She saw the back of Parker’s head seconds before she emerged from the shadows to head for the stairs. He must have heard her approach because he looked up and glanced around till he found her.
When she was sixteen years old, her parents had made her do this old-fashioned cotillion thing during their annual trek to Spain. Soph had done it and though Angie nearly went dizzy from all the eye-rolling she gave her folks, the unusual experience did have some value. She remembered the hastily barked instructions to each of the elaborately dressed debutantes. Walk to the stairs and pause facing forward. Turn slowly either right or left and then pause again while you visualize descending the stairs. As you step down, push your shoulders back, head held high and shine as you take your place in the spotlight. In other words, Diva 101.
Stopping at the top of the stairs, she locked eyes with a stunned Parker, who seemed to be having some sort of problem keeping his mouth closed. Pausing to let him get an eyeful, Angie stifled a snicker as she pretended a last second check of her tiny clutch while keeping him in her line of vision because, lord have mercy, his expression was mind-blowing.
Hehehe.
Grasping the handrail, she stepped off . . . shoulders back, girls front and center, confident tilt to the chin. Angelina Marquez was in the house, bitches—lock up your men because she was dressed to quietly kill.
As she vamped her way down the stairs, the girls were doing a full bump and grind while her hips swayed, her hair bounced, and tiny jewels sparkled against her exuberant breasts. No red blooded, right thinking man was going to be able to ignore the performance she was putting on.
A prickling sensation that was both ice-cold and red-hot crept along her spine, settling in her neck. At the bottom of the steps stood a very big man with a serious expression who was putting off so much powerful energy that it filled the big open space. She swallowed. Her pulse picked up tempo. Angie knew that look.
Fighting back a jolt of nerves, she kept moving with an air of confidence she didn’t really feel. His staggering masculinity always did this to her. Ugh. Suddenly, she didn’t care what she had on or how sexy her shoes were because all her mind could handle was the overload of excitement she felt looking at him.
Holy something. Take your pick. Crap. Fuck. God. Shit. What the hell with the man-in-black thing? He looked dangerous. And friggin’ hot as the bonfire raging out of control in her center. She was in trouble and hadn’t even reached the bottom of the stairway yet.
Shaken by her reaction to the unrepentant look of longing that she saw in his eyes, Angie quivered knowing all it took was one covetous gaze from him to send her flying high. When her outrageous blue suede heels hit the floor and she found herself dwarfed by his size, she had to give a mental shake before falling on him like a lovesick fan girl.
He came close, stepping right into her personal space. She could feel him breathing her in. Angie barely managed to cut off a whimper. Unnerved by the involuntary step back she took, a purely female reaction to the subtle aggressive tactics of a predatory male, she felt the end of the curved railing press into her lower back. Damn. Trapped.
She swallowed—hard. He was looking at her so strangely. His fierce gaze pinning her to the spot. He wasn’t touching her—not exactly. Just standing really, really, really close. For an eternity, neither of them moved, only inches apart. He, so big and imposing, stared down at her upturned face as he caged her in with his body, and her, quickly turning to liquefied Jell-O.
Just when she thought he might close the space between them and kiss her, his jaw clenched and she heard a faint rumbling growl that wrapped around her nerves and squeezed tight.
Um, whoa. The predatory sound was new.
His forehead lowered and almost touched hers. She was barely able to breathe as it was—maybe the corset hadn’t been such a good idea, after all—so when his face got closer, Angie couldn’t stop the whimper.
He stayed close, unnerving her, and picked up one of her curls and played with it against the plump mounds of her breasts. She was panting and close to hyperventilating. “Is this how the big girls do it?” he husked, his eyes gleaming with something that went way beyond simple arousal.
She’d thought to call him on his shit. Put the domineering lawyer in his place. What had she been thinking?
He really needed to access the conscience of his inner civilized man because the chest-thumping beast she roused from hibernation was fucking with Parker’s plan.
The second he saw her wicked female swagger as she came to the top of the stairs, he knew he was in a shitstorm of trouble. There was no fucking way he was going to be able to downplay the audacious challenge she was clearly throwing down.
Fuck. So much for calm, cool, and controlled. And by the time she reached the bottom of the steps, he seriously regretted the go commando decision. It was all he could do not to rearrange the immediate hard-on she inspired so his jeans didn’t do him permanent harm.
For as long as he lived, Parker knew he’d never be able to forget the way she looked at him once they were standing toe-to-toe. She was practically glowing with triumph. This was why she’d so effortlessly given in to his dinner demand! The move was pure Angie. Even as a kid, she refused to be cowed by any situation, was naturally competitive, and forever trying to prove her worth to him and Alex.
But a little girl no longer, she was making quite the grown-up statement that he heard loud and clear. She was deliberately trying to wind him up and it was succeeding more effectively than she imagined.
After taunting her with the big girl comment and seeing her flustered reaction, he was flying without a net. Fuck his plans. This was what he craved. That wild, exhilarating, oh my fucking god feeling that he only ever experienced with his Angel baby.
She wanted to rev his engine? No fucking problem. Wanted to show him she wasn’t a little girl anymore? Message received.
Bring it on, baby girl. Bring. It. On.
CAMERON PEEKED INTO THE NURSERY with Dylan, who was busily working on a binky, perched on his hip. She was still curled up on the loveseat in a dead sleep so he pulled the door shut quietly and headed back downstairs.
“Okay, son, looks like it’s just you and me. I think Daddy wore Ponytail Mommy out.” He chuckled.
Planting a kiss on the baby’s head, Dylan rocked in his hold and smacked his hands on Cam’s chest like he was high-fiving Daddy for taking care of Mommy’s needs. If only he knew what that really meant.
What a fucking day it had been. There wasn’t any activity in the compound, not with the construction underway and coming off a long out-of-town-on-business stretch, he’d been taking it easy since he and Lacey came back from Vegas. Had earned a short break.
Thank god because, since the bombshell revelation that her bastard of a father was alive, well, and living life as a happily married family man, his wife had been in an emotional freefall. And he didn’t know quite what the hell to do about it. In a way, he was powerless. Lacey’s history was complicated and then some. Made his story seem like a joke. This was one path she had to walk alone and though he was right behind her, ready to catch her if she stumbled or fell, it was hell knowing that was all he could do.
Settling his son into his high chair, he laughed at Dylan who pounded his little hands on the tray in protest when Cam popped the binky from his mouth.
“Ah . . .” He chuckled while dropping two of Dylan’s favorite toys in front of him. “An impatient guy with an oral fixation. Yep, that’s my boy!”
Switching on the Bose sound system that he’d given Lacey to a station pumping out soft rock, Dylan nodded his approval by wiggling enthusiastically in a series of baby dance moves that just about melted Cam’s heart. He knew exactly where his son learned to boogie to the beat and couldn’t even count the number of times he’d come upon his precious Ponytail entertaining their adorable son with her amazing voice and goofy-mom shimmies. Lacey filled his once empty home with love, laughter, and music.
Poking around in the
refrigerator as Thinking Out Loud wafted from the speakers, he heard the words and sighed. Yeah. He was starting to like listening to Ed Sheeran and made a mental note to add this song to one of his playlists.
Finding a container of Ria’s Chili Caliente that he knew was too hot and spicy for Lacey, he grabbed it along with a block of cheese and used his hip to shove the refrigerator door closed. He smiled thinking about how peeved his wife would be when she woke up and found out he’d scrounged for dinner. His Ponytail took that wife and mother shit seriously. Like, capital S serious, he thought, snickering.
Far as she was concerned, Cam’s participation in any culinary activities was to be confined to commanding the enormous grill they’d had built on the patio. Breakfast, lunch, and dinner for her boys? Yeah—that was all her and do not be fooled by the freckles and pout. Lacey Cameron was large and in total charge when it came to their household.
A loud clattering drew his attention. Dylan had mastered grabbing toys, and when they weren’t in his mouth, he was happy to bang them on the tray of his high chair while making cooing and gurgling sounds in a symphony of baby delight.
The boy was growing so fast! Just last night he and Lacey reacted like two certifiably crazy people when, after much prodding and encouragement, the little guy had turned over and grinned at them as they screamed, clapped, high-fived, and basically lost their shit at Dylan’s developmental achievement.
Confetti practically poured from the ceiling and a marching band stomped through with every baby milestone. Becoming parents together had made the connection he shared with his young wife even deeper. Sometimes they lay face-to-face with their son between them in their enormous bed and marveled quietly at all of it. Their life together. Their son. The profound love they found with each other.
Settling in a chair by Dyl’s side with an overly large bowl of chili that he’d covered with a huge handful of cheesy goodness, it was that love he was thinking about as he ate.
His mind churned, knowing how devastated Lacey was about this news of her father. That was what had spurred him to tell the guys everything. They knew he found Frank Morrow, but he hadn’t filled in the blanks. But Lacey’s pain and his anxiety over it made sharing his concerns with Alex and Drae a priority. And Parker being there helped, too. Knowing he had their support and understanding kept Cam from losing it completely.
Bottom line. He could NOT handle seeing his Ponytail upset, unhappy, worried, or in any way afraid. They’d come too damn far for that, but short of sending the despicable bastard to the morgue, he had no clue how to make this better for her.
Coming home late afternoon, he’d expected to find Lacey either out in the storage shed that he and the guys had converted into a classroom office or hanging out with Dyl, waiting for Daddy to make an appearance. But what he found once he was through the door wasn’t even on the list of scenarios he’d imagined awaited him.
Dropping his keys in the bowl by the front door, he noticed how quiet it was and, assuming the baby was napping, quickly toed off his boots so he didn’t wake the lad up. For a guy who’d been a loner his entire life, he sure as shit converted quickly into a well-trained husband and daddy.
Looking around, he saw evidence of the girls having hung out and shook his head, grinning. When he’d built the cabin, the multi-bedroom home was probably overkill considering he didn’t have any family and likely never would, but ever since Lacey entered his life, the rustic hideaway at the end of the lane had become the unofficial ground zero for the women of Family Justice. Of course, the theater room helped as did the massive hot tub and gazebo he and Drae had installed.
But hot tubs aside, it amused him that HIS house, where his wife and child waited for him at the end of every day . . . that was where the ladies chose to hang. Not in the opulent Villa and not at Drae’s massive architectural masterpiece. Casa Cameron . . . built to the manly expectations of a single, brooding, lonely guy . . . had morphed into female central.
Not wanting to call out and possibly wake the baby, he figured he’d go search for Lacey—probably check the nursery first. Before he got to the foot of the steps, she appeared out of thin air and came at him. One second he was getting ready to climb the stairs, and the next, a half-naked woman was plastered to his front embracing him fiercely before his brain had time to register what was happening.
At the second his mind caught up, she unwound her arms from around his neck and took his shirt in both hands, ripping it open with a single mighty tug. Buttons flew everywhere, some falling with a thud onto carpet and others hitting the wood floor with a clink.
Whoa! What the fuck?
Deftly yanking the shirt from his shoulders to halfway down his arms, she abandoned that effort and applied the same forceful handling on his jeans while his arms were tangled up, bound by his own shirt. Struggling to get it off only made it worse.
Too much shit was happening and too fast. Cam was quickly applying pressure to the gas pedal trying to get up to speed, but as soon as he closed the distance, she leaped out ahead again.
He took a couple of steps backward because his legs still worked, disrupting her feverish attempt to get his pants off, and finally got a good look at her. She was naked except for those unimaginably sexy panties she liked so much. They were pink, feminine, and very pretty. Her hair was down, no ponytail in sight, and except for her wedding rings, that was all she had on.
Her breasts had always been magnificent, and motherhood only enhanced their loveliness. A single glance told him that he wasn’t misreading her desire. Beautifully puckered nipples on each heavy globe seemed to pulsate with need right before his eyes.
Cam had less than thirty seconds to process all this when she simply leaped on him.
Tearing his shirt the rest of the way off, Lacey dropped it and immediately tugged on the zipper of his jeans. Before he knew it, she was forcefully yanking the pants and his briefs down his legs, having dropped to her knees to aid the effort.
Naked, he let instinct take over, going to his knees too and reaching for her. He didn’t give a shit where they were. Didn’t care that a bed was nowhere in sight. Far as he was concerned, this carpet right here by the fireplace was just fine because Cam could feel her need; he was nearly drowning in it.
Lacey was rarely, if ever, aggressive in their intimate life. She preferred, and so did he, that his prodigious sexual appetite have free rein, which admittedly zeroed in on her like a laser guided missile morning, noon, and night. Since he was insatiable when it came to his lovely wife, she didn’t have much chance to assert herself even if she wanted to.
Of course, she did at times, but never anything even remotely like this. Nope. Something other than lust was fueling this inferno. Whatever it was had seriously jacked her up, so he let her have the reins—to take control. He was hers—totally.
She went to him willingly but immediately took over, twining her arms, one around his neck, and the other boldly stroking his ass. Kneeling face-to-face, their bodies pressed together, he felt a drugging heat coming off her body that made him groan. The way her fire wrapped around his nerves gave him a rush like nothing before ever had.
Lacey’s soft hands greedily massaging his ass made his butt clench tightly as his cock hardened in the cocoon created by their connected bodies. Surrounded by her heat, his shaft filled, responding to the fierce waves of desire she was emitting. His heart went haywire.
“I need you,” she groaned.
When she emphasized that need with a brutal squeeze of his ass, Cam answered her groan with a sharp grunt. “I can see that,” he husked.
He was disappointed when she stopped grabbing his butt but didn’t have time to be bummed for more than a second after she ran her fingers through his hair, scraping his scalp with her nails, pressed her naughty mommy tits against his chest, and dove onto his mouth.
Uh, yeah she needed him. Holy fuck. He’d never seen her like this and even though he sensed she was being driven by wild emotions that she had litt
le control over, he was getting off big time because shit—what she was doing was hotter than hell.
Cam’s life sometimes felt like an embarrassment of riches since this glorious creature entered his world and one of those riches was his wife’s mouth. Knowing her lips had only ever belonged to one man, him, was the core of their relationship. Lacey hadn’t just been a virgin. Despite all the fuckery that made her life hell on Earth, she was a true innocent.
Loving her mouth as he did, Cam found her inexperience charmingly seductive and thanked his lucky stars from the start that his Ponytail was so sweetly responsive and just as eager as he was to lose herself in a kiss.
The greedy sounds she made devouring him turned not just his dick to stone but every inch of his entire body as well. Cam crushed her against him and pressed his swollen sex into her stomach. He could feel the slippery softness of her silky panties on his skin.
Oh god—her ass. He had to have her ass in his hands. With a deep grunt, he palmed the mind-blowing cheeks while she tangled her fingers in his hair and dominated his mouth with her tongue. Then with one of his big hands cupping her bottom possessively, he pulled her into direct contact with his cock. She fed a desperate whimper into his mouth that made him growl with pure male satisfaction.
The sensual quivers and the mindless shimmies as she rubbed against his body felt so fucking good. Cam hissed with pleasure when white-hot lust slammed into him while Lacey deliberately scraped her distended nipples across his skin as her whimpers became greedy grunts.
Without warning or slowing down beforehand, she quickly ended the kiss and pushed back off him. He instantly missed the warmth of her aroused body and was sorely tempted to seize control of the proceedings—grab hold of her and fuck her where they were. But he managed to squash the urge just in time.
Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) Page 26