“How ‘bout we continue in the shower?”
A pouty smile lit up her adorably freckled face. She knew damn well what would happen ten seconds after they were under the steaming waterfall. The smile revealed her excitement. But her pout? That was another thing altogether.
She sat up and pushed some hair over her shoulder. He rolled to his side and leaned on an arm, watching her face.
“I love you,” she blurted out awkwardly. Cam knew his eyebrows had shot up at the impassioned declaration and instantly reached for her hand.
He brought her knuckles to his lips, and with his eyes locked on hers, he pressed a slow, warm kiss there. Instead of speaking and interrupting her flow, he told her through his touch, the gentleness of his kiss, and the reverence in his gaze that he most certainly returned the love.
In a hushed voice, brimming with emotion, she told him, “My life began the day we met.”
She said it with such utter sincerity that Cam had a hard time swallowing past the sudden thickening in his throat.
Pulling her long locks in front of a shoulder, she fussed, her fingers making a haphazard braid. The action was more habit than anything else. When she was finished and there was nothing else to keep her hands busy, she shifted into a cross-legged position and hunched forward with her elbows on her legs. Quite the fetching pose, considering she was naked.
“You know,” she began quietly—her face scrunched in a mask of torment. “I don’t remember ever dreaming after my dad left.”
She shrugged and he clenched his jaw. No part of this should be reduced to a mere shrug.
“Certainly never after I ran from Florida. It was . . . weird,” she admitted. “And not only that, I didn’t really daydream. Maybe a little but mostly about things I take for granted now—like getting to take a shower or having clean clothes.”
Cam wanted to hit someone. Or smash something. Or both.
“But . . . after you brought me here?” She looked around and smiled. “My dreams slowly came back.”
Something fluttered in his chest. Her dreams came back. How come he felt like crying at hearing that?
“Baby,” he husked on a voice choked with emotion. “I only had nightmares before you.”
Lacey reached out with both hands and framed his face, her thumbs sweeping over his lips.
“I loved you before the dreams came back. You were first, Cameron. Before all that’s come after. The first choice I ever made for me.”
Ahhhh. He was finally starting to get it.
We make choices for Dylan every day. My mom made choices. Everyone does, you know?”
Cam nodded.
“Anyway,” she murmured. “When my father had to make a choice, he turned his back on me and walked away. His choice. His responsibility. His legacy. Not mine.”
Wow. For one so young, his wife had the depth and wisdom of an old soul. That was one hell of a heavy statement she was making. And one he couldn’t find any fault with. Frank Morrow was a fucking bastard and he got what he deserved.
“I was nobody before you,” she said in a hushed voice. “Nobody saw me.”
It was hard to stay still when he saw tears shimmering in her eyes.
“But then this dark, brooding loner came along and invaded not just my life but my heart and soul, too.”
This time it was his turn to blurt out, “I love you.”
“It was you, Cameron Justice, who told me that the past might shape who we are but it doesn’t have to weigh us down or define who we become.”
Cam smiled. He had indeed said that to her a long time ago, and she had used the exact same expression on him to wake him the fuck up.
“This is my family. You. Our son. Justice.”
Yeah. He totally got it now.
“This is my choice. You were first. Frank Morrow can go fuck himself,” she muttered sarcastically.
He snorted at her use of profanity, earning him one of her hilariously faux-stern looks.
“It was also his choice to move on with his life as though my mother and I never happened.”
“Lacey Cameron, you are one hell of a woman,” Cam drawled.
“This is the last time we ever talk about this. Dylan’s family is here, with Justice. Alex is already acting grandparent, same for Meghan. The truth is that he’s got more aunts and uncles than he’ll be able to count and I’m sure a bunch more cousins on the way. And those cousins? They’ll be the next generation of Justice.”
“So . . .” he asked, “I’m not on the shit list for tracking him down and opening up this whole thing?”
“You did what you thought was best, and I love you for that. We don’t grow and learn by running away from difficult things. Now I know. And because I do know, we get to move forward without anything holding us back.”
“Infinity and beyond?” he snickered.
“Yes, Buzz,” she giggled back, “and the way beyond.”
“I want another baby,” he announced, startling them both.
“What?”
Grabbing hold of his wife who was looking at him like he’d grown another head, he playfully pulled her as he rolled onto his back, bringing her atop his torso.
“Yep. Daddy wants to make another baby with Mommy.”
“Does Mommy get a vote in this?” she purred.
“Are you kidding?” he joked. “You always get the final say, babe.”
Lacey smiled and scraped her nails down his chest. He growled.
“Well, in that case, I cast my ballot for . . .”
And, just like that, Dylan Henry Cameron let loose with a hungry, bellowing wail that hurriedly ended their discussion.
FEELING PRETTY SATISFIED THAT HE’D made the right choice, Parker was congratulating himself for thinking on his feet and executing a total redo of the plans he’d made for their dinner.
Once he recovered from the erotic heart attack Angie gave him when she, in quite the symbolic way, put on her big girl panties and then wagged her ass in his face, he knew what he had to do.
So she wanted to challenge him, did she? Cool! He wanted to laugh and laugh big. God. She was exhilarating. He’d missed her. Missed the crazy fuckery that always seemed to accompany Angelina Marquez.
Instead of his Porsche, he’d driven his everyday ride, a big SUV with so much on-board technology and options that it was like a miniature spaceship. And big enough that Angie’s sexy ass was seated much too far away as far as he was concerned.
Those shoes—the ones he was going to fuck her in some day—made hopping up into the big vehicle a challenge for her. A situation Parker was happy to remedy—which he did by picking her up as she squealed with surprise and deftly situated her, right down to engaging the seatbelt harness.
But right now he was annoyed as hell that there was so much space between them. He couldn’t haul her closer because the seatbelt would prevent that. Fuck.
Grunting with frustrated displeasure, he turned and looked at his passenger and almost drove off the goddamn road because in profile? Her tits were fucking mesmerizing. Barely contained in whatever the fuck it was that she was wearing, the plump orbs spilled over the black lacy neckline. Not that he was complaining. Pfft. Hardly.
“You sound like a bear,” she drawled silkily, her lips curled in a quivering smile. Apparently, she found his displeasure funny.
“Whoever designs these vehicles is a champion cock blocker.”
She turned in her seat and comically gaped at him. “Did you just call the car out for, um . . . blocking your cock?”
He growled and bared his teeth when he did—looking over at her with a leer so raw and lascivious, there was no way she could mistake the meaning.
“I want you close enough to touch. Close enough to smell.”
To his utter surprise, instead of teasing him for being so forward, she shifted in her seat, crossed her legs the other way and leaned heavily on the console between them. Dangling her hand down his side of the console, she lightly touched his leg.
“Better?”
Instead of answering her question, to him the response was obvious, he asked one of his own.
“Do you like touching me?”
“Yes.”
“Would you have moved closer if I hadn’t complained?”
“I don’t know. What do you mean exactly?”
A statement and a question. Women.
“If you wanted to touch me . . . would you? Without me asking?”
She reached down and this time kneaded his thigh before backing off.
“I don’t know,” she admitted as her head went back onto the seat. “It’s hard with you and don’t you dare snicker at my choice of words.”
Snicker? Fuck no. She was opening up to him, and he wanted more of where that was coming from. “Hard, how?” he asked with real curiosity.
“I feel like I have to prove to you that I’m not a little girl anymore and feeling that way just sucks. I mean, you’ve always been older. You’re you. The way you’ve always been, but me? I’ve changed, Parker, and part of that change is not understanding where the lines are with us. Are we family friends? Old buddies from way back? What are we besides the lead attendants in an upcoming wedding? What are we doing here?”
She certainly had cut right to the chase. Good for her. He was glad she wasn’t a game player. Demanding he open up to her with his thoughts and feelings meant she wasn’t just fucking around.
“Do you need me to spell out for you who we are and what we’re doing, baby girl? Because I will.”
He was telling her to think about what she was asking because he’d gladly lay it out for her line by fucking line—whether she was ready to hear it or not.
She sighed deeply. “No,” she murmured hesitantly. “I like flying without a net.”
Parker chuckled. Classic Angie.
“Fuck, Angel! Nobody knows that better than me. See these gray hairs?” he asked pointing at his temple. “All of ’em are from that time you made me watch you fucking tandem skydive. Worst forty-five minutes of my life.”
She laughed gleefully and clapped her hands at the memory.
“Oh my god, that was so much fun! Do you remember, Parker? It was autumn and the trees were so colorful. I remember when I jumped out of the plane thinking that it was like parachuting into a picture postcard.”
She smiled dreamily and reached out to feather her fingers along the side of his head.
“The gray suits you, counselor,” she said huskily. Quickly sitting back after that, she turned her head and grinned cheekily, adding, “So I don’t feel in any way sorry for giving them to you.”
She didn’t look away for a long time, and if it wasn’t for the fact that he was driving, he would have gladly gotten lost in her gaze. As it was, he was cursing the car’s interior for being so unromantic and was feeling uncommonly sulky because concentrating on navigating the SUV was cutting into this opportunity to indulge in some Angelina.
Alex, Meghan, and the limo suddenly made sense beyond the nudge nudge wink wink backslapping they all did. It wasn’t just about indulging their trysts, it was more about cultivating every spare moment into quality time when it was just the two of them. Parker was quickly seeing a lot of things through different eyes.
“Do you mind if I play with the radio?” she asked—but, in typical Angie style, she was already fiddling with the controls.
Bypassing all the news stations, she studied his music presets like a research scientist on the brink of a breakthrough.
“Spa music?” she wondered aloud. “Doesn’t seem like your speed.”
Parker chuckled and nodded his agreement. “Blame Red. It’s her damn fault. I listen to it on the drive home. That way, instead of dragging my work into my private life, I use the drive time to disconnect. Center, as Meghan would say.”
The way she was looking at him gave Parker the tingles.
“What?” he asked.
She looked down for a moment, then turned her amazing flashing sapphire eyes on him. Right before he tore his eyes away to concentrate on the road, she smiled impishly and purred, “Work hard. Play hard.”
The shameless reminder of what, for Parker, was his personal motto got an instant reaction from his dick because she left out what came after . . . Fuck Hard.
And just like that, the moment evaporated as she went back to scanning the programmed satellite stations.
“Ooooh, I like this song,” she said so quietly he wondered if she was thinking out loud.
Turning the volume up, she was singing along and wiggling in her seat as she ramped up to a full in-car performance.
Hmmm. Girl singer. Sounds young but not a teen queen. He thought about it as she sang and then it hit him.
“Taylor Swift?” he asked—incredibly pleased that his old ass had put it together.
Angie beamed at him and kept on singing. They shared an easygoing love for all things musical. He’d never given it much thought because, well . . . because it had just always been that way. Both their families valued the arts and pressed all the kids into playing at least one instrument. And Angie, not only did she play most stringed instruments, she also mastered the piano and had a magical singing voice.
An odd warmth slowly crept through him. Music was such a huge part of his world and not only because he’d been in a band since he’d sprouted pubes. Hands down, one of the coolest fucking things about having baby boomer parents was the incredibly broad musical tastes they enjoyed. As a result, Parker’s personal musical catalog included a mixed bag of wide-ranging sounds and genres from Elvis and Patsy Cline to AC/DC and Black Sabbath. Eighties rock was his go-to; he willingly admitted to enjoying the occasional musical and would still drop everything for a Foo Fighters show.
Right until this actual second though, he never considered how little of his real self he’d shared with the parade of women who romped through his life over the years. Unforgettable although highly energetic sexual escapades—nothing too heavy or serious—never amounted to more than some pretty shallow, superficial diversions.
But this engaging creature belting out a catchy pop tune? Shit, man. Shallow and superficial never had a ticket for admission to the Parker and Angelina show. She was inside him. She knew stuff. Their lives were inexplicably in sync—even though the age thing fucked things up.
He had to get them out of this car soon because he was on borrowed time now. Remaining polite and mannerly was almost impossible now that Angie was back to being Angie again.
The song ended which set her off again, searching the stations for something she liked. Instant gratification, much? Just like her tendency to act out, Angie’s impatience was something he’d like very much to tame. Not too much—just a little. After all, her enthusiasm and joy for life was what made her so unique but sometimes she really and truly did rush in where other angels would fear to tread.
Lowering the volume back to conversational level when another song ended, she relaxed in her seat and giggled quietly.
“Sorry ‘bout that but I love Britney. She’s playing Vegas you know,” she squealed with delight. “Maybe after the wedding when Mom and Dad stay at the Villa during the newlywed’s honeymoon, I can talk someone into going with me. I’d love to see her show.”
Storing that choice nugget of info away, he reached over and yanked on one of her curls. “You’ve got a show of your own coming up. Can’t wait for Saturday night.”
“Aargh.” Her groan was adorable. “I’m actually nervous! Those girls take this karaoke shit seriously,” she told him emphatically. “Hey! It’s not just remembering lyrics with them,” she whined when he laughed. “They’ve got dance moves and stuff like that.”
Parker knew all about those dance moves. Having seen the ladies perform previously, he was well aware of the T & A show they put on. Hell! They were smart as shit for playing it that way too because it made people love their shtick and got the crowd riled up and ready to party. Just what a good karaoke party was supposed to do.
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br /> “Fuck, yeah!” He laughed. “Those raunchy burlesque routines they do certainly pack the bar.”
She looked slightly horrified at his description, and he nearly died laughing when she started sputtering furiously.
“Burlesque routines? They are not! What do you mean?”
Slowing for traffic as he eased the big SUV into the turning lane, he looked over at her and openly leered the impressive cleavage she was so obviously flaunting.
“Tell me, baby girl,” he husked. “Will there be boob jiggles and booty wiggles?”
“Parker!”
“What?” He laughed affably. “Are you telling me that I’m not to look forward to you shaking those delicious tits in my face?”
She was full of sexist outrage—the sort that made his dick hard—trying to defend using her body to advantage . . . and failing miserably at it.
“There’s nothing wrong with some simple . . .”
“Bump and grind?” he taunted.
“Fuck! Parker!” she yelled, clearly exasperated that he was tying her up in verbal knots. “That’s not at all what I was going for and you know it.”
They were pulling into the parking lot of the restaurant he’d decided at the last second would give him an opportunity to show off the little bombshell beauty he had on his arm tonight.
Their past relationship complicated the simplest things like going out to dinner because once they’d became lovers, they instinctively withdrew from making public appearances. The truth was that all they really did was fuck. Nonstop. He wanted to set that part of things right. Now that they didn’t need to hide being together, Parker was filled with a desire to show her off. His Angel. Having her by his side was the most fantastic thing . . . like, ever.
“Come on, Gypsy Rose Lee,” he teased with a big grin. “I’ll let you entertain me . . . all you want.”
Hopping out of the car, he made it to her door and pulled it open while she was still in mid-mutter about wanting to kick his ass or something like that.
Even though he knew the move would be seen as highly proprietary, Parker pulled her close with an arm around her waist, handed off his keys to the valet, and cracked a lame joke with the doorman as he ushered her into the restaurant.
Desert Angel (Family Justice Book 2) Page 28