, the intense, thoughtful stillness—well, it’s how he’s programmed.”
Did she sound like a lunatic? Probably. Lacey’d given a lot of thought to the unusual connection Dylan and Alex shared. Even with him being gone for months and the baby being so young, whenever Dylan heard Alex’s voice in a phone chat or saw his face on a screen, he was instantly transfixed. They had a bond. Something psychic.
For some reason, she blurted out the next thought she had. “He gave me away, you know. At my wedding. I’d never seen anyone so serious as Alex was that day. He approached it like a military maneuver. We walked through the moment a bunch of times at rehearsal because he wanted to get it right. For me. And for Cameron.”
Ducking her head in embarrassment, she fiddled with the water bottle and gave a self-conscious chuckle. “I thought he was so gallant and kind of suavely sexy the first time we met. Poor Cameron. He nearly crapped his pants. That was the moment I knew we were meant to be together! He was so ridiculously possessive around Alex, and when Drae came on the scene? Holy cow. Talk about being off the hook.”
Tori smirked. “Let me guess. He led with that double-oh-bullshit, didn’t he? Do his very best Daniel Craig on you?”
Lacey giggled and flushed red. This was Tori’s husband they were talking about. “Well, yes. Of course! Draegyn St. John”—she sighed with dramatic mockery—“need I say more? But he dropped the shtick so fast I got whiplash when Carmen informed him I was living in the casita. Found out later that was code for ‘Property of a Justice brother.’ I’d never met anyone like those three.”
“They’re an unusual trio; I’ll grant you that.”
“I guess for me, Alex represented the strong, male authority figure my life had lacked. He’s been more of a protector and a dad than my own worthless parent.”
Tori reached across the table and squeezed Lacey’s wrist. “It’s the same for me, you know. I mean, shit! My mother dropped me here in the compound and all but signed a permission slip for the good Major to save my sorry ass. And Draegyn? Oh, my god. Idolizes isn’t strong enough of a word. I guess it’s not all that surprising if you see a resemblance to Alex in your son. He’s had an effect on all of us.”
“Speaking of your mom …” Lacey sniggered. “What the what-ing what with her and the constant Instagramming? She posts everything! Did you see the picture of her and Calder at the Farmer’s Market?”
Tori rolled her eyes and started to chuckle. After a quick gulp of water, she capped it off and smirked. “You mean the one where they’re wearing matching sombreros and have those stupid fake black mustaches?”
“Yep!” She hooted with full-throated amusement. “That’s the one I’m talking about. If you look closely, your mama’s hot boyfriend had his hand on her ass.”
“Oh, my god,” Tori wailed. Covering her face with her hands, she shook her head and groaned. “They’re re-goddamn-diculous, Lacey. If I had to guess, I’d say they do it morning, noon, and night.”
Her friend’s distress struck Lacey as comical. “They’re in love, sweetie.”
“They’re old!” Tori cried passionately.
“Old?” Lacey really hoped she was kidding. “Tori, your mom isn’t even fifty yet and Calder? Well, my goodness. He turns more heads than most. Ya do know he placed second last weekend in the motorbike rally in Bendover, right? Old isn’t a word you should associate with him.”
“Lacey,” Tori bit out, “he’s doing my mother. And he still hasn’t sealed the deal. I figured he was
waiting till Alex got back, but when I think about it, that’s a suicide mission. Alex will kill him if he lets all these months go by without a wedding in the wings.”
The ceiling fan picked up a warm breeze and swirled it around them. It really was hot. But then again, Arizona in the middle of summer was generally blistering. She slid off her seat and went to the water cooler where she filled a sippy cup.
Handing the cool drink off to Dylan, she ran her fingers through his hair and smiled. Her baby was so big. Big enough to hold the handles on his own cup. Soon, he’d officially be a toddler and his baby days would be behind him.
Lacey couldn’t help it. She circled her hand on her tummy and chewed a lip. She and Cameron wanted another baby, and they had certainly been trying for one. Then two months ago—before she even realized she was pregnant—she had a miscarriage that threw them both. They kept the loss to themselves—nobody knew.
Well, Draegyn knew. He’d driven them to the hospital, stayed during the short, emotional ordeal, and then driven them home. He’d also kept their secret. Even from Victoria. When they were ready to share, they would, but until then, he wouldn’t say anything.
Part of her wanted to tell Tori, but she couldn’t. Not with her friend going through a rough patch in her marriage. Lacey wished she had a magic wand to wave over the St. Johns. Anything to make their troubles disappear. Drae and Tori loved each other, but when it came to having any sort of workable communication skills, well … the two of them were miserable failures.
So she said nothing, kept her own counsel, sought her husband’s arms as comfort, and waited not so patiently for Big Daddy to come home.
All would be right with the world again once she had a chance to talk to Alex and benefit from some of Meghan’s nurturing and positive energy.
Turning back to look at Tori, she crossed her arms and fixed the little woman with a smirking grin.
“Now, keep in mind that I don’t actually know anything but …”
Tori leaped up. “What? What do you know, sis? Does that aging surfer dude have a ring? Is he going to propose?”
Unchained Page 3